29. Nash
TWENTY-NINE
NASH
I woke around noon with a splitting headache, an empty, still-protesting stomach, and a fucking case of cotton mouth that had me drinking from the faucet in the bathroom before I even realized I’d moved.
Fuck me, I was never drinking again.
Lies I’d told myself a thousand times before. Perhaps now, I’d fucking stick to it. Turn it into truth.
There was a first time for everything, after all.
I slipped into some clean pants, threw on a shirt, and ran my fingers through my hair, trying to look like a human being as I walked from the room, cautious to make sure no one else was inhabiting the commons.
I made it three steps in the room before I noticed Harper on the couch, fast asleep, draped over an armrest.
Her soft snores were like a soothing balm. At least she’d gotten some sleep last night. I was afraid after my outburst?—
Fuck.
I’d forgotten how I treated her the night before.
Pieces of a self-depreciating conversation with her came back to me as I woke up proper, words that cut me to the quick slicing new wounds inside me as words I’d been a fool to say out loud ricocheted in my mind.
It didn’t surprise me she’d listened so well when I told her to get the fuck out.
From Harper, I expected a fight. Some stern fuckery about how I should never think of myself so lowly. How I shouldn’t try to chase away good things when I had them. A slap on the cheek, maybe. Instead, she’d given me exactly what I asked for, precisely what I demanded.
She walked away.
Because I hurt her enough to make her bleed, the kind of wound that didn’t bleed on the outside. The blood not of the veins, but of the heart.
I regretted every word. But I regretted that they were the truth even more.
It wasn’t wise for her to attach herself to me. I would only hurt her in the end.
Rowan popped his head out of the office and caught my eyes, motioning that I should join him. With a sigh of resignation, I marched slowly into his den of plan-making and chaotic order.
"Close the door."
Like a puppet, I followed his command without a thought, waiting for him to speak before I said a word.
I didn’t have to wait long.
"I have a lead on the assholes who trumped up this story for the contract. I want you to follow up on it."
On the table were three folders, each with a name on them. None of which appealed to me at this moment.
I had no desire to follow up on my father. The asshole whose name was scrawled on folder number two was even worse. Scum of the earth, known for doing the work others wouldn’t. No matter how dirty, as long as there was money at the end of the rainbow, he’d fucking follow it like a bloodhound.
"Jameson’s involved?" I flipped through his dossier, disgust curling my lips into a frown as I spotted disgusting fact after disgusting fact about a man Harper’s mother had cut out of her entourage for good reason. The man was a piece of shit. It wouldn’t be beyond him to hunt down his own blood to take out for a payday, let alone his former boss’s daughter. I flipped the pages, setting down the dossier with a wince.
Rowan shrugged. "It’s possible. I don’t want to take any chances, though. Whatever Father has on them is big enough for them to help him falsify a contract for the Guild. And they know better than to mess with St. Clair."
Of the available options, he was the easiest to cross off. It would get me out of the house today, too. And that meant I wouldn’t have to deal with Harper’s stares all day. I could avoid the awkwardness and the pain in her eyes that I’d put there intentionally to push her away.
I wasn’t ready to face what I’d done.
"I’ll take him. I’ll even cross him off your list tonight."
Rowan quirked a brow but said nothing, just nodded. "Have fun."
I rolled my eyes at him and grumbled under my breath. "Sure, if you wanna call it that."
Hours later, I’d managed to slip past the detail the fucker had following everywhere. Hell, the man was so paranoid he didn’t even take a piss without his entourage. I couldn’t imagine being that scared of my own shadow.
Then again, he had men like me tailing him. It made sense to be overly cautious.
Unfortunately for him, I was a killer, unscrupulous and unbiased. Taking out his personal guard would have been child’s play to me. Thankfully, I didn’t have to draw undue attention to my presence. I just waited for them to switch shifts and slipped under the radar, cornering the bastard in his office.
He was sitting upright in his chair, staring me down, but I could see the nervous energy in his little tells.
The way he shifted his posture and crossed his legs, perching a pair of clasped hands atop one knee to stop the bouncing. Little droplets of sweat collected on his brow as he struggled not to panic.
I didn’t blame him. I had gone without makeup for this job, and my face was scary as fuck. It was part of why I’d opted to come unpainted to this little interview.
"What the fuck do you want from me?" His attempts to sound domineering and in charge were futile. I could see the tremble in his upper lip, hear the wavering in his voice. He told on himself without even trying.
"I want to know if you’re in the business of taking out hits on undeserving innocents, Jameson. It’s very simple." I slid the picture of Harper in her disguise as Hannah Flagg across the desk, and he peered at it for a second before blinking stupidly, like he’d never seen this girl in his life.
"I don’t know who she is, and even if I did, I’m not interested in hiring contract killers to take out someone I don’t know."
I shoved the picture a little further toward him. "Look really close, Jameson. Are you sure you don’t know this woman?"
He squinted as if that would bring him the knowledge or brain cells he clearly lacked. "I don’t think so, but she looks sort of familiar?"
"You telling me you don’t recognize your old boss’s daughter?" I waved the picture in front of his nose, my menacing glare bearing down on him with a sickening smirk on my lips, stretching the old scars. "You’re not that dumb, are you?"
"I-I-I don’t know who she is, I swear!" His face had gone pale, and he looked damn close to passing out. "Fuck, please don’t hurt me."
"Jameson. Buddy, pal, friend." I pulled out a knife I wasn’t overly fond of and stabbed the sharp end into the top of his desk. "If I wanted to hurt you, you’d already be dead." My eyes moved to the blade, and his followed suit as he swallowed the lump in his throat and fought back what I imagined was his rising bile.
"Fuck, yeah, okay, I get it."
"Good." I pocketed the old, grainy picture and lifted a brow. "You sure I won’t have to come back here because it turned out you’re lying?"
"I swear—I don’t know who she is!" His eyes held panic, but also confusion and honesty. "Please, just leave me alone."
I yanked the knife out of his desk and slipped it back into my pocket with a crazed grin. "Okay then, Jameson, m’boy. I’ll take your word for it. But next time, it won’t be your desk if I find out I was lied to." I grinned wider, the pull on the edges of my scar tissue like a dull twinge of pain that I ignored. "Last guy who lied to me is dead now." He gulped loudly, and I mimed an alligator chomping for special effect. "Gators are hungry fuckers, man. They’ll eat anything you give them."
I killed more time than I thought I had, so with a last little burst of energy, I hopped over to the convenience store and picked up some of my favorite chocolate bars. As an afterthought, I grabbed some of the ones Harper had liked as a young girl, hoping when she raided my stash next time, she’d take these instead.
What the fuck are you thinking? Pandering to a woman you’re actively trying to chase off.
I put the candy back, albeit reluctantly, hating that I was letting my intrusive voice win out this time.
It was for the best. I had to keep my distance. She’d figure out I was no good for her soon enough, and then she’d move on, and we’d all go back to normal.
Never mind that the thought of her leaving filled my stomach with dread. I wanted to scream, to rage, to throw things and break people and cut things—myself included—at the thought of never seeing her again.
I couldn’t let her go, but I knew there would come a time very soon that I wouldn’t have a choice.
She’d leave, go back to her little, shit life, and we’d be left in her wake like trash thrown out after a move.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Rowan seemed pleased I’d crossed off his little errand, and when I came back to the rooms, Harper was nowhere in sight. I was too smart to think her absence would last all day, but at least for the moment, I was spared that interaction.
Angel sprawled on the couch, flipping through the pages of a book that had seen better days as he mouthed words to himself, oblivious to the world around him.
So, of course, I sat down in front of him with a groan and deposited the heels of my dirty boots on the coffee table to piss him off.
He didn’t even spare me a glance, but I could tell he knew what I was up to. His lips curled in a sneer, and he huffed in annoyance.
"You know, you could try being civilized for a change, Nash. Shoes don’t belong on the table, and you know this."
I crossed my arms and made a point to light a cigarette as I stared at him, daring him to say another fucking word. "Why don’t you come over here and fucking make me move them?" I taunted him, knowing damn well I was spoiling for a fight. Anything to keep from dealing with the emotions swirling through my head.
Of course, Harper would pick this moment to come striding through the door. She gave us a cursory glance and then kept going until she walked past me and her nose curled in disgust.
Harper hated smoking. The scent reminded her of bad times, perhaps. I wasn’t sure. But the moment her head wandered into my smoke cloud, I watched her freeze in place and turn to me with a look of utter distaste on her face.
"Really, Nash? Cigarettes? What a nasty habit."
She put her nose in my business, so I leaned forward and blew a cloud of smoke in her face to show her who was in charge. "I’m a nasty man, Harper Daniels. Nasty men have nasty habits."
Her hand darted out and yanked the cigarette from my lips so fast I couldn’t react. In a heartbeat, she was grinding the damn thing into the carpet with the toe of some very expensive-looking boots, and my eyes were momentarily mesmerized by the turn of her heel, the curve of her ankle, the way her skirt came to rest at mid-thigh and teased a man to wild thoughts. Then, I came to, and turned my heated gaze on her with a snarl.
"What the fuck, Harper?!?"
She shrugged and smiled, that blinding megawatt grin that stopped boys’ hearts when she was younger. "Drop the act, Nashville Blackwood. Cigarettes are bad for you. Might as well take care of that body; it’s the only one you’ll have."
"Someone already took care of it for me," I said, motioning to my scars with a grimace. "Sorry to disappoint."
"You keep lighting them. See what happens," she retorted, her grin widening, daring me to pull another out to test her. She wasn’t about to play around, and I knew when I was beaten.
My hands rose in the air in defense. "I do what I want. You’re just lucky I wasn’t actually in the mood to smoke that one."
I watched her hips sway as she strolled into the kitchen for a bottle of water. When she bent over to grab one from the fridge, I got a good view of the curve of her ass, and it was clear she wasn’t wearing any underwear. Or if she was, it was a pair with hardly any fabric.
Fuck, and now I was hard as a rock.
The look she shot me over her shoulder told me she knew exactly what she was doing to me, too.
I was fucked. And this girl would be my downfall.