Filthy Devil (Dark Horse MC #6)

Chapter 30

CHAPTER

THIRTY

NASH

Sitting around the table of the strip club, I look at the men. I’ve already shown them the plans for the new clubhouse, and I can tell they’re as fucking pumped about it as I am. I don’t blame them.

I think about telling them that I’ll be leaving, but I decide against it. Instead, I continue to listen to them speak excitedly about the whole process. Watching them, I can do nothing but smile. I’m not sure what to say, how to tell them that once the clubhouse is up, I’ll be gone.

It’s an odd sensation. Building something while knowing that I won’t be part of it after it’s finished. I’ve always been able to enjoy the spoils of my hard work. This will be a first, and I’m not sad about it—it’s just odd.

When we’re finished with our meeting, and I’m done with all my paperwork at the club, I head out of the building and toward my bike. My legs move slowly. I’m still not at one hundred percent since my stabbing. Climbing on my bike, I look around for a moment and smirk.

I love this club.

The strip club started out as a passion project. Something to keep us busy when the MC didn’t really need us for daily operations anymore. I worked hard to make it happen more than once.

But it’s not what I want for my future any longer. It’s not what I want for my life with James, for our children. Because I do plan on having those with her, a whole fucking houseful. And I imagine an already old-as-fuck father who owns a strip club probably isn’t the best. And I want everything that is the absolute best.

I ride toward home, pull into the driveway, and kill my engine when I hear a noise. Looking over my shoulder, I watch as a man approaches. I assume he’s exited the blacked-out Beemer across the street.

He’s dressed in a suit, his eyes focused on mine and nowhere else. He is ready for something, but I’m just not sure what.

Interesting.

Climbing off my bike, I turn to face him. Planting my feet wide, I cross my arms over my chest and look down my nose as he approaches. I don’t know who the fuck he is or who he thinks he is, but he’s got Southern Mafia written all over him. I find it comical that he thought this was the place to come.

That he felt safe walking up to my house—to me.

“Nash Stanley?” he asks.

Jerking my chin in his direction, I clear my throat. He knows exactly who the fuck I am. I don’t say a single fucking word, though. I don’t have anything to say, and he’s lucky that I don’t already have my gun out and I’m not filling his body with lead. Because honest to fuck, I’m about fucking sick of this shit in general.

“I’m here because we want to strike a deal.”

“ We ?” I ask.

He hums, moving forward a few more steps, getting much closer than I fucking like before he continues.

“We,” he confirms.

I almost laugh in his face but then decide against it. He thinks he is, without a doubt, telling me something fucking special. Nothing about him or what he has to say to me means shit. If he disappeared from the earth, if he vanished in front of me right this second, I wouldn’t give the slightest fuck.

“The Southern Mafia,” he says.

I knew that was exactly who he was. So I don’t act surprised, mainly because I’m not. But I wanted to hear him say it to me. I wanted to hear it come out of his mouth. I had to fucking hear it.

I take half of a step toward him, then I stop. Keeping my arms over my chest, I place my feet wide as I begin to speak. And when I do, it’s a wonder that he doesn’t kill me where I stand because I do not hold back. Not in the goddamn slightest.

“You’re here, saying that shit to me like it’s supposed to mean something. I don’t give a fucking shit about you or the Southern Mafia. In fact, I should fucking kill you where you stand. I don’t give a fuck about you or your organization. Get in your little fucking car and drive right the hell out of town.”

He doesn’t even flinch at my words. Instead, his lips curve up into a smirk. “I thought you might say something like that,” he says with a laugh.

“And you came anyway?” I ask. “Why didn’t you come to my clubhouse?”

I know as well as he does that the clubhouse is burned the fuck down, but I want to hear him say it. Because his organization is the goddamn group that did it. I want to hear him say it. I want to hear the fucking words come out of his mouth. I feel like I’m owed at least that much.

But he doesn’t.

He pins me with a single look, then shifts his gaze to the side and clears his throat. “The leaders of Southern Mafia have changed. We are not the ones who initiated it, so I think it’s time we settle whatever this is so we can all go on with our lives.”

“No,” I say.

“No?”

“Exactly that. Nope.”

He has the audacity to appear surprised by my words. I don’t give a fuck. Seriously, I don’t give an ounce of a fuck. Not the slightest one.

“Get in your fucking car, drive away, and pretend I don’t fucking exist.”

“The target on her head will not go away unless this is dealt with, Nashville.”

He uses my full name, and I can’t deny that it pisses me off. I hate that he knows it, let alone uses it. I press my lips together as I watch him. He’s completely fucking serious, and I know it should be scary, but it doesn’t frighten me in the slightest.

These pencil-dicked motherfuckers can shove it up their asses.

“Soon, there won’t be any of you left, so it won’t fucking matter,” I snap.

He stares at me for a moment, blinking a few times, then clears his throat. “You think that, and I probably would, too. But know that even if you think we’re gone, we aren’t, and whoever is left will come for her.”

“Why?” I demand. “Why James?”

“It’s past anything other than principle at this point, Nashville.”

His words send a chill down my spine, but I don’t let him see that. Instead, I stare at him with the blankest expression that I can muster, then I speak.

“Forgive me if I don’t trust your deals. The Southern Mafia has not proven themselves trustworthy when it comes to deals with the Dark Horse. So unless you have anything else to add, I’m going to let my club continue to pummel the absolute shit out of you all.”

He doesn’t say anything right away, but then something happens. I hear the front door open and close behind me. My heart starts beating rapidly, and I watch as his gaze shifts from mine and flicks over my shoulder.

I know exactly what is happening.

James is walking up behind me.

Her hand touches the center of my back as she stops at my side. Then she speaks. Her voice is even and calm, but I know her, and I know she’s scared because she clocked this motherfucker before she even opened that front door.

JAMES

Chewing on my bottom lip, I tug a piece of dry skin off with my teeth as I stare at the exchange happening between Nash and the man in the suit. I noticed his car parked across the street about an hour ago. I kept an eye on it, waiting to see if the driver was going to step out and approach me or not, but he never did. Then, as soon as Nash’s bike pulls into the driveway, the man in the suit jumps out of his fancy black car.

I watch their exchange for a moment and wonder what it could be about. When I see Nash’s spine straighten, I know that something is being said that’s pissing him off. Gathering all the strength I can muster, I open the front door and head toward them.

Once I approach, I place my hand at the center of Nash’s back, letting him know that I’m there. I’m sure he heard me, but I want him to feel me, too. I don’t know what’s being said here, but I know that Nash wants nothing to do with any of it, and honestly, neither do I.

I made the biggest mistake of my life by signing up with the Southern Mafia. I was panicked and scared, ready to just get away from it all, not realizing that they were going to ruin me in more ways than I could have ever imagined.

Andrea saved me, my mother saved me, and if it’s the only good thing she ever did in her life, then I’m going to make sure it wasn’t in vain.

“James Bishop,” the man standing across from us announces.

“I would respond with your name, but I have no idea who you are.”

His lips twitch into a smirk. “It doesn’t matter who I am. But it would be wise of you to tell your man here that he should sit down with me to discuss the future.”

Nash grunts but doesn’t speak. “I don’t tell my man he should do anything,” I whisper.

He continues to smile, although, if I’m not mistaken, the smile grows a bit at my words. He takes a step backward, holding up his palms in surrender. I fight rolling my eyes at him because I know he’s full of shit right now.

“Nashville, this will not be resolved this way. And James is too pretty for what they have planned for her.”

Without skipping a beat, Nash replies. “You act like you aren’t part of them, that you don’t have the same things planned.”

He shrugs a shoulder and lowers his hands. “You will live your life wondering when we’ll strike,” he warns.

“And you won’t live your life at all.”

The man bursts out laughing, then takes another step backward. “I’ll let you think about it overnight and be back tomorrow.”

Without another word, he turns around and walks back to his car. I watch as he sinks into the driver’s seat, and a few moments later, he’s gone. Nash doesn’t move from his place on the concrete driveway, and I stay right beside him.

Then, as if a decision has been made, his body jerks, and he spins around. He doesn’t walk toward the house as I expect, though. Instead, he looks down at me, his gaze flicking then focusing on mine.

He cups my cheek before he lowers his face to mine, and his mouth touches my own. “Nothing will touch you,” he murmurs against my lips. “Nothing.”

Reaching up, I wrap my fingers around his wrists and hold on to him. Slowly, he pulls his head backward but thankfully doesn’t move away from me. He stays right where he is, and I keep my gaze focused on his.

Squeezing his wrists, I keep his hands right where I want them. Unmoving and still touching me. My tongue peeks out, sliding across my bottom lip before I speak. When I do, I’m not sure where I’m going with my words, but I have to get them out.

“I don’t know what he wants, what he’s after, but what I do know is that you’re going to do everything in your power to protect me, Nashville. And whatever that looks like, I’m going to be right at your side, smiling.”

“Fuck,” he rasps right before he slams his mouth down against mine and kisses me—hard and with exact perfection. Because that’s who he is. Hard, rugged, and perfect.