Filthy Devil (Dark Horse MC #6)

Chapter 21

CHAPTER

TWENTY-ONE

JAMES

Listening to the man on the other end of the phone rattle off an address, I make a decision. One that I absolutely should not make, but I do it anyway, because I’m desperate as hell. There is no way I’m going to let anything happen to Nash or anyone in this building.

Especially not Nash’s son, daughter-in-law, or grandsons.

Tommy G leaves his phone on the corner of the bar at all times, and I know it’s not passcode protected because he went on a ten-minute rant about that not long ago. He didn’t want the government to have an image of his face, and he didn’t want them to know any numbers he would use.

It was a hilarious rant, but now it’s a helpful one. Moving swiftly through the bar, I walk by Tommy G and slide my hand across the edge, taking his phone with me and shoving it in my pocket. I also know from watching these guys get in and out of the vehicles around here that they just leave the keys in the visor.

I walk out of the back of the clubhouse bar and head straight for the SUV Bugsy and Rev drove to the strip club. Climbing inside, I tip the visor down and smile at the sight of the keys that land in my lap.

It’s at this exact moment that I realize I’m missing something. A weapon. There is no way I can walk into that room with nothing and expect to free Nash. I don’t believe he’s just going to let Nash walk out of there if I hand myself over to him.

Reaching for the center console, I lift the lid and move some papers around, then find exactly what I am looking for. Not only is there a knife in a sheath, but there is also a handgun.

I don’t know what I’m doing, but I’m going to figure it out on the way. There is no way I’m just going to let something happen to Nash or anyone else who he loves.

This shit is my fault, and I’m going to fix it.

Starting the SUV, I shift it into Reverse, immediately pressing my foot against the gas pedal, and then slam the shift into Drive and go. Opening up the maps app on Tommy G’s phone while driving too fucking fast with my knees, I type in the address.

I’m only about forty-five minutes away. I don’t even know if I have enough gas to make it there, and I don’t care. I’m going to go for it and get to Nash before they get him. And before they get to anyone he loves.

Hopefully, before anyone at the clubhouse realizes I’m gone, I’ll already be in Brownsville and have this situation handled. So I drive, my hands shaking, my body trembling, and my foot firmly pressed on the gas, going as fast as I possibly can without getting noticed by the police.

When I hit the city limit sign, I let out a heavy sigh. I’m relieved, but only because it doesn’t seem like they’re following me yet. I will have at least a little bit of a head start before they arrive, and hopefully, by then, I’ll be gone, and Nash will be safe.

The GPS takes me to the outskirts of town, where it is mostly commercial buildings. Then it tells me to turn right and that I’ve arrived at my destination. Parking the SUV in front of a metal warehouse, I stare at the small door to the right.

I’m not sure what I’m going to find inside, how many people, or what kind of hell awaits me, but I don’t care. What I care about is Nash, and I choose to keep him at the forefront of my thoughts.

Grabbing the gun from the center console, I shove it in the back of my pants and hope on all things holy that I don’t shoot myself. Leaving Tommy G’s phone and the keys in the SUV, just in case Nash can get out and run like hell, I climb out of the car and head for that small door.

It feels like I’m on my way to my own death, and in a way, I am. But I’m not going to go down without a damn fight. And fight I will—for Nash. I will fight to my death so that he can live. I don’t care how dramatic that is because life and death are dramatic as hell.

Reaching for the knob, I twist it slowly and pray like hell that what awaits me isn’t some massive ambush. Thankfully, it isn’t. I walk into the building. The lights are on, making it brighter than I imagined.

The middle of the room holds a single chair with Nash tied to it and a man who I don’t recognize standing beside him. His gaze is predatory, almost as if he’s frothing at the mouth with excitement and anticipation.

I am, too, but in a different way.

I’ve never been into violence. However, I want this asshole dead. He has my man, the man who has not only taken care of me but made me fall for him. He didn’t have to take care of me the way he did. All he was tasked to do was protect me. I’ve fallen completely in love with him, and there is no way in hell I’m going to let my mistake hurt him.

“No entourage?” the stranger asks.

Jerking my chin up, I look down my nose at him. “Just me. Now let Nash go, like you said.”

I know this asshole is going to go back on his word. He just wanted to have his cake and eat it, too. He smirks, clears his throat, then takes a step toward me. But only one. I hold my body tightly, my muscles tense, and I am ready to grab the gun at my back and try to kill this asshole.

“I’ll let him go,” he purrs.

Again, I don’t believe a word he’s saying.

“Then let him go,” I demand.

“Strip,” he barks.

Flicking my gaze from his to Nash’s, I watch as his face turns bright red. His jaw is clenched, and I can see a muscle twitch in his cheek. The last thing I want to do is strip, and not just because I don’t want this asshole to see any part of me, but also because this gun in the back of my waistband would fall out onto the ground.

“Let Nash go,” I say, doubling down.

He tilts his head to the side, his eyes searching mine. I want to look at Nash. I want to watch him.

“No,” he barks. “I don’t think I’ll do that. Not until you strip. You’re mine now.”

Shaking my head from side to side, I reach one hand behind me while with the other, I start to lift up my shirt, exposing my stomach. Nash growls, and I wish I could look at him, that I could give him a signal or something that I have a plan.

Then, the next few things happen so fast that I don’t realize what is actually going on around me. I feel as though I’m in slow motion even though I know I’m moving quickly, and so is this stranger.

He pulls out a knife, and I take out the gun. I know that I fumble, my entire body is trembling, and I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. He makes a move toward me, and I pull back the slide part of the gun, then release it. At the same time, the stranger turns and jerks his arm toward Nash.

Then I hear Nash cry out. I’m no longer trembling with fear. Something snaps inside of me, and I pull the trigger.

Once, twice, three times.

I watch the stranger, the asshole, fall to the ground with a thud. Then, as if I’m running on instinct only, I rush toward Nash. He doesn’t say anything. He’s slumped slightly, with blood trickling down his T-shirt at the side.

The adrenaline that flows through me enough to steady my hand so I was able to shoot the stranger in front of me dissipates as tears begin to stream down my cheeks and my entire body begins to tremble again.

NASH

A beeping sound is what startles me first, then the smell hits me, and I inhale a deep breath through my nose as I open my eyes. I’m in a hospital. Not just in a hospital, but in a fucking hospital bed.

“Oh, you’re awake,” a voice calls out.

Turning my head, I look over to see Shawn sitting on the sofa across the room from me. She smiles as she rises to her feet and makes her way over to me. Frowning, I shift my gaze around the room, wondering where James is.

Shawn sinks down on a chair beside my bed, clearing her throat as she reaches out and wraps her fingers around mine. She squeezes me gently, then leans forward slightly. Her eyes are on mine, her smile still in place, and then she speaks.

“James is safe. You’re okay. You had to be stitched up. We had to do some fast talking when we brought you here, but she couldn’t come in covered in blood like that.”

“Tell me what happened,” I demand, although it sounds like a weak-as-fuck demand considering my voice is all fucked up and scratchy.

Shawn stands, her hand falling from mine. I watch as she turns her back to me and walks over to the window. She opens the blinds, letting the sunlight in. Slowly, she turns around to face me, crossing her arms over her chest as she watches me for a moment.

“You were stabbed. Of course, the rest is Dark Horse business, so I don’t know anything else.”

I snort, then moan because that shit hurt my side. Shawn isn’t stupid. She knows a hell of a lot, which is about club business, too. She’d never admit that, though, not to me or anyone else. She’s a great old lady. She’s who I would have chosen for King if I had a say in it. Which I didn’t, but I’m happy as fuck they found one another.

“Of course, it is. Club business. Where’s Elvis?” I ask.

She presses her lips together, rolling them a few times before she pushes away from the window and walks back over to me. She stops at the foot of my bed, tipping her chin slightly as her gaze takes in mine.

“He’s at the clubhouse,” she whispers, her tone low, her eyes focused on mine and looking nowhere else but at me. Sucking in a deep breath, she holds it for a moment and lets it out slowly.

“What aren’t you telling me, Shawn?”

She doesn’t speak right away, and since I know she isn’t an overly dramatic person, I am, without a doubt, sure that this is something bigger than I realize or maybe bigger than I want to know.

“Shawn,” I demand.

Shawn flicks her gaze down at the bed, then lifts it to meet mine again. “The clubhouse was attacked,” she whispers.

“Mine?” I demand.

She nods her head once. “A stripper’s body was dumped at the entrance to the clubhouse. We didn’t find her until everyone was running out to find James, who had stolen an SUV and Tommy G’s phone, to go rogue and find you.”

Shit.

“And the clubhouse?” I ask.

“While we were dealing with the stripper, a group of guys ran off to track down James. A fire was started.”

“A fire?” I ask. “The kids?” I demand.

She smiles softly, reaching for my hand. She wraps her fingers around it gently and squeezes. “The kids are good,” she assures me. “Everyone made it out. But then James found you, and there are still pieces scattered all over that everyone is trying to pick up and deal with.”

“The Southern fucking Mafia,” I grind out.

“Basically,” a deep voice growls.

Turning my attention toward the door, I watch as my son walks through, my grandchildren at his sides. Together, the three of them walk into the room. The kids’ eyes are wide as they stare at me. They look scared as shit.

“Dad,” Elvis murmurs.

And in this moment, my whole fucking world implodes. I am too goddamn old for this shit. Wars and killing. This is why I left it all to the younger generation. I am exhausted. Pushing myself up to a seated position, I can’t take my eyes off my son.

“End this,” I rasp. “We need to end this now.”

Elvis jerks his chin. “We’re already working on it. Southern Mafia and Demon Guns were at war with one another, leaving us alone for the most part except for this. This shit is all retaliation because they think we took what belonged to them. But James was always ours. Vixen’s kid was always under the club’s protection.”

“What happens now?” I ask. “Don’t pussyfoot around this shit, Elvis. Enough is e-fucking-nough.”

“Agreed. I’m done. We have a list of their bases. And I’ve already sent men out to them. They like to start fires. We’ll set bombs.”

“Good boy,” I mutter.

“Dad?” he asks. I don’t say anything in response. I jerk my chin slightly as I wait. He clears his throat and then continues. “We want you to come back to Pineville.”

“Pineville?” I ask. “I’m good here.”

“We don’t like you being so far away,” Shawn whispers. “This whole thing was scary.”

I almost laugh, but I can’t because I really do look like a fucking old man in this bed, so there’s nothing I can say about that shit. I snort, then focus my attention on my son.

“I’m okay,” I say. “When this is done, I’m going to focus on the strip club, and maybe the Dark Horse can stay out of trouble for maybe five whole minutes?”

He chuckles. “Let’s fucking hope. But, Dad?” he calls out, his voice low and his tone serious. “Just know we want you back in Pineville.”

“When I’m old as fucking dirt and can’t wipe my own ass, I’ll come back and move into one of those old folks homes. But for now, I’m not even sixty, so I’ll be staying right here.”

“Fair enough,” he snorts.