“I go second.”

“You’ll wait your fucking turn,” the guy on top of me said.

“Come on, fucking do it. There’s people right out there.”

Oh god. No. Please, no.

I thrashed harder, but I could barely move. Blood pounded in my ears and my vision blurred.

Footsteps. Were those footsteps? Shouting started again. Male voices yelling. Swearing. A woman’s shriek. The weight on top of me lifted and air rushed into my lungs. I scrambled to my feet, gasping for breath, and there were hands, then arms around me. Ushering me toward a streetlight. Friendly arms. Women’s arms. My eyes still blurred with tears, fear and anger making me shake.

“What’s happening?”

I spun around. Alex and Jess had me. They’d pulled me out to the street, around the corner in front of the bar. I couldn’t see into the alley.

Matt and Christian shoved two of the asshole’s buddies away from the bar, near the entrance to the alley. They were shouting. Pushing. Randy had another one up against the wall.

Where was Asher?

“No.” I lurched for the alley, but Alex and Jess held me back.

Red and blue lights flashed behind me, the light reflecting off the bar’s darkened windows. My stomach turned over and I was afraid I’d throw up.

My ears felt muffled, like I’d been plunged underwater. Cops ran past, into the alley. Alex was trying to talk to me—ask me what happened and if I was okay. Or maybe it was Jess. I didn’t know.

For a long, sickening moment, it seemed as if everything was caught in stasis. No one moving. Just the red and blue lights, blinding in the night.

“Miss? Miss?”

Someone was trying to get my attention, but all I could do was stare in horror as a figure emerged from the alley. Asher. His arms were behind his back, his wrists secured in handcuffs.

Handcuffs.

“Asher!”

His jaw was clenched tight, his eyes on the ground. Was that blood on his shirt? Was he hurt? The cops led him out to the street, one on each side, holding him by the elbows.

“Miss?”

“What?” I asked, barely registering that a deputy was trying to talk to me. A siren rang out and more lights flashed. I was dimly aware of paramedics. More cops.

“No! Asher!”

All I could do was stare. He looked over his shoulder, and for the space of a heartbeat, he met my gaze. His eyes were wild and afraid, like a bear being shoved into a cage.

They put him in the backseat. Shut the door. And drove away.

14

Asher

I should have felt something. My knuckles were battered and raw. When I flexed my hands, a part of my brain registered the pain. But I didn’t really feel it. It was like I’d been dosed with anesthesia, only I was awake and able to move. It wasn’t natural.

The gnawing ache in my chest and the heavy knot of dread in my gut were another story. Those were acute and painful—and unavoidable. Like the image of Grace on the ground, pinned down in that alley, surrounded. Asleep or awake, it haunted me. As did the truth of what I’d done.

A guy was fucking dead because of me.

The last seventy-two hours had been a never-ending nightmare. The kind that leaves you gasping for breath and grabbing your chest until you’re flooded with relief because you realize you were dreaming.

Except there was no relief. I wasn’t asleep. The nightmare was real.

And every day it got worse.

I sat in an interview room in the sheriff’s office with my defense attorney, Sean Nelson. He was young, wearing a suit. He carried a leather briefcase that matched the color of his shoes and I had no idea why I noticed that.

The room felt hollow, like there wasn’t enough air. It was hard to breathe.

It had been less than seventy-two hours since my arrest, and I’d already been in front of the judge twice. I’d listened while he denied bail, citing my previous record—the assault charge when I was seventeen.

And I’d stood in court this morning to receive the formal charges. Second-degree murder.

I was fucked.

“I know today probably seemed like bad news,” Sean said. “And I’ll be honest, I’m a little surprised the prosecutor decided to be a hardass and charge you with murder, rather than manslaughter.”

I nodded to show I was listening, but my eyes were locked on the table.

“We knew they’d factor in your prior assault charge and bring up your martial arts training, so that wasn’t a surprise. But don’t panic. The state will often start with a more serious charge to leave some room to negotiate it down with a plea bargain.”

“Negotiate it down to what?”

“If they won’t drop the charges entirely, I’m going to push for manslaughter in the second degree. The sentencing for first-degree manslaughter is harsher, but both are better than murder. Obviously I can’t promise anything, but given the circumstances, and the state of mind you were in, I don’t think you’re ultimately going to face murder charges for this.”

I nodded again, but clenched my fists as rage spread through my gut. I could still see it. Feel it. That sickening moment when I’d realized they had her.

He shuffled some paperwork. “Now, the vast majority of cases don’t go to trial, but I’ll know more when I meet with the prosecutor.”

“If it went to trial, it would be for murder?”

“Yes. Considering that your actions were in the defense of your fiancée, and that we have witnesses who can testify to what the victim and his friends were about to do to her, we’d have a case. But unless the prosecutor won’t budge on the murder charge, I’m going to highly recommend we take the plea deal.”

I scrubbed my hands through my hair. A plea bargain would mean accepting whatever my attorney could negotiate with the prosecutor. A couple of people in business suits with law degrees were supposed to decide my future?

But I didn’t want to subject my family—Gram, my brothers, Grace—to a trial. And what were the chances a trial would go in my favor? Would a jury let me walk after what I’d done?

I had a feeling I knew the answer to that.

“Let’s assume we reach a plea agreement,” he continued. “What happens after that is a plea hearing. It’s not a full-blown trial, but it’s more involved than the arraignment today. The judge hears the charges and sentencing recommendations that we’ve agreed to. And both sides have an opportunity to make statements. Ultimately, sentencing is up to the judge, but they usually go by the recommendation in the agreement.”

“And then?”

He paused. “Even if we get the charges reduced, it will still mean prison time.”

“When would I go?”

“To prison?”

I nodded.

“You’d be transferred into the custody of the state at the end of the plea hearing. From there, you’d be transported directly to the prison facility.”

I let that sink in for a moment. “People can attend the hearing?”

“Yes, it’s a public proceeding.”

They were going to be there. Grace was going to be there.

Fuck.

She’d come with Gram and my brothers to the arraignment today. It had been fucking torture, knowing she was so close. Knowing she was hurting and there was nothing I could do for her. I couldn’t hold her, kiss her, touch her. I couldn’t fix this.