Filthy Devil (Dark Horse MC #6)

Chapter 25

CHAPTER

TWENTY-FIVE

NASH

King waits for me at the exit of the hospital in a big SUV. I look at James and smirk. “This the one you stole?” I ask. I hear her breath hitch from beside me. But she doesn’t answer me, which means this is the one she stole.

Chuckling, I grunt as I climb into the back of the car. I don’t know if I’m in more pain because of the surgery or if it’s because I’m fucking old, and everything hurts ten times worse than it did a few years ago.

Once we’re in the car and King pulls out of the drive, I lift my hand and flip the building off. The staff was fine, the doctors were okay, but the nurses were better. I just hope that I never have to go back there.

“Dad,” King grumbles.

“Hate being locked up in there. Also hate that I won’t be able to ride my bike for a few more weeks.”

There is a moment of silence, and then King pulls up to a drive-through coffee place. “You want something?” he asks, looking at me through the rearview mirror.

I shake my head. I don’t want coffee. I want a bottle of Crown, a joint, and an orgasm. In no particular order. I have no fucking desire for a designer coffee. King laughs as if he already knew my answer, but then he turns to James.

“You want something?” he asks. “I know Shawn’s order by heart.”

With a smirk, I chuckle to myself because if anyone knows their wife's coffee order, it’s my son. I’ve never been prouder of him than I am when he’s being a husband and father. Sure, he’s a good man and a great brother in the club, but that doesn’t compare to him being a father and husband.

I only hope I can be half of what he is to James.

James orders something, but I don’t hear her. I’m already failing at being a decent man to her. King repeats her order, then rattles off something else, and a few moments later, we have two drinks that look more like dessert than coffee, and we’re on the way home.

When we pull up into my driveway, I look at the house. It’s been a while since I’ve been here. I hope I didn’t leave it a fucking disaster for them. King shifts the SUV into Park , then looks over his shoulder at me.

“You ready to go home, Dad?” he asks.

I think about his words. There is more to his question than he’s saying. Pineville isn’t my home anymore, but maybe it could be. I’m not sure if I could go back there and not be president of my own club. I’m a leader. I’ve been a leader for my entire adult life.

“For now, I’m ready to go to this home,” I say, leaving it open.

James doesn’t say anything. She opens her door, then tugs my own open. She holds out her hand for me, and I slip my palm into hers, even if it makes me seem weak. Squeezing her hand, I walk beside her like an old man. Because right now, that’s what I am.

King calls out for Shawn as soon as we walk through the front door. The first thing I notice when we walk into the living room is the smell. I know for a fact that my house didn’t smell like Fruit Loops cereal when I left it a few weeks ago.

Shawn walks into the room with a smile on her face that widens when she notices the coffee in King’s hand. She rushes toward him, giving him a kiss on the lips as she reaches for the cup. Then her eyes swing to meet mine.

“The house smells like Fruit Loops because I bought an all-natural beeswax candle from this organic company that makes amazing candles. This is their Fruit Loop one, and it’s my favorite.”

I chuckle with a moan. “Whatever you want to do, babe, you do it. I think you’ve stayed here more than I have.”

James gently tugs on my arm, guiding me over to a leather recliner. It was the first thing I bought when I moved here. I grunt, pinching my eyes closed as I sink down into the cushion.

“Are you okay? What do you need?” James asks.

Lifting my hand, I wave her away. “I’m good, sweetheart. Go and get settled in the bedroom.”

She dips her chin and takes a step backward, but she doesn’t go very far. Instead, she clears her throat and sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, watching me from beneath her lashes. I open my mouth to ask her what’s wrong when two tiny tornados come buzzing into the room, each holding a matchbox car and each clearly racing toward the finish line.

I smile at the sight of them, then flick my attention up to James, who is looking at them and smiling as well. I can’t read her expression, but when she flicks her gaze to meet mine, there is something working behind her eyes.

“You want your own?” I ask, speaking of the conversation we had earlier about kids.

Her eyes search my face, and I watch her, waiting for her answer but already knowing it. I’m sure that sounds crazy as fuck since I don’t know her very well, but I can tell she’s made a decision.

“A whole houseful,” she whispers.

Yeah, that’s exactly what I fucking thought. She seems scared to fucking death, her body trembling slightly as she watches me.

“Then a whole houseful is what I’ll aim to give you, sweetheart. As long as you know that I won’t be here to hold their children.”

Tears fill her eyes, but they don’t fall. Instead, she makes her way toward me and then stops right in front of me. I feel her fingers touch my forearm. Then she lets out a heavy sigh before she speaks.

“I never want to hear you say anything like that ever again, Nashville,” she grinds out. I don’t know how she figured out my full first name, but I must admit, in her anger, it’s hot as hell. “We make babies together, and you better be there until they’re married and have babies of their own. Right by my side.”

I don’t tell her that the reality of that is probably never going to happen. Instead, I give her a smile. She bends slightly and touches her lips to mine. Our decision made. Even if we both know that I won’t be there to see my grandchildren come into the world, we’re going to have a whole houseful of happiness.

“A whole fucking houseful,” I murmur.

JAMES

Nash goes to bed to rest after his painkillers kick in, and I’m left alone with Elvis, Shawn, and the two boys. The boys are busy occupying themselves, switching between games on their iPads and playing cars with one another.

But Elvis and Shawn aren’t busy. In fact, they decide to get to know me better. And in that getting to know me, they start asking me questions that I don’t really want to answer. However, I notice that they don’t ask me anything about my birth mother or father.

“So you know who my real parents are?” I ask.

Elvis smirks, leaning back in the dining room chair. His blue eyes, which are so similar to his father's, search mine. Then he jerks his chin in a single nod. “Yeah,” he says, “I do. I didn’t know they were your parents until recently, but I knew who they were.”

“Then you know that this is probably a mistake, me and Nash,” I murmur.

This causes Elvis’s smirk to vanish. I don’t focus on that. Instead, I continue speaking, mainly because I can’t stop. I don’t want him to think that I’m going to use and lose Nash.

I’m not.

We’ve already had the me leaving and manipulating conversation ad nauseam. I’m staying beside him and hopefully building a life with him. That’s not what this is about. That conversation is a moot point.

“I’m not going anywhere because I love him. But I know that my presence and who I am are an issue.”

Elvis shakes his head once then leans forward, placing his palms flat on the table, and as I look at his strong fingers, I realize there is a lot more than his eyes that match his father’s. They have the same hands, too. I hope that my sons’ look exactly like them.

“James,” he begins, “if he thought you being an old lady was going to be an issue, he would not have made you one. It’s as simple as that. You’re family. You’ve been family. And that’s just the way it fuckin’ is.”

Shawn exhales a deep breath then stands from the table. “Welp,” she quips, “one big happy family. I bet you could use some food.”

Just thinking about food causes my stomach to grumble, but I have a whole other issue aside from food, too… I have nothing to wear, and I haven’t showered in two days. But I suppose food is first, and when my stomach makes another noise, it tells me that is exactly what I need.

“Let me help,” I say as I start to stand.

She shakes her head, her smile so freaking pretty that it’s contagious. “You’ve been at that hospital for two days. Go ahead and take a nice long relaxing shower, and by the time you’re done, it’ll be ready.”

Slipping my tongue out, I wet my bottom lip as I stand to my feet, then I begin to move toward the master bedroom, where Nash is sleeping. As I reach for the handle of the door, Shawn calls out my name.

I look over my shoulder at her. Her eyes find mine, her kind smile still in place. “I bought you some necessities. I know everything you had was lost in the fire. They’re in the bathroom.”

My heart fills to almost bursting as I watch her for a moment in silence. Really, I’m just trying to gather my composure so that I don’t burst into tears. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I blink the tears away and give her a shaky smile of my own.

“Thank you, Shawn… so much.”

She winks. “What’s family for?” she asks.

I’m not sure what else to say, and thankfully, she doesn’t wait for even a second longer. She turns and moves toward the kitchen. I flick my attention toward Elvis. He is grinning like a fool, which makes my shaky smirk turn into a smile.

Breaking eye contact with him, I push the bedroom door open just enough for me to slip inside. When I close the door behind me, I stand in place, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room.

Trying to be as quiet as possible, I move toward the bathroom, closing the door behind me before I turn on the light. I take a moment to take in the space around me and suck in a breath at the sight of this bathroom.

It’s gorgeous.

There is a freestanding tub inside of the shower— inside . The tile is also amazing. It’s all white with gray marbling, and a deep, dark-gray grout brings it all together perfectly.

The floor in the shower is black tile with black grout, and the vanity is another showstopper. A dark-gray cabinet with a white solid surface that is cool to the touch, so I assume it’s a type of rock or granite. It’s stunning, with square sinks and black faucets. The mirror is framed in thick black.

I love absolutely everything about this space. I want to know what the rest of the house looks like. I didn’t pay attention earlier, and I wish I had, but I was too focused on the conversation and on Nash.

I move toward the shower, and my eyes catch five bags on the floor. There are three plastic bags from a superstore and then two department store paper bags with thick black handles.

Sinking down to my knees, I start to go through the bags, and tears instantly prick the backs of my eyes. There are toiletries in the plastic bags, but in the paper ones, there are clothes. Panties, leggings, shirts, and even pajama shorts. Shawn definitely needs a hug, a big one, because she really did the most here. I am beyond grateful because she didn’t have to.

And that’s when it hits me.

None of these people had to do anything.

Nash didn’t have to rescue me. He didn’t have to be nice to me or treat me any kind of way at all. He didn’t have to care about me. Tommy G didn’t have to talk to me when I was equally bored and scared out of my mind.

Elvis and Shawn didn’t have to be nice to me in any capacity. I’m a twenty-year-old girl dating Elvis’s fifty-six-year-old father. They could have been horrible to me from the jump, but all they’ve ever done is ask questions and show concern.

And the list goes on.

I am where I belong. I am with who I belong with.

I am exactly where I was always meant to be.

And I accept it all—happily.