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I don't bother to answer. In two swift strides, I'm on him, my fist crunching into his nose with a sickening crack. He howls, stumbling back, blood gushing down his chin. I follow, relentless, slamming him against the wall with a forearm across his throat.
"Touch him again, and I'll break every bone in your fucking body," I snarl, my face inches from his. "Understand?"
He nods frantically, his eyes rolling in terror. I release him with a shove, watching in disgust as he scrambles for the door, trailing blood and snot.
"Liam." Asher's voice is soft, almost wondering. I turn to find him staring at me, his eyes wide and luminous in his pale face. "Are you okay?"
A harsh bark of laughter escapes me. "Am I okay? Jesus, sunshine, I should be asking you that."
Asher shrugs, a shaky smile tugging at his lips. "I had it under control. But thank you. For stepping in."
He takes a hesitant step toward me, his gaze dropping to my hand. "You're bleeding."
I glance down, noting the split knuckles with distant surprise. "It's nothing."
"Let me clean it up." Asher reaches for me, his fingers grazing my wrist. The touch sends a jolt of heat shivering through me, my breath catching in my throat.
"You don't have to do that," I rasp, even as I let him tug me toward the sink. "I've had worse."
Asher's jaw tightens, his eyes flashing. "That doesn't make it okay."
He turns on the tap, guiding my hand under the cool stream. I hiss at the sting, but the pain is secondary to the sensation of Asher's touch, his skin like velvet against mine.
"Why do you do this?" he asks softly, not meeting my eyes as he dabs at my knuckles with a clean rag. "The violence, the intimidation. Is it really what you want?"
I'm quiet for a long moment, watching the play of emotions across his expressive face. There's fear there, and wariness, but also a breathtaking compassion, a desire to understand.
"I don't know if I want it," I say at last, my voice rough. "But it's what I am. What I'm good at."
Asher's fingers still on my hand, his eyes finding mine. "I don't believe that. I think there's more to you than just brutality and anger."
A bitter laugh scrapes my throat. "You don't know anything about me, sunshine."
"Then tell me." Asher's gaze is steady, unflinching. "Help me understand."
I stare at him, my pulse pounding in my ears. It's on the tip of my tongue to deflect, to push him away with a cutting remark or a crude come-on. But something in his eyes, that bright, unwavering sincerity, cuts through my defenses like a blade.
"My father was a mean drunk," I say abruptly, the words like broken glass in my throat. "He used to beat the shit out of me and my brothers. My ma too, before she split."
Asher makes a soft, pained sound, his grip tightening on my hand. I swallow hard, forcing myself to continue.
"Declan, my older brother, he looked out for me. Taught me how to fight, how to be strong. When he joined the O'Connors, I followed him. It was the only way I knew how to survive."
I shrug, my shoulders tight with tension. "Violence is all I've ever known. It's in my blood, my bones. I can't change that."
Asher is quiet for a long moment, his thumb stroking over my knuckles in soothing circles. "I'm sorry," he says at last, his voice thick with emotion. "No one should have to go through that. Especially not a child."
I blink at him, surprise and something fragile and aching unfurling in my chest. No one has ever said those words to me before. No one has ever looked at me with such open, unjudging compassion.
"We've all got our scars," Asher says softly, his eyes distant. "My dad died when I was six. Cancer. It nearly destroyed my mom. She threw herself into work, into providing for us. But she was never really present, you know?"
He meets my gaze, his smile sad and crooked. "I learned early on that if I wanted love, affection, I'd have to find it elsewhere. In my friends, in this diner. In making people happy, even just for a little while."
Fuck. The urge to pull him into my arms, to shield him from every hurt, every sorrow, is nearly overwhelming. But I hold myself still, lets him speak, knowing he needs this as much as I do.
"We're not so different, Liam," he says, his voice firmer now, almost fierce. "We've both been shaped by our pasts, our pain. But we get to choose what we do with that. How we move forward."
He takes a deep breath, his gaze locking with mine. "I choose kindness. I choose hope. Even when it's hard, even when the world tells me it's foolish. And I think, deep down, that's what you want too. A chance to be more than what you've been told you are."
