Filthy Devil (Dark Horse MC #6)

Chapter 22

CHAPTER

TWENTY-TWO

JAMES

Standing outside of the clubhouse, I stare at the rubble. It’s still smoking, even though the fire department has left. Tommy G stands next to me in silence, no doubt wishing he had a beer right about now.

Everything I had is gone again. I wonder if this is a sign that I need to leave. The fact that I had to kill someone and didn't even feel the least bit guilty. In fact, if I could do it again, I would do it without hesitation.

Nash is okay. He’s alive, and that was my goal. “This ain’t your fault, babe,” Tommy G mutters. “May feel like your fault. May seem like your fault, but it ain’t.”

He’s right, but then again, he’s not. This is my fault. It seems like my fault because it is. I wish I were with Nash right now instead of standing in front of this smoking place, but he needs his family around him. Not some dumb girl he was screwing.

“I guess I don’t need protecting anymore,” I mutter.

Tommy G snorts. “I would say you’re a prime target now.”

I turn my head to look at him. He’s still staring at the smoldering building. Looking at his profile, I inhale a deep breath and hold it for a moment before I exhale slowly. “I don’t want anyone else to get hurt,” I whisper.

He grunts. “Then you better not run, babe.” It’s like he can read my mind, especially when he finishes his thought with a single word. “Again.”

Shifting my weight from foot to foot, I wonder how I’m going to get away from all of this without anything else catastrophic happening. Before I can say anything, although I’m not sure what I’m going to say exactly, Bugsy makes his way up to me.

“We’re all going to the hospital.”

I flick my gaze down to my feet, then slowly lift it up to meet his as he stands across from me. He’s not smiling, and I don’t blame him. The men who came with King have left, along with most of the men from here, to go and attack the Southern Mafia.

Really, there is no reason for anyone to stay here because this whole place is gone. A pile of rubble. The people who didn’t go on the whole Southern Mafia hunting party are milling around, like me, dazed that everything is gone.

“Okay,” I whisper.

“So get your ass movin’, babe.”

Turning to look at him, I shake my head slowly. “I’m not going.”

He snorts then leans forward and reaches out, wrapping his fingers loosely around my bicep. He jerks me slightly, but not enough to hurt me. His gaze is focused, his expression serious.

“You’re going with us because this shit isn’t on you, babe. There is no way in fuck I’m going to show up at the hospital without Nash’s woman in tow.”

Shaking my head, I take a step backward, but he jerks me forward again. “Bugsy. This is my fault. Someone could have died,” I whisper. “Someone did.”

He snorts. “Someone who betrayed the club, and then someone who was going to kill Nash and take you. Neither of those people have earned even an ounce of anyone’s sympathy.”

I don’t argue with him, mainly because he doesn’t let me. Instead, he snorts as he tugs me behind him and walks straight toward a pickup truck. I recognize the truck. It’s Nash’s. I open my mouth to ask him why we’re taking this vehicle.

“Everyone else is going straight to the hospital. We are stopping by a store because you cannot go in there still covered in blood.”

I’d forgotten about that part. I’m still covered in dried blood, mainly because by the time I came to the clubhouse, everything I owned was up in flames. Well, owned is a bit of a stretch because everything I had, Nash had bought for me.

So, everything that Nash bought for me was in flames.

“We’ll run to the store, and I’ll grab you something. You can’t go in there dressed like that, either.”

Climbing into the pickup truck, I stare out the windshield and wonder what tomorrow will bring. I would have never imagined that this is how today would have gone. Not even when I was driving toward Nash did I think that things would go this badly.

After the hospital, I don’t know if I’m going to have a place to go. I have no doubt that King and Shawn hate everything about me. At least I know that Nash is alive and safe, but all of this is my fault.

Bugsy tells me to stay put as he parks in a spot near the front door of a department store. Twisting my fingers together in my lap, I try not to think about what is going to happen. I hate this. I never wanted anyone to get hurt.

And yet, that’s what keeps happening.

Flicking my gaze to the door handle, I imagine running my fingers over the cool metal, considering opening it, but then I decide against it because where would I go? And I’m pretty sure no matter where I went, the Southern Mafia would find me. And destroy me as a whole. I don’t think I want to even imagine any of the things they would do to me.

So I stay where I am.

And a few moments later, Bugsy appears and tosses a pair of sweatpants and a solid black T-shirt with a deep V at me. I’m not mad at any of it. Instead of trying to find a bathroom to change in, I put my clothes on in the passenger seat as we head the few blocks toward the hospital.

Bugsy parks in a spot at the back of the parking lot but doesn’t make an immediate move to get out of the pickup. Instead, he turns up a song on the radio. I take in the tune.

It’s “Hotel California .”

And then it hits me. I’m living this song. Checking out and never leaving. I could check the hell out of this world, but I can never leave. I was born into this without even knowing. I am part of this world, and I can never leave. Even if I tried, it could never leave me. It is who I am, inside and out.

I need to come to terms with that and accept it.

No matter how hard my grandparents tried to keep it from me, this is who I am. And I need to make the best of it. I just hope that Nash doesn’t want to get rid of me because I’m too much drama. Because I can’t imagine being passed off to anyone other than Nash.

He is the man I want to belong to—the man I love.

NASH

I’m not sure how much time has passed. It’s been too damn long, and she isn’t here yet. This is beyond James changing into some clean clothes. I can’t help but wonder what the hell is going on.

“Elvis, where is James?” I ask after Shawn and the kids have slipped from the room to get something to eat.

“She’ll be here. But, Dad?” he asks.

I have a feeling he’s going to tell me to scrape her off. But I have no plans on doing that at all whatsoever. Because that woman is mine, and she ain’t going any-damn-where. The only place she’s going is right into my house, in my bed. That is where she belongs. Nowhere else.

“Do I want to hear what you’re going to say?” I ask.

He chuckles. “Probably not, but I’m gonna say it because I give a fuck about you.”

I know that my son gives a fuck about me. I might not have raised him the way I should have. I might not have been the father he needed when he was young. I hate myself for it, and I regret it more than anything else in my life. I thought I was doing the right thing by staying away, but it was the worst fucking thing I could have done.

But when Elvis says that he gives a fuck about me, I know it is genuine and comes from deep down inside his soul. Whatever he’s about to say, I may not agree with it, but I’m going to give him the respect of hearing him out.

“I like James. I like her more than I thought I would. But that doesn’t mean I think what’s going on is right.”

“Why?” I ask.

He shakes his head, lifting his hand to wrap his fingers around the back of his neck. I know he’s massaging his neck to relieve the tension there. If my side didn’t hurt so fucking badly, I might chuckle because it’s clear he does not want me asking why.

“She’s too young. She doesn’t know who the fuck she is, and I’m afraid she’s going to hurt you. This whole thing isn’t like a typical relationship. When the dust settles, she’s going to run.”

Clearing my throat, I stare at him for a moment. I know he cares. I know that if Bugsy were in this bed and he was fucking James, I would say the same shit. I also know that when I say the next few words, they’re going to sound so fucking stupid because if I were listening to this shit from the outside looking in, I would think it was stupid.

“I know she’s too young for me. I’m not some dumbass old man star-struck that some young piece of ass gave him the time of day. I could get a young piece of ass anywhere, Elvis. You, of all people, know that, yeah?”

“She’s almost forty years younger than you,” Elvis needlessly points out. “You gonna give her babies?”

I press my lips together as I think about how to answer this question. I don’t know what I’m going to say. I haven’t had a conversation about kids with James. I could have one or two if she wanted them.

My grandkids would be older, which is unbelievable. But if that’s what James wanted, if she said that she needed a baby, I’d give it to her. Hell, I’ve fallen for her so damn hard that I would probably give her just about anything she asked me for.

Just when I open my mouth to tell him that I got this shit under control and for him not to worry about his old man’s love life or dick, the hospital door opens, and there stands the subject of the hour.

James is wearing sweatpants and a baggy T-shirt. Her hair is up, and her face is makeup-free. She looks fucking perfect. She only takes one step inside the room, her eyes connecting to mine before she freezes.

“I’m okay,” I murmur.

She shakes her head and lifts her hands to her mouth, and then I watch as tears begin to stream down her cheeks. It’s as if a switch has been flipped. Whatever shock she was in, it’s done now because her knees begin to buckle. Bugsy slips his hands beneath her armpits to keep her from hitting the floor.

Elvis doesn’t move, though. He observes, his eyes focused on James. Once she straightens and wipes her eyes, she begins to move toward the side of my bed. She sinks down next to my hip, reaches one arm out, and her palm cups my cheek.

“I’m okay,” I repeat.

“I thought you were dead,” she whispers, her eyes searching mine. “He had that knife, and I couldn’t even see, let alone think. I pulled the trigger, and I didn’t stop until he wasn’t moving anymore. Thank god you’re alive,” she whispers.

“I’m alive, sweetheart. Can’t get rid of me that quickly.”

With her hand on my cheek, a fresh flow of tears slips from her eyes and rolls down her cheeks, and then she leans forward as if she can’t hold herself up for another moment, her forehead pressing against mine.

I hear a door open and then close in the background. I know we’re alone. If my son doesn’t believe that this is real right now, then he never will. But I know him. He’s a good man, and he’s going to be cool with it all, no matter what—because he supports me.

I wrap my arms around her back and hold her close to me. James is gentle. She doesn’t press against me too hard, even though I want her to. I want to feel her body against my own— naked .