15. Nash
FIFTEEN
NASH
"Respectfully, fuck Angel."
I had never in my life seen him intentionally hurt someone like he just had Harper. And I knew he didn’t mean it. Hell, we all knew he didn’t mean it. We all knew him, knew how he was. But the fact that he thought he had to shield himself from her by doing harm?
That was like a nail in the coffin.
Rowan had moved to sit on the other end of the couch, reaching out a hand to cover hers with a gentle, reassuring pat. "Just give him time, Harper," he muttered, trying to soothe her. Maybe he thought she needed it. Maybe he was afraid of her falling apart again. But whatever the case, she surprised us both when she stood up, stormed off in the direction of the kitchen, and hunted around in the cabinets until she found a pitcher.
"I don’t know if I like where this is going, Rowan," I stage-whispered. "Should I stop her, or are you planning to?"
"Whatever she’s got in mind is better than he deserves. Just let this play out." I suspected he was still pissed that he hadn’t managed to land a few blows on the fucker in the parking lot.
"If she stabs him, I’m blaming you," I quipped, settling in to watch the fun like the man in the popcorn-eating gifs.
Harper was seething. I could practically hear her teeth grinding as she filled the pitcher with water, then reached into the freezer for some ice cubes. She inspected her work, nodded in satisfaction, and marched her way over to the doors on the opposite side of the room. She didn’t need verification as to which one he was in—my door was still open. With a look borne of absolute fury, she kicked his door open and marched in, to the abject horror of what I guessed was an unprepared Angel.
I heard the water splash. Heard his shout of fury. And laughed as he marched back into the living room with her over his shoulder, a satisfied smirk on her lips until he practically dumped her into my lap.
"Keep your eyes on this bitch," he spat, pinning Rowan with a stare. "If she comes in my room again and pulls a stunt like that, I’m killing her on the spot. Got it?"
Harper wasn’t one to be cowed easily, and she stuck her tongue out at him like a fucking brat. "Poor Angel. Now you’re all wet."
"You’re a fucking menace." He growled low in his throat, stooping to her eye level with a furious gaze. Even I wouldn’t fuck with him when he looked like that.
Harper was like a junkyard dog. A stubborn, stupid junkyard dog, but still a scrapper nonetheless. "And you’re a prick."
He reached out to choke her, thought better of it with a second of hesitation, and swore loudly as he spun on his heel and started to march away.
Harper wasn’t about to let him have the last say, though. She just had to egg him on.
"You know, Angel, I might be a kicked dog, but standing there like that, you remind me of a really wet pussy . . . cat."
I had never in my life enjoyed the sound of a slammed door more.
Rowan and I flipped a coin to see who’d take the first watch. Of course, I lost, so I was on overnight duty, on guard while she twiddled her thumbs in the kitchen chair. She’d obviously had more sleep than me, but surely she’d fizzle out fast. I knew what time she woke up. She wasn’t behind me by much. And I was a diagnosed insomniac. These days, I was lucky to get a few hours a night at best.
I could outlast her.
"Listen, there’s some ground rules I think we’d better go over before you crash for the night." She looked like she was set to ignore me, so I hooked the leg of her chair with my foot and jerked her in my direction.
She might not have ended up in my lap if I’d been paying attention. But like always, my impatience got the best of me. Her hand just so happened to dart out and land right in the center of my groin, and I was damned if I planned to remove it any time soon for her.
It’d been a while since a woman had touched my dick without being paid to do it. So fucking what if I enjoyed it a little more than I should? Especially when the little hellcat herself blushed and jerked her hand away, refusing to look my direction.
"Okay, don’t act like you’ve never touched a cock in your life, you brat. We’ve got serious things to discuss, and I don’t have the patience to play blushing bride with you."
That raised her hackles. When she turned back, her eyes were alight with the fight she’d possessed as a young teen. You couldn’t tell this Harper Daniels shit.
"There we are; now you’re paying attention." Her hot breath fanned across my face as she studied me with an intense glare. Maybe not hate, but it was enough.
She might just be tempted to kill me in my sleep.
Just how I fucken liked em. A little fire, a little fight. All sass.
"What’s so important it can’t wait til tomorrow?" she snipped, that temper I loved so much rising to the surface once more.
"Well, it’s a matter of life or death, so I’d say it’s pretty important."
Her eye roll said I don’t care, but her choice to scoot closer said fine, you win. "Okay, I’m listening, Ghoul?—"
I’d gotten used to hearing that term from others. But from her mouth, when everything was still so fresh, so raw? Something in me snapped. My hand shot out and grabbed her by the throat, jerking her to me until we were nose to nose.
"Don’t you ever call me that again, do you understand?"
My teeth were bared, my eyes had lost all their soft playfulness. I was spitting mad, and I didn’t care if I scared her now. She struggled against my hold, eventually giving in with a whimper and a nod.
"Say it, I wanna hear you swear," I continued, shaking her a little for effect. I wanted this lesson to sink in, wanted her to know this was serious.
She could call me anything but that.
"I understand, I swear, fuck!" She wheezed a little as I released her, tears glistening at the edges of her lashes. That hurt a little, but not as much as hearing that hated fucking name on her lips. "What gives, Nash?"
"I hate that name," I said simply, refusing to say a word more. "Now, listen up and listen good." I pointed at the door to the rest of the asylum, my steely gaze locked on hers. "Do not ever, and I do mean ever, leave this place without an escort. Those fucks we work with are dangerous, and trust me when I say if they catch you alone, they will just as soon eat you alive, or play with you like a cat does a mouse. They’re not likely to help you, and if they claim they want to, you need to run in the opposite direction."
"All bad guys are bad, got it," she parroted back, all the sass in her tone gone for the moment.
Apparently, all one had to do to make a girl listen was choke her a little.
I wondered if she liked that sort of thing in bed ? —
I cleared my throat as a slight blush worked its way up my throat and into my cheeks. "Moving on. If you need something, you need to tell one of us, no matter how embarrassing. If we’re gonna keep you safe, the fewer people who know you’re here, the easier that’ll be."
She frowned. "What about?—"
"Listen, bitch, I don’t care if you start bleeding and need fucking tampons, I will video chat you from the fucking female aisle before I let you go shopping for yourself, okay? "
Her nod was confirmation itself, though it did feel nice not to be the only one blushing now.
"Third, and I cannot stress this enough. Do not answer the door for anyone, especially if you are here alone, do you hear me?" I didn’t want to scare her with horror stories this early on, but that was how the Rebels lost their last girl. She didn’t listen, and someone got ahold of her. I shuddered to think of Harper in her position, her corpse lying on the floor while someone like Angus defiled her cooling body with his centimeter peter?—
Fuck, that was depressing. Shaking my head like a dog was less than successful in freeing my mind from that scenario playing on repeat behind my eyelids.
"I won’t answer the door. Understood."
"Good." The front two legs of the chair left the ground as I leaned back, watching, studying her for a sign that she didn’t really understand the severity of the situation. "I’d hate to have to kill someone because you thought I was kidding. Our boss is always complaining about breaking in new crews. And I very much would like to stay on her good side as much as possible."
One did not cross Lilly St. Clair if they could avoid it.
"Now, you can crash on the couch. It’s big, so I’ll just sit at the end and watch TV while you sleep or something, okay?"
She eyed the leather monstrosity of a sectional with wary apprehension, her whole body going rigid as I marched into my room and pilfered my duvet and a spare pillow from the bed.
"Are you giving me your blankets? Nash, I can’t?—"
"Relax, Harper. I don’t sleep much, anyway." My temple made a hollow sound as I tapped on it playfully. "Insomnia being what it is, and all that."
Her face softened, like I’d just told her I was beaten as a child. Of course, she already knew that, so . . .
"Don’t go soft on me, now, dammit. I’m still half-tempted to take a knife to something, and if you make things uncomfortable for me, it might just be you who gets the sharp end. "
She winced and moved to the sectional, fluffing out the blanket and pillow I’d tossed there for her. She stalled as long as she could, and finally, after what felt like forever and a day, she settled in on the far end of the couch. My favorite side, too.
Go figure.