ALEKSANDER
The taste of copper fills my mouth when Asher drives his fist into my jaw, the metallic tang blooming as if to remind me that I'm still alive.
The f*****r knows that I don't want bruises on my face so he's hell bent on giving me a few.
“My bad” he grins.
He'd been my best friend since fourth grade. I met him on the first day of resumption looking rough with snort running down his nose. He'd asked me to hit him hard. At the time I didn't know what could make him want to hurt so much that he practically begged me to punch him.
I did. Amateur at that time but he was content nonetheless. That was the first time I'd ever felt truly needed, useful, anything but an heir to an empire. I loved the feeling, and we never stopped after that day.
Over the years, he would call me when
