Nash (Daddies of Justice #3)

Chapter 6

Rosie

R osie's heels clicked against the pavement as she hurried down the dark street, her breathing rapid. She glanced over her shoulder, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling with unease. She was at least ten minutes away from The Den by now, otherwise she’d have turned back.

A flicker of movement caught her eye. Was that a figure darting into the alley?

She quickened her pace, passing boarded-up windows and overflowing trashcans. Her heart hammered against her ribs. The stench of stale pee and rotting food assaulted her nostrils.

Keep walking , she told herself. Head up, shoulders back. Look confident.

Even in Chicago, there were quiet times. Right now, at 2 a.m., there was almost nobody out in this neighborhood. And quiet streets meant dangerous streets.

Goddammit, she should have taken the cab the Marks brothers ordered for her after her shift. She was always trying to prove herself, but at what cost?

Nash. She had to call him.

Her hands trembled as she fumbled for her phone. She turned abruptly down a side street, then zagged in the other direction. The footsteps echoed behind her, closer now. Matching her pace.

Shit. She was definitely being followed. And side streets were even more dangerous than main streets. Bad call.

Rosie's fingers flew over the screen as she typed out a frantic text to Nash.

I think someone's tailing me. SOS!

She hit send and ducked into the entryway of a closed shop, pressing her back against the door. She strained her ears, listening for any sign of her pursuer.

A cat yowled in the distance. A siren wailed somewhere across town. But the footsteps had stopped. Was someone waiting for her out there?

Her phone vibrated with an incoming call. Nash. Thank god. She jabbed the answer button with a shaking finger. "Nash! I'm—"

His smooth voice cut through her rising panic. "I got your text. Where are you?"

She rattled off the cross streets, her voice high and thin to her own ears. Some confident, sassy Little she was. More like a scared little girl.

Nash's voice softened, but retained that thread of steel. "I'm on my way. Keep heading north, babygirl. Stay on the line with me."

Rosie pushed off the door and started walking again, faster now, phone clutched to her ear. Her eyes darted into every shadowy doorway and side street.

"Someone's after me, Nash. I can feel it. Why can't people leave me the hell alone?"

"Because you're special, sweetheart. But I'm not gonna let anyone hurt you. Never, ever again. You hear me?"

She blinked back the sudden sting of tears. "Promise?"

"Cross my heart. Now remember, stay on the busiest streets you can find, and only walk down roads with street lamps. Keep heading toward the Water Tower. Do you see it from where you are?”

“Y-yes. I see it.”

“Atta girl. You’re doing great. Keep up the pace. Nice, big confident strides. Don’t look back. Okay? And start naming buildings you pass. I’m in my car now. I’m coming for you, little one.”

“Uh . . . I just passed the Museum of Contemporary Art,” Rosie said, her voice trembling.

“Good. Keep going.”

Her eyes darted ahead. “Now I see . . . the Peninsula Hotel. It’s right across the street.”

“Perfect. Keep going straight. I’m almost there.”

The warmth of Nash’s encouraging words felt like a lifeline in the cold, dark night. There was an undeniable sense of safety in his presence, even over the phone.

Rosie quickened her pace, her eyes scanning the street for any sign of danger.

Suddenly, there was a screech of tires.

Rosie whipped around to see a sleek black car skid to a stop at the curb. The door flew open. Nash leaped out, his hair slicked back, his green eyes blazing.

Her knees nearly buckled with relief. She threw herself into his arms as he rushed toward her.

"I've got you," he murmured into her hair. "I've always got you."

Nash bundled her into the passenger seat, his hands gentle but firm as he buckled her seatbelt. He slid behind the wheel and floored the accelerator, tires squealing as they sped off into the night.

Rosie hugged herself, trying to stop shaking. "Where are we going?"

"My place. It's the safest option right now."

Her eyes widened. In all the time she'd known Nash, she'd never seen where he lived. It was like some forbidden mystery, a piece of himself he kept locked away.

Locked away, just like his heart , a traitorous voice whispered in her mind. She pushed it aside.

"What about the safehouse?" Rosie had stayed there after her rescue. It was where Nash had kissed her.

Nash's jaw tightened. "My place is better."

Rosie frowned but didn't push. Nash's tone made it clear the topic was closed.

They wove through the city streets, the car eating up the miles. Rosie stared out the window, her mind racing. Who was after her? And why?

Unbidden memories of that night two years ago flashed through her mind. The casino. The knife. Nash's strong arms around her as he carried her to safety.

She shook her head, dispelling the images. That was the past. She'd left that life behind.

Hadn't she?

The car slowed. Rosie looked up to see a sleek, modern building rising before them. Nash pulled into an underground garage and parked in a reserved spot.

Her heart pounded as she followed Nash to a private elevator. This was it. She was about to see Nash's inner sanctum. What secrets would it reveal about the man who guarded his heart so fiercely?

The elevator dinged, the doors sliding open. Nash ushered her inside, his hand warm at the small of her back.

As the doors closed, cocooning them in silence, Rosie couldn't shake the feeling that crossing this threshold would change everything.

For better or worse, there was no going back now.

***

Rosie stepped into Nash's apartment, her eyes widening as she took in the sleek, modern decor. Floor-to-ceiling windows bathed the open-concept living room in moonlight, the city skyline glittering like a jeweled tapestry.

"Nice place," she murmured, trailing her fingers along the back of a leather couch.

Nash shrugged out of his jacket, draping it over a chair. "It serves its purpose."

Rosie arched a brow. "And what purpose is that? A swanky bachelor pad to bring your lovely ladies back to?"

He shot her a look, but she caught the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "More like a secure base of operations."

She wandered over to the window, her reflection ghostly in the glass. "And you think it's secure enough for me to stay here?"

Nash's reflection appeared behind her, his eyes meeting hers in the window. "I wouldn't have brought you here if it wasn't. Bulletproof glass, by the way. In case you were wondering."

Rosie turned to face him, her heart stuttering at his proximity. "Why not the safehouse, Nash?"

Something flickered in Nash's eyes, gone too quickly for her to decipher. He cleared his throat, looking away. "The safehouse is for emergencies. This isn't an emergency."

Rosie frowned. "Someone following me home doesn't qualify as an emergency?"

Nash's jaw tightened. "Not when I can handle it myself."

She studied him, noting the tension in his shoulders, the way he avoided her gaze. There was something he wasn't telling her, something about the safehouse that made him uncomfortable.

Was it the kiss? Rosie's cheeks heated. Could that be why he didn't want her there?

The memory of the kiss flashed through her mind for the millionth time—the brush of Nash's lips against hers, the heat of his naked body—his erection—pressing against her.

She shook her head, pushing the thought away. No, that was ridiculous. Nash had made it clear that the kiss was a mistake, a moment of weakness he regretted.

"Fine," she said, crossing her arms. "But I don't like the idea of putting you out."

Nash met her gaze, his eyes intense. "You’re not putting me out, Rosie. Right now, it's my job to take care of you. And I always take my job seriously."

Rosie's heart skipped a beat at the implication behind his words. He'd taken the job of protecting her seriously two years ago, too.

And look where that had gotten them.

Rosie sighed, realizing that arguing with Nash was futile. When he set his mind to something, he was as immovable as a mountain. "Alright, I'll stay. But only until we figure out who's following me."

Nash nodded, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "Good. Let me show you to the guest room."

He led her down a hallway, his hand resting lightly on the small of her back. Rosie tried to ignore the warmth that spread through her at his touch, focusing instead on the simple, masculine decor of his home.

The guest room was small but cozy, with a double bed, a dresser, and a window that looked out over the city. "The bathroom's just across the hall," Nash said, gesturing. "Feel free to use whatever you need. Take a shower if you like. I’ll grab you some spare pajamas."

Rosie nodded, suddenly feeling exhausted. The adrenaline of the night was wearing off, leaving her drained. "Thanks, Nash. I appreciate it. All of it." She paused. “Did you see who it was? Who was following me?”

Nash’s eyes hardened. “No. I'm working on it. Believe me, Rosie. I’m going to figure out this whole thing. You’re going to be safe again in the blink of an eye. Okay?”

Rosie nodded, her heart racing. “Okay.”

Nash hesitated, as if he wanted to say something more, but then thought better of it. "I'll leave some pajamas on your bed. Then I’ll be in the living room if you need me. Just shout."

With that, he closed the door, leaving Rosie alone. She sat on the edge of the bed, her mind whirling. How had she ended up here, in Nash's guest room, hiding from some unknown threat?

She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. A hot shower, that's what she needed. Maybe it would wash away the fear and confusion of the night.

Rosie went to the bathroom, impressed by how neat and tidy Nash kept the entire place. He even had some masculine soaps and products. He was always clean-shaven and looked after himself, but there was something sweet about seeing how seriously he took his appearance.

She took her time in the shower, letting the hot water soothe her tense muscles. She found a pair of Nash's sweatpants and a t-shirt folded neatly on her bed when she got back to her room, and slipped them on, inhaling the scent of his laundry detergent, with just the faintest smell of him on the fabric, too.

She knew that scent well. Toothpaste. Cedarwood. Steel. Sharp, clean scents.

“Well,” she said aloud to nobody but herself. “Here I am.”

As clean and tidy as the room was, it felt so alien to her. She didn’t even have her stuffie, Max, to cuddle for comfort.

“Oh Max,” she said, sniffling. “I miss you so much.”

Before she knew it, she was crying. Big, heaving sobs, as the reality of what had just happened to her sank in.

A soft knock on the door startled her. "Rosie? You okay in there?"

She opened the door to find Nash standing in the hallway, concern etched on his handsome face. His eyes widened slightly as he took in her appearance, his sweatpants hanging low on her hips, his t-shirt swamping her small frame.

"I'm fine," she said, self-consciously tugging at the hem of the shirt. "Just tired."

Nash nodded, his gaze lingering on her exposed collarbone. "Get some rest. We'll talk more in the morning."

He turned to go, but Rosie reached out, her fingers brushing his arm. "Nash, wait."

He paused, looking back at her with those intense, green eyes.

Rosie swallowed. Her heart raced, desperate for his touch, his kiss, anything to ease the ache inside her. "Thank you. For everything."

Nash's expression softened. “You’re welcome, Rosie. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. I can promise you that.”

“Sorry about, you know, crying in your place. I’m happy to be here, I just . . . miss my things. You know?”

“Sweetie,” said Nash reaching out for her arm and giving it a soft squeeze. “What you went through tonight is deeply traumatic. And of course you miss your things. This is a strange place for you. I hope, for your sake, that we can get you back to your place very soon. But we’re only going to do that when I know you’re completely safe. Alright?”

Rosie nodded. “I . . . I’m sorry I didn’t take the cab you ordered me.”

A sternness flickered in Nash’s eyes. “I’m going to insist on that from now on, young lady.”

In spite of the high emotions running through her, a smile played on Rosie’s lips. “I guess I’d better do it then . . . if I want to avoid getting a good spanking.”

It was meant to be a joke. Of course it was. Nash would never really spank her. He was a Daddy Dom, apparently, but he never went near Littles. And certainly never spanked them. But Nash wasn’t laughing at her “joke.” In fact, he looked annoyed.

“Sorry,” she said. “Just trying to lighten the mood.”

Nash pulled back from her. "I need to get some things from your place," Nash said, his voice strained. "I'll make sure to grab Max for you too."

Rosie nodded, blinking back tears. Even in the midst of all this chaos and fear, Nash was still looking out for her, putting her needs first. Just like he always had.

"Thank you," she whispered. “And sorry again for lying about Max. Making out like he was my boyfriend.”

Nash cleared his throat. "No issue. Now, before I go, let me show you how to secure the house."

He led her through each room, pointing out the locks on the windows and doors, the security system panel, and the panic button he had installed under the kitchen counter. His instructions were clear and concise, his demeanor all business now.

But as they circled back to the spare bedroom, Nash paused, his eyes boring into hers with an intensity that stole her breath. "This is the one and only time I'm leaving you until this threat is neutralized," he said firmly. "From now on, I'm gonna be right by your side, 24/7. No arguments."

Rosie's pulse quickened at the thought of being in such close proximity to Nash again, just like old times. She wondered if the charged energy between them would finally combust, if she'd feel his strong hands on her body, his lips against her skin . . .

"Okay," was all she could manage, her voice barely above a whisper.

Nash nodded curtly and turned to leave. At the door, he glanced back over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. "Lock this behind me and don't open it for anyone but me. I'll be back as soon as I can. With Max." He swallowed. "Before I go, Rosie, I just want you to know . . ."

"Yes, Nash?" she breathed, blinking up at him.

He turned to face her. "I care about you. So, so much."

Before she could answer, he turned and strode away. The door closed with a soft click, and Rosie went after it and engaged the lock with shaking hands, already counting the seconds until Nash would return and she'd be back under his protection once more. She leaned back against the door, her heart pounding a staccato rhythm in her chest. The silence of the house settled around her like a heavy blanket, interrupted only by the ticking of a clock somewhere down the hall.

I care about you. So, so much.

Was she wrong to find hope in those words? Was Nash admitting something to her?

She wandered back to the spare room—her room, for now—and perched on the edge of the bed, her mind racing. Being here, in Nash's space, surrounded by his things . . . it felt surreal. Intimate.

Her gaze drifted to the pillow, and she couldn't resist bringing it to her nose, and inhaling deeply. It smelled like him too. Clean and sexy.

God, what was wrong with her? She was supposed to be scared, anxious about the threat looming over her. Instead, all she could think about was Nash. His strong arms, the way his jaw ticked when he was tense or annoyed . . . The memory of their kiss, two years ago, seared into her brain.

She'd replay it sometimes, late at night, when the loneliness crept in. The way he'd hauled her against him, his lips crashing down on hers with a desperation that took her breath away.

Now, he'd just admitted he cared about her. Cared. It wasn't the same as liked, or loved, sure. But the way he looked as he said it to her: pained and awkward and flushed. It had ignited something inside of her. A nugget of hope. A flame of newfound desire.

What was in store for them now? They'd be living under the same roof, just the two of them. No more running, no more hiding behind excuses.

A thrill rushed through her at the possibility, even as a small voice warned her to be cautious. Nash was here to protect her, to keep her safe. Nothing more.

Still, a girl could dream . . . and if those dreams happened to feature her and Nash tangled up in the sheets, his hands caressing her bare skin, his lips trailing fire down her throat . . . well, who could blame her?

Two days ago, she had given up on Nash altogether. And honestly, it didn't feel great. This, having hope, felt much better. Rosie hugged the pillow tighter and flopped back on the bed, a wicked grin tugging at her mouth.

"He cares about me," she said aloud. "And I care about him."

One way or another, she had a feeling her time with Nash was going to be anything but boring.

She got the feeling that her mischievous side was about to come out to play . . .