Filthy Devil (Dark Horse MC #6)

Chapter 12

CHAPTER

TWELVE

NASH

Bugsy and I walk down the hallway. James is locked in her apartment alone, which I fucking hate because this shit caught us all completely off guard, and I don’t have extra protection for her. Something that I will be rectifying immediately.

Clearing my throat as I walk up to my office, I notice that Rev is standing on one side of the door, and another one of my men is standing on the other. He jerks his chin toward me, a smart-assed fucking smirk playing on his lips.

I’m ready to beat that look off his face, but right now, my focus needs to be on whoever the fuck is on the other side of that door.

“Shall we?” I ask.

Bugsy clears his throat, and I watch as Rev opens the door to my office. Stepping inside, I close the door behind me, and Bugsy locks it so nobody can get inside and see my bookshelf entrance.

Walking over to my safe, I reach for my gun and tuck it into the back of my jeans waistband. Then I turn my attention to Bugsy and jerk my chin in a silent signal for him to open the bookcase. He does, and we disappear behind the wall.

The room isn’t very big, and the man sitting in the middle of it, tied to a chair, doesn’t seem the least bit fazed to see men standing in front of him. I watch as his chin lifts and his eyes meet mine.

I don’t recognize him.

Then he smiles, and I tilt my head in confusion. Because what the fuck does he have to be smiling about? He’s literally tied to a chair, alone, in the middle of a concrete room. I don’t think it’s anything to be smiling about at fucking all.

“Want to tell me what the fuck you’re doing here?” I ask.

He chuckles. “You do not mince words, do you?”

“I’m not one for fanfare or wasting time. I have plenty of shit to do every single day to keep me busy. Playing games isn’t on that list.”

His eyes focus on mine. They connect to my own, and he speaks. When he does, he’s concise and to the point, which I appreciate. What I don’t appreciate are the words he’s spewing.

“James Bishop is not yours to have. She was not on that trailer, and I want her back. She has been bought and paid for, and her owner is waiting.”

Bugsy snorts behind me, but I ignore him. “And you think I have her?” I ask.

“I thought we weren’t playing games?” he asks.

“Fine. What is it to you? Really? Don’t you people have enough problems? At least that’s what I’ve been hearing.”

His eyes widen, and then he narrows them slightly before he lets out a growl. “It doesn’t matter. She’s mine.”

Ah.

And now he’s fucked up. Big time. I stand back, waiting for whatever it is he’s going to say. I have a feeling I’m not going to like it, not even for a fucking second. But if I speak, I’m going to show my whole-ass hand, so I impatiently wait for him instead.

What I don’t do is say a damn word. Nothing. This asshole is going to need to start talking. I cross my arms over my chest, plant my feet wide, and wait.

“James Bishop signed the contract, giving herself to the Southern Mafia for the rest of her life. I know it was you who stopped that truck and threatened the driver. I know it was you because he described you, but also, her whore of a mother was involved with you people.”

My lip twitches, not because he called Vixen a whore, but because he thinks that some underworld contract is going to hold up, especially since the Southern Mafia is known for breaking every goddamn contract they have signed with us.

“If I were you, and thank fuck I’m not because I wouldn’t be walking out of this room today, I would think about my words carefully.”

He grunts. “You want me to think about my words, but you’re telling me that I’m not walking out of here?”

“You’re not, but those words could save a family member or a friend, so I would think about them before I speak them.”

“She is not your bitch,” he barks. “Not. Yours.”

It’s cute that he’s emphasizing words, but at the same time, I don’t give a fuck. Not a single one.

“Who sent you?” I demand, knowing that his leader, the big man in charge, is dead. He may not know it yet, but I sure as shit do.

He looks down at his lap, then slowly lifts his gaze to meet mine. “She wasn’t on that truck,” he grinds out.

And it hits me. I should have realized when he said she was his that this is the fucker who bought her or she was given to. Nonetheless, he’s here to collect who he thinks of as his woman.

I got goddamn news for him.

“No, she wasn’t. You’re never going to see her. James didn’t know what she was signing. You took advantage, which I’m going to assume is part of the Southern Mafia’s MO. How many other girls didn’t realize what they were getting into before it was too late?” I ask.

He narrows his eyes on me, pressing his lips together, and refuses to answer. That’s fine. I don’t need his verbal response. I already know what they were doing. Sure, it was slightly better than what I did back in the day, which was actually kidnapping women. At least this way, they felt as if it was their choice.

But wrong is wrong, and this shit is wrong.

I breathe in deeply and hold it for a moment as I try to maintain my composure. He jerks his chin, his eyes narrowed on me and unwavering. He thinks he’s in the right, which makes this just as fucked up as what we did when the club was just getting started.

“Who sent you?” I demand.

“Fuck you.”

“I’ll give you one more shot, but I’m tired of this, and I have a warm, wet woman waiting for me upstairs. She’s a helluva lot more interesting than your ass.”

If fire could escape this man’s eyes, I know it would. Reaching behind me, I wrap my fingers around the handle of my gun and tug it out of my waistband. Holding it out, I aim it directly at his chest.

“Want to tell me?” I ask.

“Fuck you,” he repeats.

“No, fuck you and anyone you’re remotely associated with because they’re all going to die.”

I raise the gun from his chest, aim the barrel at his forehead, and pull the trigger.

JAMES

I’m not quite sure how long he was gone, but what feels like hours later, I hear the lock on the apartment door slowly unlatch, and then the door opens and he’s there. After he left earlier, I took a shower, got dressed in one of my new short pajama sets, sat down on the little mini couch, and flipped on the television.

There isn’t much to watch, and I make a mental note to ask Nash if he has a streaming service I can log into because if I have to be stuck here, then I’m at least going to need some background noise in the form of trashy television shows.

Turning my head, I watch as the door opens. I’m not sure how I expect him to look, but when Nash walks through the door, he appears no worse for wear. His gaze immediately swings to mine, and without a word, he closes and locks the door behind him, and then he sinks down on the couch next to me.

He doesn’t say anything before he reaches for the remote control and plucks it out of my hand. Then he stretches his arm across the back of the couch as he starts flicking the stations on the TV. This is some normal weeknight.

“Nash?” I hesitantly call out.

Slowly, he shifts his attention to me, his eyes connecting with mine. He arches a brow, waiting for me to continue, which I didn’t think I had to, but apparently, he wants me to say the words.

“What happened?” I ask.

He watches me for a moment, and I get the feeling he’s not going to tell me anything, or if he does, it’s not going to be everything, but then he surprises me and begins to speak. If this story isn’t everything, I’m not sure I want to know the parts he left out.

“I shot him in the head.”

I blink, frozen, unsure what to say or do. I am completely and totally motionless in shock. My lips are parted, my eyes wide. The only thing that’s moving are my eyelids that keep blinking.

Thankfully, he doesn’t leave me in this state for long. “I gave him plenty of opportunities to deliver the information I requested. When it became clear to me that he not only wasn’t going to deliver that information but that he was also going to be a danger to you, I had no other choice.”

“A danger to me?” I ask in a whisper.

I can’t help thinking about that man at the convenience store and the way Nash shot him in the forehead like he was nothing more than a nuisance. A bug he needed to squish beneath his boot heel.

“A danger to you. He clearly thought you were his possession, and he wasn’t going to walk away.”

My tongue peeks out before I slide it across my bottom lip to wet it. Suddenly, every part of my insides feels dry. Then I start to feel like I’m heating up from the inside out. I know that if I touch my hands to my face, it would be hot.

“What do you mean he thought that I was his possession?” I ask, although I do so hesitantly.

Nash tosses the remote control onto the coffee table a foot away and turns to face me. He cups my cheek, then his other hand that is resting against the back of the sofa lifts, and I feel his fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of my neck—which I freaking love.

With both of his hands on me like this, I feel cocooned. With his blue eyes connected to my own, I feel safe. This is a man who will never let anything happen to me. He is, without a doubt, going to protect the hell out of me. He’s already proven himself—twice.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, “I’m pretty sure he was the man who was going to take you when you were delivered. When you weren’t on the truck, he came looking.”

I didn’t consider they would already have had someone for me. Originally, I assumed it was going to be some fancy businessman somewhere who wanted arm candy. I pretty much figured out that it wasn’t going to be that before I climbed into that truck, but still.

“Does this mean it’s done, then?” My heart slams against my chest at the thought of this being finished. I don’t want this to be done. I don’t want him to let me go. Even if I had somewhere to go, I’d want to be with him.

“No, it doesn’t. If he knows where you are, then others do, too.”

Oh god.

“Does that mean you’re sending me away?” I ask in horror.

“Yeah,” he grunts, and I know that I look as terrified as I immediately feel because he shakes his head and starts talking a little faster. “But not away from me, just away from here. You’re better protected at the clubhouse.”

My nose wrinkles.

I may not know all the terms and lingo here in Bikerland, USA , but I remember where my bio mom lived and visiting her at the clubhouse a few times. It’s still weird thinking of her as my mother and not my sister. I’m not sure I’ll ever be comfortable with any of that, even inside of my own head.

“The only other place I could put you aside from here or there is my personal home, but there isn’t security there. You wouldn’t be as protected.”

I want to go to his house for the sole purpose of seeing his space, of becoming part of it in a way where he can’t imagine me not being there. I’m seriously obsessed with this man, and I don’t completely understand why.

Sure, he saved me, but he’s never made any grandiose promises to me or any promises at all. He’s hot as hell, and I’m pretty sure he could make me come with just the right look. But those qualities don’t equate to obsession. There’s more to it than climaxes and safety. I just don’t know what yet. But I want to find out.