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"You mean insane enough to be forced to wear a bluetooth controlled vibrator in a bar and made to come by my stepbrother? Then yes. You're not the only one who gets to decide on limits. You said we were upping the game, so consider it done."
Asher shakes his head, eyes dark with anger. "I'm not doing that to Jenny. That's crossing a line, Rylee."
My own anger starts to swirl in the pit of my stomach and I straighten up. "You don't get to say what's a line when we're already playing. If you wanted boundaries or limits, you should have established that before we started."
He falls silent, glowering at me. Stepping back, he turns and stalks to the television, hitting the off button. It shuts off into a screen of black as he tries to calm himself.
"No," he repeats. "I won't do it. You've gone too far. Hurting innocent people is not part of this."
"You're just mad that you have something to lose and I don't. Well, that's the price you pay for happiness, Asher. You already have the life you want. I fucking don't. So, don't ever judge me for fighting for my own happiness. I'll do anything and everything to win, because it's not just some fucking prize or trophy like it is for you. It's myfuture."
Asher's lips curl in disgust. "If you want your points that fucking bad, take them. You can have the two points. At least I have morals. Lauren is a good lady. And Jenny is a nice person. They don't deserve to get caught up in our fucked up games."
I shake my head, in disbelief at this turn of events. I knew he would find this one difficult to accept, but the anger was unprecedented. During the last few years, I've rarely seen Asher lose his cool. Sure, he gets mad and protective, or annoyed.
But never livid, like he is now.
Regret tugs at my insides and I do feel bad for Mrs. Anderson. He's right – she shouldn't be a victim. And it will fuck over his relationship to Jenny, no matter the outcome.
Part of me wonders if that's why I picked it. Maybe I want to see them fail. After all the bullshit they have put me through, individually and together, maybe I want to see them suffer a little bit.
Or maybe it's because I'm falling into the Asher Taylor trap and wishing for something I can never have.
But I can't let him know any of that. Not now, not ever.
"Okay, well thanks for the points," I say nonchalantly. "I look forward to your next dare."
Asher turns his back to me, grabbing his phone. "Yeah, well, we'll see. I might not even bother playing anymore."
His response shocks me. My feet move automatically, rounding up on him as I force him to face me.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Take it whatever way you want, Rylee. That's what you do best anyways."
I'm not prepared for the hurt that carves into my chest from his words. They slice deep, like a knife. My eyes start to burn with unshed tears but I refuse to cry.
Turning on my heel, I leave the room. I can't stand to be around him any longer.
I keep telling myself that the reason I'm hurting is because I may lose my opportunity to run. But, I know deep down things aren't always as they appear. So, I pretend. I keep pretending that Asher Taylor means nothing to me, and that I mean nothing to him. We're two opposite souls, looking for a challenge and I'm winning. That's all there is to it.
The hardest part of it all is I was right when I told Asher he only appeared in my nightmares. Because that's where he was all night long when I finally fell into a restless, painful sleep.
Chapter sixteen
"Thankssomuchforthis today," I say, smiling at Butch.
We're at Wheels, about to go for a ride. I finally responded to his stream of messages and agreed to meet up so we could hang out. A few of the other guys are also coming with us. It feels a little strange going on a club ride with the Rebels, but I need a distraction.
"I'm just glad you're doing okay," Butch answers, holding out a spare leather jacket to me. I still remember the first time I went on a ride with him, asking why I needed his jacket and not my own. He leaned over, pinching the bare skin on my bicep sharply. When I yelped, he laughed and told me to imagine the pain of hitting the road at 30 miles an hour.
I slip the jacket on, making sure my hair is plaited. I'm sure he doesn't want long, blonde strands whipping him in the face when our lives are in his hands. Next to us, Vito is also getting ready.
A few others are nearby, ready to go when the door to the bar opens and Chuck walks in. We connect eyes briefly before I quickly look away. I need everyone to think we're just acquaintances, and not secretly banging on the side. He's a good guy – one of the few people I can talk to, and I don't want to lose that. Butch and I are close, but I think this would cause a rift between everyone if they knew.
"Hey Chuck," Butch greets, giving him a fist bump. "Are you riding with us today?"
Chuck gives me a little smile, taking in my leather jacket. "Sure, that sounds like fun. It's good to see you again, Rylee."
