10. Nash
TEN
NASH
Falling asleep in the car wasn’t part of my plan. Neither was waking up to a strange man tapping on my window, his phone turned in my face with those annoyingly bright flashlights on, blasting light on my retinas that made me think I’d likely be blind when I blinked again.
I turned the damn car off and rolled down the windows—fucking crank handles, my GOD would it KILL him to upgrade this old fucking jalopy?— so I could reach out and drag the overly nosy man within inches of my own face with a grunt of disapproval and my hand around his throat.
"What the fuck do you want?" I growled, my grin cracking the edges of the old scar where I’d been picking at it again. "Because you’re likely to be in far over your head if you tell me nothing."
"I-I-I-I’m sorry, man, I just thought?—"
I dragged him damn near into the front seat with me, growling like a fucking dog now. I bared my teeth, enjoying the way he started to shake as he took stock of the monster whose face he was staring into.
"You thought wrong, whatever you thought," I snarled, shoving him back with a jerk of my wrist. I watched him fall on his ass, tugging a leash attached to a tiny little dog who vaguely resembled a cottonball on legs. The pathetic creature yipped at him in protest, and he quickly scoped it up and made a run for the apartment building where she lived.
My eyes flicked up, scanning her window for a light that was no longer on. I’d snuck up to her room when she was asleep and left her a little message on the kitchen counter. Even left behind a little memento: the knife she’d dropped in the alley. It’d serve its purpose well enough. The fear it would elicit from her would be worth the trouble I’d gone through to sneak into her place while she was out cold.
As I watched on, her light came on, and her shadow started to move around the room with purpose, back and forth, pacing like a caged tiger before disappearing altogether. I waited for her to return to the room and turn it back off, but she never did.
A glance at the clock told me it was far too early in the morning for her to be awake for the day. She’d return any minute to go back to sleep, surely. But as the minutes ticked by, she didn’t, and the feeling of something wrong began to worm into the pit of my stomach.
Time to investigate.
I abandoned the Torino in search of the thing making my spidey senses tingle, only half remembering to shut it off and take the keys as I rounded the building in a jog, sticking to the wall like glue. The typical sounds of a raggedy neighborhood in the middle of the night echoed around me as I slowed my breathing, watching the front and the back of the house simultaneously to the best of my ability.
Damn it all; this would be so much easier with a second.
Unfortunately, according to the text I’d received just a short while before passing out, Rowan was drunk—and, Angel suspected, drugged. And that meant they were both off the clock until the one sobered up and the other stopped worrying he might choke on his own vomit or swallow his tongue.
I was on my own.
Good thing I was up to the challenge.
I knelt behind the dumpster and settled in for a good old-fashioned stalking session, staking her out like a cop would a target. How ironic that between the criminals and the cops, we shared a similar method.
Every time that front door opened, I was on high alert until I knew it wasn’t her, only relaxing when I spotted someone new or watched them re-enter the building. Every person who came out of that place that wasn’t her was a liability. Another chance for her to slip away while I was distracted.
I couldn’t let that happen. Regardless of who she was, or might be, or whatever, until further notice, she was our target. That meant, until we decided what to do with her, she was our top priority.
And if she ran? Then I’d chase her like a dog, keeping our target in sight until I had the order to take her out or bring her back.
Something about the contract, though, really confused me. The client had suggested she’d been using a fake identity. But as far as we knew, Hannah Flagg didn’t exist anywhere. If she was using a dead girl’s identity, there should certainly be a birth certificate, at the very least. Even if this persona wasn’t from here, there would be something—a paper trail, a hint of her. But according to Rowan, there was nothing—not even a death certificate.
For all intents and purposes, Hannah Flagg didn’t exist.
Which meant they had trumped up the accusations to get the hit on her accepted.
And they’d asked for us specifically.
The plot thickened.
I flicked my pocket knife open and closed methodically, repeatedly, to stave off the boredom setting in. It didn’t distract me from my inner turmoil, though, and I almost dozed off, sitting there against the wall, wide awake but mentally asleep.
And then I spotted her.
Shit.
She was making her way across the parking lot, her eyes glued to the Torino as she approached the far side of it wearing the most pathetic attempt to be obscure I’d ever seen.
There was nothing more notable to a passerby than an all-leather, floor-length trenchcoat.
My brain short-circuited because there was no other explanation as to why my next thought was to what she was wearing underneath it.
She had a very stuffed duffle bag over one shoulder, a messenger bag over the other, and in her spare hand, a very familiar knife?—
"Well, well, you’re smarter than I gave you credit for, Harper."
Saying her name out loud felt wrong. She wasn’t supposed to be alive. Let alone be right underneath our noses. The number of times I’d likely passed her on the street since that night?—
Okay, well, those were slim to none because ever since that bitch cut up my face, I didn’t go out in public if I could avoid it. But if I’d been Angel, or even Rowan, there would have been ample opportunities for them to pass her on the street, and they would not even notice she was standing right next to them.
She might’ve worked on the Torino. Might’ve worked a job nights at a gas station while she was going through school. Might’ve even rode the subway to school next to one of them when they still showed their faces in the daylight.
The whole of us were pretty nocturnal now, but we hadn’t always been that way.
I watched as she checked the car from the rear, her face changing as she realized nobody was in it. She was fast, but she wasn’t fast enough as I rushed her in the dark, using her momentary shock to gain on her before she could make herself turn and run.
A smart girl would have abandoned the duffel bag. Whatever she had in it must’ve been important enough to keep hold of because she let it slow her down, still somehow managing to stay just out of my reach as she dodged between cars, keeping one hunk of metal after another between us. I snarled, I cackled, and I sighed as she forced me to play her little game, tiresome as it was. The longer she fought, the more that urge to cut a bitch rose in me, until she wasn’t being chased by normal Nash anymore. She’d unlocked a beast she probably had no idea existed, and now, when I caught her, there would be no telling what I’d do.
"Oh, you’re in for it, now, bitch," I snapped as she dodged my grip with inches to fucking spare, jumping onto the hood of a car to walk over a few of them and put more distance between us.
Fine. If she wanted to play dirty, then so would I.
I climbed up after her, setting off several car alarms as I tromped over metal hoods and shattered several windshields with my heavy boots in pursuit of my target.
She made the mistake of turning around to see where I was, and I closed in on her and tackled the bitch to the ground, the two of us bouncing off the concrete like goddamn bouncy balls from the corner store quarter machine.
I vaguely heard something snap but shoved the incoming pain to the back of my brain and paid it no mind, focusing solely on the catch in my arms. Harper had always been stubborn growing up, but this Harper was a new monster. She fought my hold with a maddened, single-minded intensity, her grunts and squeals as I tightened my grip like the sweetest music.
This was what I’d missed. This was what they’d denied me when we realized who she was and let her go.
She wasn’t getting away now.
"Keep struggling," I growled in her ear, groaning when she landed a blow to my nether region. "Fuck, I love it when they fight."
"Fuck you, sicko!" she whisper-shouted, throwing her head back into my nose with significant force. "I won’t go down easy!"
I could feel the cartilage snap as she connected a second time, felt the blood rush out of my nose and coat my face and her back. My tongue darted out, capturing a hint of the metallic tang. The grin on my face widened, and I managed to just barely dodge her next swing.
"Oh, no, you don’t," I growled, my dick hard against her ass from the rush of adrenaline she’d forced to rise in me. "We might’ve let you go before, but you’re not going anywhere this time."
I felt her go limp in a last-ditch effort to throw me off. Maybe she was waiting for me to drop my guard. Or maybe the fight was gone in her for real this time. Either way, I knew better than to slack my hold.
Her duffel bag dug into my abs, something sharp in it poking out the side. Belatedly, I registered the feel of my skin splitting, but I didn’t have time to worry about that. As long as I didn’t start bleeding out, I would be fine.
I’d had worse injuries and survived.
A strange, strangled sound left my throat at that memory. I could still vividly recall the feel of my skin splitting as that cunt held me down and shoved the knife in my mouth, living out some weird-ass fantasy of hers fueled by popular media and a mental break. She used the knife I’d given her for her birthday, the blade so sharp it slid through my muscle and tendon like butter, my screams of rage and pain echoing off the walls?—
Fuck!
I let myself get too caught up in an old wound, an old memory, and she’d spotted the moment of weakness. Her foot came up and connected with my thigh, and she shoved off me and became a slippery eel, wriggling from my grasp with a shout of triumph.
I grabbed the only thing I could as she fled from my grasp again—the strap of her duffel bag. Her head spun, and I could see the indecision in her face as she debated letting it go.
It was all the time I needed.
I used the strap to yank her back to me, our bodies front to front this time, and I watched the look of disgust cross her face when she registered the hog’s leg pressing against her waist now.
"Ugh, you disgusting pig," she spat, her knee rising to connect with my junk. Too bad for her, I was prepared. "Get off."
"With pleasure," I taunted, my lips spreading even further as she registered the joke.
"Ugh, you’re sick."
"Only in the best ways." My brows waggled, and she rolled her eyes at me. "Oh, so you gonna act like a brat, huh? I guarantee this is the best dick you’ll ever feel against you in your life."
She chuckled as I yanked her closer, enjoying the way she tried and failed to pull away. "Doubtful."
"Oh, had a few monsters in your seven years on the run, have you?" I wasn’t sure why the thought of her fucking other men made my stomach turn. It was probably just a reaction to the pain I was staunchly ignoring. "I should have known you’d be a little slut, just like the rest of 'em."
"Get fucked," she snarled, digging her claws into the side of my arm.
"Are you offering?"
She yelped a little as I spun her around, transferring her wrists to one hand as I pulled out a knife and pressed it against her throat. All the fight left her at that, and she finally settled down enough for me to think.
I hadn’t planned on killing her in the parking lot. As much as I wanted to complete this contract and move on to the next one, there was some unfinished business here. And something in me said to keep her alive.
She’d be worth more to us alive, after all.
I just hoped nobody would ask me to rationalize that thought process.
"You’re coming with me, sweet cheeks," I informed her, dragging her backward toward the Torino. "Now here’s the deal. You’re gonna get in the backseat and stay still. That way, you can’t open any doors and make a run for it while we’re going ninety on the freeway. And when we get where we’re going, you best not move an inch away from me if you value your life." I thought about the Scot Lilly killed a few years back for his absolutely unhinged depravity on an innocent the Rebels had brought in to fuck. "There are worse monsters in the Guild than me, believe it or not. "
I didn’t care if she understood or not; the important part was that she listened.
She fought me as I shoved her into the back of the car, so I stripped the duffel bag from her shoulder and pointedly kept an eye on her as I threw it in the trunk. If she had a weapon in it, I didn’t want to give her the opportunity to pull one on me from behind.
I might find that hot in another setting, but I didn’t wanna deal with Rowan if I wrecked the Torino.
"Okay, pretty girl, you sit tight in the back there and be a good little slut, okay? And when we get to the asylum, I’m sure one of the boys will make you feel right at home."
She met my eyes in the rearview mirror as I pulled out of the parking lot and into night traffic, however little of it there was. "The asylum?"
"So you’ve heard of us."
She blanched, her eyes cast away suddenly. "It’s got a reputation in town."
"You ever hear talk of any of the crews in there?" I almost thirsted for the knowledge that we’d become famous—or rather, infamous, even among the civvies.
She shook her head no, frowning at the seat cushion. "Nope. Just that the asylum houses murderers and criminals of the highest order. That half of them are sick fucks who will do unspeakable things for a dollar."
I had to admit, finding out she didn’t know about us was a little bit of a letdown. Then again, it wasn’t like I was leaving witnesses to tell everyone what we did to our victims.
Evidence was the last thing I wanted out there in the world to incriminate us.
She stayed behaved for the first half of our ride, silent and still in the seat behind me. I half expected her to rage, slam her fists in the back of my seat, or throw a tantrum .
Of course, the calm was short-lived the minute we got into the middle of town.
With the lights and more cars around her, she must have thought someone would help her if she could grab their attention. Unfortunately for her, even if our names weren’t well-known across town by ordinary people, the Torino looked ominous enough to ward off the most helpful of good samaritans.
Still didn’t stop her from trying.
As I swerved between two trucks, the bitch slammed her feet into the back of my chair, temporarily distracting me as she leaned across the car and slapped her hands against the window, trying desperately to signal someone to her aid. She didn’t know that truckers were the last people willing to help you in this town.
Her eyes locked with one of the men in the truck to my right, and she screamed so loud I felt like my head might fucking explode. I was starting to debate the intelligence of putting her in the car with me instead of in the damn trunk. She was hands-down the most annoying woman I’d met in a long time, and though the urge to cut her up just to shut her up, or give her a reason to scream like that, lurked in the back of my mind, it wasn’t the pressing need it usually was.
Harper Daniels made me soft. Made me a man I didn’t like to be. I had a reputation to hold up, after all.
My fist found purchase in the back of her hair, and I growled in frustration as I yanked her up and over the center console and into the front seat with me, all while I somehow managed to keep the Torino straight on the fucking highway doing ninety.
She came over the seat somewhat unwillingly, and I refused to release her hair even when she took her seat and turned slightly toward me to show she’d given up the fight. It felt good to have this power over her, showed her who was boss.
"Could you let my hair go before you pull it all out?" she pleaded, her eyes watering from the sting. "You’re killing me here."
"You play that shit after causing trouble, and expect me to what, just be nice?" My barking laughter filled the cab as I stared her down, feeling the dried blood on my face crack with the movement. "You’re funny, bitch."
I watched something in her face change then, like a mask falling into place over her regular features. Her whole expression shifted to a blank stare, and she closed her eyes, sucking in a deep breath like one of those yoga meditation things Angel used to do to calm himself.
I didn’t like the implications.
"Are you planning to kill me?"
She delivered her lines with zero emotion, not a hint of inflection in her tone. It felt robotic, like she was on autopilot. The effect was jarring.
"I’m not sure what I’m planning to do with you, but anyone that goes into the asylum as a target comes out in a body bag. So just chew on that for a while."
She seemed more than a little concerned at that revelation, but her face didn’t give her away.
No, it was those eyes of hers, holding all her secrets on display for anyone to read like a book. Those expressive pools of blue that used to be able to bend us all to her whim at the drop of a hat.
I put the pedal to the floor and zipped through the mostly empty streets, heading for the safety of the Guild, wishing our target had been anyone but her. Things wouldn’t be so damn complicated if it had only been someone else.
I glanced at her one more time out the corner of my eye, watching her wilt as the seriousness finally settled in. She shot me one more pleading gaze, but I just shook my head and chuckled under my breath .
That look might’ve gotten her everything she wanted once upon a time. But not anymore.
Sorry, sugar. Those days are long over.