Nash (Daddies of Justice #3)

Chapter 1

Nash

N ash circled the group of Littles, his eyes tracking their movements.

"Remember,” he told them sternly, “go for the vulnerable spots: eyes, nose, groin. Use your elbows and knees."

He was running a self-defense class in the bar of The Den, the secret hideout run by Paladin Security. He and his brothers had set up the place years ago, after their sister, Chloe, had been kidnapped and killed. Paladin was a private security firm specializing in helping vulnerable women, and in particular, Littles.

"That's it," Nash praised the Littles. "You might be subs in the bedroom, but that doesn't mean you can't dominate your enemies."

Some of the Littles snickered and blushed.

It was no secret that Nash and his brothers were Daddy Doms. In fact, even though Nash was the oldest, he was the only one without a Little of his own. Blake had Savannah, and Jax had Mia.Not that Jax hung around here anymore. He and Mia had moved to Bloomington a few months ago to set up a bookstore. Cozy, but not Nash’s scene. Nash was loyal to Paladin Security no matter what. He definitely didn’t need some woman to distract him from the mission.

His gaze flicked over to the bar where Rosie was drying glasses, her blonde ponytail swishing as she worked. As if sensing his attention, she glanced up, their eyes locking for a charged moment before she looked away.

Damn it. Nash clenched his jaw, trying to ignore the surge of attraction that rushed through him whenever he was near her. This was neither the time nor the place. Come to think of it, where Rosie Love was concerned, it was never the time or the place. He had to remember that.

"Like this, Nash?" Tina, a petite brunette, struck out with her elbow, nailing the punching bag.

"Good. Put your whole body into it." He moved closer to adjust her stance. "Feet a bit farther apart. Yeah, that's it."

As the Littles continued their drills, Nash allowed his attention to wander back to the bar.

Rosie was mixing a drink now, her movements quick and efficient. Even the way she wielded that cocktail shaker somehow turned him on . . .

No. Focus.

He turned back to the class, his voice a touch more brusque than he intended. "Alright, pair up. Let's see how you do against a live partner."

As the Littles divided into twos, their laughter and chatter filled The Den. Nash risked one more glance Rosie's way. She was watching him now, a curious tilt to her head, pink lips pursed. He recognized that look—it usually preceded a sassy remark. His body tensed, bracing for impact. But today, she just shook her head slightly and turned away to serve a customer.

Nash exhaled, unsure if he was relieved or disappointed. Lately, Rosie had been engaging in less banter with him than normal. Not standoffish exactly, just . . . a little cold. Nash had known Rosie for two years, ever since he'd burst into that casino and saved her life. He'd always loved the way she didn't seem shy around him, though. She had never been afraid to gently tease him, even poke fun of him. Hearing Rosie Love's little jibes always brightened his day. It was a way of getting attention from her, a way of feeling the chemistry between them without ever having to act on it.

Lately, the chemistry was quieter. I mean, his feelings were as strong as ever, but Rosie . . . well, she seemed more guarded than normal. Maybe she had lost interest in their banter. Maybe he'd done something to disappoint her.

Nash rolled his shoulders, trying to dispel the tension. Just as he was about to call the class to order, one of the doors at the back of The Den swung open and Savannah breezed in, her auburn curls bouncing. The Littles' heads swiveled, their eyes lighting up at the sight of her.

"Hey, everyone!" Savannah grinned, her freckled nose crinkling. "I've got some exciting news! Sorry Nash, am I interrupting?"

“Go ahead, Savvy,” Nash grunted moodily. “Just make it quick.”

“Okay, thanks,” Savannah replied, blushing. All the Littles in this place were slightly scared of him. All of them except Rosie.

Nash leaned against the wall, arms crossed, as the Littles clustered around Savannah like eager puppies.

Savannah clapped her hands together. "Okay, guys, as you know, it's only a few weeks until Christmas."

"Yay! Christmas!" called out Tina, and all the Littles giggled.

"Well," said Savannah, "Blake and I have decided we're going to throw a big party right here at The Den!"

The Littles erupted in squeals and chatter. They bounced on their toes, hugging each other.

Nash's heart clenched. After all they'd been through, even he had to admit that they deserved this happiness.

"But wait, there's more!" Savannah called out above the din. "You can bring a date!"

Another round of squeals, even louder this time.

Nash's gaze flicked to Rosie. She was leaning against the bar, watching the scene with a small smile. As if sensing his stare, she glanced over, their eyes locking. Something electric passed between them, making his skin prickle. And then she looked away.

"Now, for security reasons, we'll need to run background checks on your dates," Savannah continued. "I hope you all understand."

The Littles nodded, unfazed. They were used to the precautions by now.

"So, who's bringing a special someone? Shout out their names and I'll write them down."

A chorus of voices filled the air as the Littles called out names. Nash tuned them out, his mind wandering back to Rosie. Would she bring a date? The thought made his gut clench.

Savannah scribbled furiously on her notepad, her green eyes sparkling. "Fantastic! This is going to be the best Christmas party ever. Nash, do you have a name you want to add to the list?"

Every head swiveled his way.

Nash straightened, suddenly feeling like a bug under a microscope. He cleared his throat. "Uh, no. No names from me."

Savannah's brow furrowed, but she didn't push. "Okay, well, if that changes, just let me know."

Nash clenched his jaw. “It won’t change. I’m not the dating type. Never have been, never will be. Not interested.”

He could feel Rosie's eyes on him, but he didn't dare look her way. The air felt thick, charged with unspoken things.

Then Savannah was clapping again, drawing attention back to herself. "Alright, I've got some planning to do. You all get back to your training. Work hard, play hard! That’s what we always say around here!"

The Littles cheered, their joyful noise filling the space.

Nash let it wash over him, trying to ignore the tight knot in his chest. Christmas. What a joke. Just another reminder of everything he'd lost. Everything he could never have.

He pushed off the wall, his jaw set. Time to get back to work. He had a class to teach and a city to defend. No room for distractions. Even if one particular distraction was currently eyeing him from across the room, her gaze a mix of curiosity and challenge.

“Wait a second, Savannah!” Rosie piped up from behind the bar. "I, uh, I have a date."

Nash's head snapped in her direction, his brows knitting together. He could hardly believe this was happening. It made sense, though. Rosie hadn't been engaging in so much banter with him lately because she was distracted with some guy.

She met his gaze, a defiant tilt to her chin. "His name's Max. He’s super cute."

Cute? Nash's stomach clenched. Cute indeed. Rosie needed a Daddy Dom, not some beta guy who moisturized every night before bed. Max. The name tasted bitter on his tongue. He could picture the guy now—some slick, smooth-talking, pretty boy. Probably worked in finance or property. A rich asshole looking for a bit of arm candy. Someone who didn't appreciate Rosie's complex personality one bit. Nash's fists curled at his sides.

Savannah's eyes widened, her pen poised over her notebook. "Oh! Well, that's great, Rosie. Send me over his details for the security check."

"I sure will!" said Rosie brightly. She spoke some more about how unbelievably cute Max was, but Nash barely heard her over the roaring in his ears. This was ridiculous. He had no claim on Rosie, no right to feel this way. She was a grown woman, free to date whoever she damn well pleased.

But the jealousy simmering in his gut didn't seem to care about logic.

He pushed off the wall, his movements stiff. "I've just remembered I have to head out. Got some errands to run."

“But we haven’t finished the class, sir!” called out Tina.

Nash didn't respond. He just strode toward the door, his boots echoing on the wooden floor. He could feel Rosie watching him, could practically hear the gears turning in that clever head of hers.

As he yanked open the door, he heard the whispers start up behind him.

"What's his problem?"

"Guess someone's not in the Christmas spirit."

"Scrooge."

He let the door slam shut behind him, cutting off their chatter. The cold Chicago air hit him like a slap, but he welcomed it. Anything was better than the suffocating warmth of The Den, the knowing looks, the pity.

He stalked down the street, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. Damn Rosie. Damn Max. Damn this whole fucking holiday.

He'd always hated Christmas. Everything ground to a halt this time of year. Work contacts went silent. Everyone was too busy stuffing their faces and spending money like water to realize that the threats were still all around them.

Plus, of course, he always thought of his sister at Christmas. It didn’t feel the same without Chloe here to celebrate. Not to mention his parents.

Fuck. The things he'd been through. How was anyone meant to celebrate after that? Chloe had been kidnapped by a gang on her sixteenth birthday. Turned up dead under a bridge sometime later, used and abused by a group of miscreants. And then there was his parents. They were caught in the crossfire of a gang shootout during a Sunday stroll at the park back when Nash had barely grown a beard.

Yeah. Christmas was just a reminder of all the things he'd lost. All the things he'd never have.

And now, with Rosie flaunting her new beau, it was just another reminder of how truly alone Nash was. The untouchable Nash Marks, married to his job, his heart as cold as the winter wind.

He huffed out a bitter laugh. Well, at least he was consistent. Consistently alone.

He turned a corner, his feet carrying him toward the seedier part of town. Maybe a few hours pounding the pavement, shaking down informants, would clear his head. Make him forget about Rosie and her date.

Fat chance. But it was better than the alternative—sitting at home, stewing in his own misery, imagining Rosie in some financier's arms.

No. He had work to do. A city to protect. He'd leave the festivities to the others, to the ones who still believed in love and magic and happily ever afters.

He was Nash Marks. And he had a job to do.

Even if it meant doing it alone.