Page 5 of Nothing to Fear (Wicked Games #1)

I smack his hand away, harder than I mean to. Asher’s cheeks pinken, his eyes squinting into slits as his anger rises and matches my own. “What the hell is your problem, Silas? Why do you hate me so much?”

Because you’re goddamn perfect and wholly yourself. Something I’m not .

“Will you just leave? Why are you here anyway?”

“Turns out your father wants to punish me for working my ass off the last three years, and now I get to spend my time tutoring his slacker son.” His words come out harsh and angry, but there’s no way he’s as affected as I am over this news.

My jaw goes slack momentarily, while my brain whirls with the bomb he just dropped.

“You’re shitting me.”

“Nope. Also, that phrase doesn’t make sense. Been standing out here waiting for you to get back from practice. I just found out.”

“From fucking who?”

“Does it really matter who? My schedule is packed, Silas, and it just got way harder. I don’t have time to catch you up. How bad is it?”

“None of your fucking business. I’ll handle my shit. There’s no way I’m spending a minute more than I have to with you. Stay the hell away from me.”

I can’t do it.

I wouldn’t survive being in such close proximity to him.

“Wicked fuckin’ mature. You want to graduate, don’t you?”

“Piss off, Asher!” I yell as I stomp back down the steps of the dorm and into the drizzling weather.

Just as I get a few feet away, a hand clasps around my bicep through my wet sweatshirt, turning me around.

Asher stands in front of me, pieces of his black hair falling back into his eye as he blinks away rain droplets beading on his equally dark eyelashes.

No one looks good in the rain, except for Asher Ambrose. Because of course he does.

“Jesus, do you hate me that much? What did I ever do to you?”

If he only knew.

“Yes! I can’t stand you! Perfect Asher! You’re an ass-kisser, and this just proves it.

I wouldn’t put it past you to have coordinated this entire thing.

What was your plan here? Wanting to embarrass me some more?

” I yell, not caring that people are around and can probably hear us.

Asher has the audacity to look shocked, his head rearing back slightly, eyebrows raising high, his lips pursing.

He finally shakes his head from side to side while I stand there and have a nuclear meltdown.

My heart fractures in my chest, seeing the flash of hurt in his eyes.

Why do I care that I clearly hurt his feelings? I don’t. I hate him.

Lies .

Lies.

Lies.

“Whatever. Good luck, Silas. You’re gonna need it.

Let your dad know I tried,” he says with finality, throwing his hands out to the sides.

Asher turns and stalks off down the cobblestone walkway toward Crimson Keep, a bed of burnt sienna leaves crunching under his steps as he goes.

I watch him walk away, unsure what the hell just happened.

In the three years I’ve known him, we’ve never hashed it out like that before. We’ve never had more than bantering insults back and forth. Okay, mostly one-sided insults from me, while Asher just grinned and bared it all. None of it has ever seemed to matter.

Then why do I suddenly feel like shit for it now?

Instead of chasing after Asher and apologizing, I turn and continue on the path that leads to my father’s office.

Mortwood Tower sits in the center of campus, the epitome of Gothic grandeur.

With its massive stone archways, pointed arches, and stained glass windows, it sits stoic and resolute as the heart of campus.

Not letting my soaking wet appearance stop me, with my fists balled at my sides, I march through the building, the squelching of my shoes bringing unwanted attention my way.

Once I reach my dad’s office, I wait for his assistant, Mrs. Lovelace, to get off the phone.

It doesn’t take long as I stand there awkwardly waiting for permission to enter his chamber.

“Hi, Silas. Your dad is free, you can go right in,” his assistant says to me in a cheerful tone that lessens my anger slightly. I don’t want to give her an attitude; she hasn’t done anything wrong. I’ll keep my anger bottled up for Asher.

He hasn’t done anything either. Not directly.

“Thank you, Mrs. Lovelace.”

I knock once on the large, ornate door before pressing the handle down and pushing it open.

My dad sits in a large leather chair behind his desk, made of scorched black wood with large posts and carved details.

The room is sophisticated, with black, textured walls, stone accents, and a large fireplace with two wingback brown leather couches in front of it.

“Silas! What a surprise. I wasn’t expecting to see you until next month for dinner.”

An agreement we both made since attending here was a mandatory expectation of my upbringing, and I craved and needed space. We have dinner together once a month, and otherwise, we both live our lives independently from each other while school is in session.

He doesn’t bother stubbing out his cigar as I walk into the room, and I wave my hand in front of my face, aggravated by the scent of the smoke and the conversation we’re about to have.

“I was just cornered by Asher Ambrose, who’s convinced he’s my new tutor. Chosen by you. Is this true?”

His face falls, and my heart plummets into the pit of my stomach. So Asher wasn’t lying.

“Silas, you’re failing. Again. You’re an incredibly smart young man, and for whatever reason, you aren’t applying yourself.

You’re a Blackwood, son. I’m the president of this entire college, and my son is failing.

Which makes me look like a failure. If I can’t get my son in line, how can I be trusted with the rest of the student body?

Your siblings had no problems here, and you have struggled since day one.

” His voice is calm and straight to the point.

He doesn’t sugarcoat things or handle anyone with kid gloves, which I appreciate.

He’s always been a great father, always there for us kids, but his one expectation, that we each attend Corvus, is the one that has driven a wedge between us.

Because I didn’t want to come here to begin with.

“Dad, Asher and I?—”

He puts his hand straight up to stop me mid-sentence, my mouth snapping shut like a child who’s being scolded.

“I don’t care. I don’t want to hear it. I love you, son, you’re a talented athlete and a wonderful son, but that will only get you so far. You need this degree, and you need to excel. The real world is harsh. Asher is your ticket to the life I’ve always dreamed of for you.”

What about the life I dreamed for myself?

The next day, after a night of fitful sleep, I bite the metaphorical bullet and go in search of Asher.

Unfortunately for me, I find him in the dining hall surrounded by people eating lunch.

I grab an apple, not really feeling like eating, even though athletes here have a strict meal plan we have to adhere to.

Sucking in a deep breath, I walk up to the table where he sits in a chair at the end.

Asher makes eye contact with me, his irises flicking up to meet mine momentarily before looking back at his meal in front of him.

When he doesn’t acknowledge me, frustration starts to rise, and I shift from foot to foot.

“Just going to ignore me, then?”

“There’s nothing to say to you. We aren’t friends. Go back to pretending like I don’t exist, Silas.”

As if I’ve ever been able to do that.

“I met with my dad; you have to help me.”

God forbid I apologize for being an asshole and ask for his help.

If anyone could help me get my grades up, it’s Asher Ambrose.

I know that, he knows that, hell, my dad knows that.

Which is why my dad chose him. It’s Asher or failure.

I’ll never admit it out loud, but he’s my only option for getting out of the storm I’m in.

For someone who has no fear of confrontation, I sure as shit avoid vulnerability like my life depends on it.

“No.”

My head rears back, anger spreading through my veins. I look around at the other students watching us, and my anger multiplies, embarrassment slashing over me like razor blades. My fists clench at my sides.

“Too fucking bad, Asher. You want to go explain to President Blackwood why you aren’t doing what he told you to do?”

Asher stands slowly, his chair screeching as he scoots it backward.

He stands to his full height and meets me eye to eye, stepping into my space.

The breath leaves my lungs, but I don’t let him notice, keeping my mask of pissed off arrogance firmly across my face.

His scent engulfs me, a familiar scent of books, paper, and leather, and I realize I’ve never been this close to him before.

The onyx of his pupils is so dark it’s captivating, and I couldn’t look away if I wanted to.

I’m a rabbit caught in a snare, helpless to fight against him.

Asher leans into my space so we’re face-to-face, practically nose to nose, his next words spoken low enough for only me to hear. His breath is warm on my lips, and as I dig my nails into the palm of my hand to ground myself, I realize I’m trembling.

“ You need me , remember that. You want my help? I’ll give it. Meet me in the archives at nine. Don’t be late.”

His shoulder brushes against mine as he walks past, and chills scatter across my skin from the spot.

I stand still, wondering how the hell I let him get the upper hand here when a few laughs and voices pull me back into the present.

My body starts to heat from the inside out, my skin clammy, my heart racing, my skin itching all over.

I crack my neck from side to side in a failed attempt to alleviate some of the pressure building at the base of my skull.

I can feel their eyes still on me, their snickers, their whispered words. Fuck this. Fuck Asher. Fuck my dad. Fuck Corvus.