Nash (Daddies of Justice #3)

Chapter 17

Nash

N ash took a long, deep breath as he stared at his reflection in the men's bathroom mirror. The bright red Santa suit stretched over his muscular frame, the faux white beard itching against his clean-shaven face. He adjusted the velvet hat, making sure it sat just right.

This was it. The moment he laid his heart bare.

His hand slipped into the pocket of his jacket, fingers brushing against the small, velvet box hidden there. He'd scoured jewelry stores for hours to find the perfect gift: a delicate gold bracelet with a heart-shaped charm, engraved with a very special message.

He pictured Rosie's face when he gave it to her, the way her brown eyes would light up, the blush that would color her cheeks. He imagined taking her slender wrist, clasping the bracelet around it as he gazed into her eyes, finally telling her all the things he'd been holding back for so long.

He had another gift, too. A book. Which was maybe, just maybe, even more special than the bracelet.

But would she like any of it? Would she think it was too much, too soon? Things had been so tough lately. He’d been so worried about looking after her that he hadn’t wanted to take even the slightest misstep. And yet somehow, in doing that, he seemed to have walked right off the goddamn path. Well, not anymore. Today, he was going to lay his cards on the table.

He grabbed the sack of presents, hoisting it over his shoulder with a grunt. The other gifts were just fun trinkets and candy for the Littles. But Rosie's presents . . . they were the ones that mattered—along with the speech that he'd rehearsed a dozen times, the words that would make his intentions public once and for all.

"You've faced down drug lords and arms dealers," he muttered to his reflection. "You can handle one tiny blonde."

One tiny, gorgeous, quick-witted blonde who turned his world upside down with a single smirk. Who made him want things, crave things, he had never dared to want before.

He straightened his shoulders, giving himself one last appraising look. The suit was cheesy as hell, but it would be worth it to see Rosie's smile. To take her in his arms tonight, in front of everyone, and plan his future with her. His Little. His love.

"Showtime," he said under his breath, turning to exit the bathroom. The sounds of laughter and cheerful Christmas music beckoned from down the hall. He strode toward the noise, ready to take the biggest risk of his life.

The excited chatter of the Littles exploded into full-blown squeals and cheers as Nash emerged into the bar area. "Santa! Santa! Santa!" they chanted, bouncing on their toes and clapping their hands.

Nash grinned beneath the itchy beard, waving and hoisting the sack higher. His eyes scanned the room, searching for a glimpse of blonde curls and a sassy smile. But no Rosie.

Savannah appeared at his elbow, her elf hat askew. "Merry Christmas, Santa," she said with a wink.

"Merry Christmas, indeed." He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Have you seen Rosie? I thought she'd be front and center for this."

"Not yet." Savannah frowned slightly. "Want me to check the ladies' room?"

"Please."

As Savannah slipped away, Nash continued greeting the Littles, handing out candy canes and posing for selfies. But with each passing minute, the unease in his gut grew. It wasn't like Rosie to miss a party.

Savannah returned, her complexion paler than ever. "She’s not there. But something’s wrong. There’s a hole in the wall. A . . . secret passageway."

Nash blinked. What? A secret passageway? Had Rosie run away from here? No. She’d never do that.

"Cover for me," he muttered, shoving the sack into Savannah's arms.

Ignoring her startled "Wait, what?" he strode into the women’s bathroom. He checked each of the bathroom cubicles. Thankfully, there were no other Littles in there. Having Santa jump out at you while you were going potty wasn’t anyone’s idea of a good time.

And then he reached the cubicle at the end. That’s when he saw it. A second door cut into the wall. What the hell?

The door stood ajar, a sliver of darkness visible beyond.

Nash's pulse pounded in his ears as he stared at the passageway, a sense of dread coiling in his gut. In all the years they'd owned The Den, he'd never known this existed. How long had it been here, right under their noses? And where the hell did it lead?

His hand went to his hip, instinctively seeking a weapon he wasn't carrying. "Rosie?" he called softly, easing the door open with his foot. "Baby girl, you in there?"

Silence.

The world tilted on its axis as Nash registered the scene before him. The gaping hole in the wall. The dark passageway beyond.

"No," he breathed, his chest seizing. "No, no, no."

This couldn't be happening. Not tonight. Not to her.

But the evidence was right there, mocking him. Taunting him. Someone had taken his Rosie. And there would be hell to pay.

Ripping off his Santa beard and hat, Nash sprinted back to the main room, his mind a whirlwind of fear and fury. He spotted his brothers by the bar and signaled them with a sharp jerk of his head.

They came immediately, their faces tightening as they took in his expression.

"What's wrong?" Jax demanded, his voice low and urgent.

"Rosie's gone. Someone took her." Nash's words were clipped, his jaw clenched. "There's a passageway in the bathroom. Hidden."

Blake cursed under his breath. "What the fuck?"

Nash was already moving, his strides purposeful as he headed for the weapons cache they kept hidden beneath the bar. "Gear up. We're going after her."

His brothers didn't hesitate, grabbing guns and knives with grim determination. They worked in silent unison, checking ammo and strapping on holsters, their faces set in hard lines. Jax and Blake were both wearing festive sweaters, and the sight of them with all this weaponry would have been funny at any other time. Not now, though. Now, Nash had never felt more serious.

His hand closed around the grip of his Glock, the cold metal a familiar comfort. He welcomed the icy rage that settled over him, the clarity it brought. Whoever had taken Rosie had just signed their death warrant.

He'd torn apart heaven and earth to find his sister all those years ago. And he'd failed. He wouldn't fail Rosie too. Couldn't. She was his to protect. His to save. Even if she still didn't know the true depth of his feelings for her.

"Let's go," he bit out, leading the way back to the passageway. Back to Rosie.

And God help anyone who stood in their way.

The stench hit Nash as he ducked into the dank passage, the sickly sweet smell of decay and stagnant water. It coated the back of his throat, making him want to gag. He swallowed hard, forcing down the bile.

“The damn sewers,” grumbled Blake. “Of course it had to lead to the damn sewers.”

Nash’s Santa boots squelched in the muck, the fake fur trim already soaked through. The scratchy polyester of his red suit clung to his skin, sticky with sweat. He'd never been so eager to shed a disguise.

But there was no time. Rosie was out there somewhere, scared and alone. The thought made his blood boil, his grip tightening on his gun.

"God, it reeks down here," Jax muttered behind him, his voice muffled by the close walls. "Like something died."

“Don’t talk like that,” Nash snapped. “There’s no way I’m not bringing Rosie out of here alive.”

“Shit, sorry, bro,” said Jax. “I wasn’t talking about Rosie. It’s just, you know, we’re literally walking in human waste.”

"Eyes sharp," Blake said grimly. "We don't know what we're walking into."

Nash heard the telltale click of his brothers' safeties being flicked off, the rasp of blades being unsheathed. His brothers fanned out behind him, their presence a solid reassurance at his back.

The only sound, other than their steps, was the drip-drip-drip of water. It echoed in the claustrophobic space, playing tricks on Nash's ears. Every shadow seemed to move, every whisper of air a threat.

His thoughts turned to Rosie. She'd looked so beautiful in her cute little elf costume, her smile brighter than all the Christmas lights. He'd wanted to pull her into his arms right then, to tell her how he really felt.

But he'd hesitated. Thought it would be fun to act all gruff then surprise her. And now . . .

The guilt gnawed at him, a living thing with sharp teeth. It whispered that he was no good for Rosie, that he'd only end up hurting her. Like he hurt everyone he loved.

Maybe it was right. Maybe he should have stayed in his lane, and been content with just being her bodyguard. Not tried to be something more.

But he couldn't deny his feelings for her any more than he could stop breathing. She'd gotten under his skin from the moment he'd first laid eyes on her, all sassy quips and wounded eyes. He'd seen himself in her, recognized a kindred spirit. Someone else fighting to find their place in a world that didn't understand them. And dammit, he wanted to be that place for her. Wanted to be her rock, her safe haven. The one she ran to when the nightmares came.

If only he wasn't so fucking terrified of failing her.

"I don't know, man," Nash said, his voice rough with emotion. "Maybe I should've just stuck to being Rosie’s bodyguard. Not tried to be her Daddy too."

Blake shot him a sharp look. "The fuck are you talking about? You're the best thing that's ever happened to that girl."

Nash shook his head. "Am I? Cause from where I'm standing, it looks like I've done a piss-poor job of protecting her."

He kicked at a loose stone, sending it skittering into the darkness, and a bunch of rats skittering after it, judging by the squeaking sounds. The dank smell of the sewers filled his nostrils, making his stomach churn. Or maybe that was just the fear and self-loathing.

Jax clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Hey. You can't blame yourself for this. None of us saw it coming."

"But I should have," Nash insisted. "I'm supposed to be the one who anticipates threats, who keeps her safe. And I failed."

His brothers exchanged a look. Then Blake sighed. "Listen, being a Daddy Dom isn't just about being a protector. It's about being a caregiver too. And sometimes, that means admitting when you're in over your head."

Jax nodded. "He's right. You're only human, Nash. How were you supposed to know some lunatic would infiltrate the party? We had security checks out the wazoo."

Nash clenched his jaw. He knew they were trying to make him feel better, but it wasn't working. His brow furrowed as he puzzled over the details. “I don’t think the person that did this infiltrated the party. I think they came in the back way. They must've been watching The Den for weeks, learning our routines, figuring out when it would be empty so they could cut that massive great hole in the wall."

Jax nodded grimly. "No way they did that on the fly. This was planned."

Nash’s fists clenched at his sides, the need for violence thrumming through his veins. "We need to move," he growled, quickening his pace.

They rounded a corner, and Nash pulled up short. There, at the end of the tunnel, was a heavy metal door, rusted with age and neglect.

Emblazoned on its surface was a symbol he knew all too well: a dollar sign, crude and mocking.

Jax let out a low whistle. "I think we just found our way to the casino vaults."

Nash's heart hammered against his ribs as he stared at the door, at the dangers that lay beyond. He stepped forward, his jaw set with grim determination. He reached out, his fingers brushing the rusted metal of the door. It was cold, unyielding.

He turned to his brothers, his eyes hard as flint. "You ready for this?"

Blake nodded, his own expression a mirror of Nash's. "Let's do it."

Nash took a deep breath, steeling himself for what lay ahead. Then, with trained precision, he shot at the lock on the rusty door four times, until the final time, he heard the ping that told him he was in.