Asher Forrester Novels & Stories

Marc had offered to drive us in his pick-up truck, so Morgan and I had packed our things up and rushed out to meet him in the parking spaces outside the packhouse. He was standing waiting, leaning against his car with the biggest smile upon his face the moment his eyes had settled upon Morgan. And it had taken him no time at all to load his truck up with our bags. As we were getting into the truck, movement near the doors of the packhouse had caught my eyes and Morgan had very, non-discreetly, cleared her throat too, and when I looked up, it was Asher. Looking to be returning in nothing but a pair of trousers. I could only assume he had been on a run. No shirt… his toned chest on display… lo

I assured them. “Bullshit! I bet she tricked us into coming here using Alpha Asher’s name!” Holly sneered. Just then, the door opened, and Asher walked in with his bodyguards. He wore handsome hunting gear today—a fitted outfit that showed off his broad shoulders and muscular frame. His tall boots and gloves completed the look. In a suit, he was already intimidating, but in this outfit, every muscle of his screamed power and charm. He looked like a walking hormone bomb.

Jacklyn immediately put her work aside and walked over to the couch. "Hello, I'm Jacklyn Stinson." "Hi, Ms. Stinson. I'm Asher Jarrett." They shook hands and exchanged greetings. Jacklyn's first impression of him was favorable. He truly was just as Theodore had described—bright and handsome. Asher had a soft spot for children, and with Theodore being so endearing, he couldn't bear to see him treated poorly. He hadn't expected Theodore to invite him to Odore, and he was pleasantly surprised.

The trafficker's finger tightened on the trigger, and Asher closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable. But instead of the expected shot, he heard a strange, meaty thud. The trafficker's grin faltered, and his eyes widened in shock. Asher opened his eyes to find the trafficker flying backward as if yanked by an invisible force. He crashed to the ground, his massive frame trembling like a leaf. Asher struggled to sit up, his leg screaming in agony as he gritted his teeth against the waves of pain. He crawled backward, using a nearby tree for support, and positioned himself to observe the scene unfolding before him.

The clicked before MacRae answered. “Mac,” he said, voice low but sharp. “That isn’t Caleb.” A brief pause hung on the line. “Copied,” MacRae replied steadily. “I’ll pull the CCTV feeds and passenger records immediately.” Asher’s jaw tightened. “Do it fast,” he said, ending the call, fingers trembling as he dropped the phone back into his pocket. His gaze shifted to his sleek Ferrari LaFerrari parked a few meters ahead, with Fred and Zeph standing on either side, faces cold and lethal. Asher slid on his shades and began walking toward them.

Right after posting it, while I was still reading comments mocking me for putting on a tough front, I saw Immortal Ashes Team’s official account tag me in a post, openly standing by my side. "The crowd follows the herd. The strong walk alone. Those who don’t know how to cherish what they have will lose it. Ash Mercer, we stand with you. IA will always be your strongest backing."

"Yeah. I heard Joshua's legs were too badly damaged to save. They had to amputate both of them. He'll be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. "The driver who hit him has a terrible reputation. Even if the Stewart family wants revenge, they probably won't find him. "And thanks to the evidence you provided, the police uncovered their tax fraud. They were fined a fortune. Joshua was removed from the board of directors. It'll be almost impossible for him to make a comeback. "Sheila, everything is finally over. And through it all, your hands stayed completely clean. You're incredible." Yara's smile grew even brighter. "Call me Sheila. From now on, I don't have to live using Yara's identity a

I wanted to see the man who had discarded me look up from the dirt and realize who had truly destroyed him. Asher’s heavy SUV roared down the concrete ramp, entering the garage with a deafening screech of tires. He killed the engine, slammed the door, and strode toward us, his massive frame still dripping with rainwater and grease from the perimeter sweep. His dark shirt was torn at the shoulder, revealing the hard, scarred muscle beneath.

“No. But I should have. Guys like you usually bring them with you.” I smirked. “Guys like me?” “Leather, tattoos… gunshot wound,” he said dryly. “You scream of trouble.” He wasn’t wrong. “And you don't want any of that?” “Name’s Ash,” I muttered when he didn't reply and finally regretted it. Where were we? Tenth grade? I was watching him move around the small room tending to my wounds with precision. “Noah.” He finally said, not looking up. “Thanks, Noah.”

“A woman like this? You’d be scared of catching something just playing around with her, and you treat her like treasure. Asher, you could have anyone. Why pick this?” Forrest had many flaws. Chief among them was his vicious mouth. But for once, Anna found it satisfying. Coming from him, it carried weight. Asher’s face darkened. “Forrest, are you insane? Apologize to Michelle.” Forrest laughed. “Apologize to a prostitute? You’re joking.” Asher swung a fist at him. “Stop talking nonsense!” Forrest caught his wrist. “Fine. A prostitute at least charges a price. She gives it away for free. Ask her if she’s seen me before.”