AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Harry let go of Asher’s hand, so of course Asher inched Harry’s shirt up. When Harry didn’t protest, Asher sat up and pulled Harry’s shirt high up on his chest. “I want to look,” Asher said. Harry took the hint and tugged it over his head. Asher ran his finger along the two-inch scar on his side. “What’s this one from?”
“Knife. In Vienna, about eight years ago. When I didn’t bleed to death, I sewed it up myself.”
Asher frowned, lightly touching another inch-long scar that ran the line of his ribs. “And this one?”
“Same knife fight. Same guy gave me this one too.” Harry pointed out another scar on his forearm.
“Did you kill him?”
“Yes.”
“With his knife?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Still frowning, Asher touched a faint silvered scar on his other side. “And this one? It’s old.”
“Emergency appendectomy when I was eight. No keyhole surgery for me.”
Asher skimmed his fingers over the three indented scars just right of his sternum. “What did this?”
“Steel knuckles.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Wasn’t even a target. I was staying in a shithole pub in Minsk for a job. I’d been out for food late one night, and when I was heading up to my room, some local tough guy in the bar downstairs thought he could take me in a fight.”
Asher chuckled. “And how did that work out for him?”
“Very poorly. But not before he struck me in the chest.”
His smile faded as he touched the two round scars, one on Harry’s right shoulder, the other on the side of his pec. “Bullets?”
Harry nodded. “Six years ago, in Budapest.” He met Asher’s eyes because he knew what question was coming next. “Yes, he died. I was taken to hospital by ambulance. Doctors removed the bullets in the emergency room, saved my life. And I managed to walk out, albeit not very well, before the cops got there.”
There were other nicks and dents, but Asher didn’t ask about those. It was all just more violence and lucky escapes. “Which one hurt the most?”
“Bullets burn. Hurt like a bitch, but they missed any organs, so they were mostly muscle damage. But the steel knuckles hurt the most, probably. They’d cracked my sternum, which took months to heal.”
Asher shook his head. “Have you considered taking people out from a mile away? It really is so much easier.”
Harry snorted and traced his thumb down Asher’s jaw. It was another tender, intimate gesture, but Harry was past caring. The way Asher’s eyes drew up to his, hazel with flecks of gold and orange, so beautiful. And the faint blush on Asher’s cheeks...
Yeah. Harry was way past caring. He was way past trying to deny he had feelings for Asher. The way his heart thumped against his ribs, how that warmth burned in his chest.
Then Asher ran his fingers to the Southern Cross tattoo over Harry’s heart. “And this...”
Harry sighed. “I got that when I was still part of my active unit. It felt patriotic at the time, but now I’m not so sure.”
“Not sure about what?”
“What being patriotic means,” Harry murmured. “To a country that sold me out.”
Asher shook his head. “Your country didn’t sell you out. Your handler did.”
“My handler,” Harry said, “is a high-ranking military man. One of the highest there is. It’s hard not to assume it’s not on behalf of all of the Australian government.”
Asher frowned. “We need to get that USB to Four. Maybe it’ll clear our names.”
