Chapter 30 MEASURED THREAT.
Asher's POV:
Buttoning my cuffs, I headed downstairs, Dylan’s message still looping in my head.
He never mentioned her name - he didn’t have to.
Clara Bennett.
He could sense hesitation from a continent away.
Always could.
The marble steps creaked under me, each one pulling me back to the truth I kept trying - and failing - to outrun.
Dylan’s words had a way of slicing through every excuse, every distraction, every quiet thought I tried to bury.
If there was anyone more invested in this revenge than I was - it was him.
Sometimes I wondered if it even counted as my mission anymore.
It felt more like he was the one pulling the strings from behind… tightening them whenever he sensed I was going soft.
And he wasn’t wrong - far from it.
If anything had played out differently…
If I hadn’t stepped in front of Clara that first night…
She’d already be gone.
No hesitation.
No second-guessing.
No mercy.
Dylan didn’t tolerate loose ends.
He didn’t wrestle with fear or guilt - he just delivered outcomes.
And Clara?
She was the loose end he’d been waiting years to eliminate.
My jaw tightened as I hit the last step, everything bearing down at once.
The truth was blunt and uncomfortable:
The only reason Clara Bennett was still alive…
The only reason Dylan hadn’t erased her from the equation…
Was because I kept stalling.
I was the hitch in the plan - the weak link.
And if Dylan ever realized how deep that weakness went?
Clara wouldn’t stand a chance.
I froze mid-step.
Someone was on the couch - relaxed, legs crossed, sitting like he owned a place that definitely wasn’t his.
My gaze snapped to his, and those unmistakable green eyes locked onto mine.
What the hell is he doing here?
As if sensing the exact moment, I registered him, he pulled the cigarette from his lips.
Smoke curled lazily around him, framing the sharp lines of his face. The same face I’d grown up seeing next to mine, usually smeared with blood or trouble.
His mouth lifted into that slow, cocky smirk.
“Long time, Asher.”
I let out a tight breath and gave the nod he took as a greeting.
When I stepped off the last stair, he unfolded from the couch in one smooth rise.
Head to toe in black.
Black jeans.
Black shirt under a dark jacket.
Boots planted like he owned the floor.
He looked like a shadow pretending to be human - all sharp edges and unsettling beauty.
The kind that made people stare… or instantly regret it.
Nothing about him ever blended in.
He didn’t even try.
We stopped a breath apart - silent, sizing each other up.
Then he suddenly barked out a laugh, loud and shameless.
It pulled a small chuckle out of me too.
Dylan hauled me into a quick, solid hug, hand thumping my back once before he stepped back.
A grin sat on his face, but his eyes stayed cold.
Dylan’s eyes cut back to me, cigarette dangling between two fingers, smoke curling upward like it knew better than to touch him.
“Damn, Asher,” he drawled, giving a low, amused whistle. “You made this way too hard. I had to tear through half the city just to find you. Off-grid looks a little too natural on you.”
His gaze drifted around the penthouse again - slow, sharp, impressed despite himself.
“But I’ll give you this,” he said, tapping ash into the tray like it was his.
“You picked a hell of a place. Clean, sharp, expensive… very you.”
His eyes skimmed the penthouse again before landing on me.
“You always did know how to hide in comfort.”
I shook my head.
Classic Dylan.
Charming enough to pull attention. Cold enough to make it regret it.
We were close - too close by most standards - but that didn’t change who he was.
Who we both were.
Watching him smirk, like he’d walked through fire just to storm my door… I almost believed it.
I let out a rough chuckle and nodded toward the dining area.
“Breakfast’s not usually my thing,” I said, voice low. “But… you want something?”
Dylan leaned back, cigarette dangling, eyes sharp. “Hungry? Not really. But seeing you play host… that’s a first.”
I raised an eyebrow. “So, not here for the food?”
A slow, crooked grin appeared. “Never. But since you’re offering… I’ll indulge. Call it a walk down memory lane.”
I shook my head, a faint smile tugging at my lips. “Fine. Don’t get used to it. You show up once in thirty-five years - this time’s an exception.”
Dylan fell in step behind me, moving like he owned the space. Black boots tapping softly, cigarette dangling from his fingers.
The apartment smelled of coffee, citrus, and wood - a fragile attempt at normal in a world that hadn’t been normal for a long time.
It felt strange seeing him here, in my home. Thirty-five years since my father had taken him in, pulled him off the streets when no one else would.
Now he was gone, and we’d both carried pieces of him differently. I, with the mission he set me on. Dylan, with the promise he’d whispered - justice, no matter what.
I poured two cups of coffee, steam curling between us like memories that never faded.
Dylan’s eyes tracked every move—sharp, calculating, but softer than usual.
For a moment, he seemed almost… human, not the unstoppable force everyone feared.
I set the cups down. “Funny thing… Dad always favored you over me.”
Dylan’s smirk was easy, familiar, not mocking. “Didn’t matter. He saw potential in both of us - you for balance, me for chaos.”
I shook my head, a short laugh escaping. “Chaos got us here, huh? Thirty-five years later, and still chaos.”
He tapped his cup against mine. “To chaos, Asher. And unfinished business.”
I knew he wasn’t here just to reminisce. He meant Clara. He meant the vengeance we both carried.
He meant the truth we’d sworn to see through - no matter the cost.
“So… what dragged you all the way from Blackwood—” I began, stirring my coffee, when a sharp slam cut through the penthouse, sudden and biting.
My gaze snapped to the table.
An envelope lay on the table, pale and innocent - except for the dark red smear across the flap.
I met Dylan’s eyes. No smirk. No warmth. Just cold, flat darkness that tightened my chest.
I swallowed hard.
“…What’s this?” I asked, voice low.
Dylan tilted his head, cigarette dangling, green eyes empty.
“Think you know, Asher?” His tone was calm, too calm.
My jaw tightened. I grabbed the envelope, brushing the dark smear. Hesitation tugged at me, but I opened it anyway.
Clara.
Photo after photo - different angles, different moments.
Each one marked, blood-red smears echoing the stain on the envelope.
A weight hit my chest. Heavy. Sharp.
Not fear.
Couldn’t be.
I snapped the envelope shut and set it down, forcing a steady breath.
“Funny… I thought you came all this way just to see me.”
Dylan didn’t even twitch a smile.
“More like,” he said, slow and sharp, “I see things stalling, Asher. Thought I’d step in… just a bit.”
I stiffened. “No.” The word cut sharper than I intended.
His eyes flicked, warning enough to freeze me. I cleared my throat. “I’ve got it under control, Dylan. Trust me.”
He hummed, unimpressed. “I do trust you… but I know you, Asher.
But his tone… it said everything I didn’t want to hear.
He leaned back, arm resting casually, eyes locked on me.
“I know you, Asher,” he said, quiet but sharp.
“You’re no saint. And you won’t forgive the one who killed our father.”
My jaw tightened.
“Remember,” he added, voice dropping,
“Infiltrating Cleveland College wasn’t for fun. And patience isn’t my strength.”
He paused.
Then—
“Just so we’re clear, Asher… hesitate again, and I’ll handle it myself.”
His mouth twitched - cold, not amused.
“And trust me, I won’t be gentle about it.”
A chill crawled across my skin.
I hated the way he said it.
Hated how easily he pictured it.
One thing was certain:
Whatever Dylan took on… never survived.
And if Clara ended up in his path—
If he decided to ‘Deal’ with her—
I couldn’t let that happen.
I shoved the thought down, smothering it under every reason I came here… every reason I wasn’t supposed to care.
She was a mark.
Someone I was meant to erase.
But the truth pressed tight in my chest - one I refused to admit:
I didn’t like the thought of anything happening to her.
Not with Dylan involved.
Not like that.
Not at all.
And Dylan—
He smelled weakness the way sharks smell blood.
So, I straightened, locked everything down behind my ribs, and leveled my voice.
“Relax,” I said evenly, every word measured.
“I’ll handle it.”
His eyes pinned me - sharp, wary, lethal.
And I knew, right then:
Dylan wasn’t here for the past.
He wasn’t here for me.
He was here because Clara Bennett was still alive.
And he needed an answer.