Chapter 19
BLAIR
The warehouse smells of rust and oil, and I can taste my own fear, thick and metallic in the back of my throat.
My feet ache against the cold concrete as Brooks’ men drag me deeper inside.
Brooks, the man my father tried to sell me to, like I was livestock.
He walks ahead of us with calm, measured steps, his hands clasped behind his back as if he’s on a casual tour of his property.
They shove me into a small cleared space surrounded by towering stacks of car parts and scrap metal. A single flickering bulb hangs overhead, casting harsh shadows. I stumble but catch myself, spinning to face them with my chin lifted even though my legs are shaking.
Brooks turns slowly, studying me with cold, appraising eyes. The polite mask he used to wear around my father is completely gone. What’s left is something predatory and ugly.
“Well, well,” he says, voice smooth but edged with something rotten. “Look at you. All grown up and thoroughly ruined.”
I glare at him, my breath tight in my lungs. “My father will kill you for this.”
He laughs, a low, predatory sound that makes my skin crawl.
“I’ve been thinking about that. Perhaps I’ve changed my mind about taking you back to him.
The man can’t be trusted. He’s proven that time and time again.
He promised you to me, clean and untouched.
And now?” His gaze drags slowly down my body, lingering on my bare legs and the oversized shirt hanging off my skin.
“Now you’re sullied. Used goods. Nash Everett’s dirty whore. ”
The word hits like a slap. I blink, but I don’t look away.
Brooks takes a step closer, his beady eyes gleaming.
“Maybe I should just put you in the scrap metal crusher. Send your father a nice little video of it happening. Let him watch his precious daughter get flattened into nothing. Then we’d be even, wouldn’t we?
He took money from me. I take his daughter from him. Poetic, really.”
My stomach churns. Real terror claws up my throat, but I force it down. “You’re sick.”
He smiles, stepping even closer. “Perhaps. But I’m also practical.
And now that I know you’ve been spreading your legs for that bastard Everett…
” He reaches out, brushing his fingers over my wrist. “Maybe I should have a taste first. See what all the fuss is about. After all, if you’re already used goods—”
“Don’t touch me,” I snarl, jerking away.
He grabs my wrist anyway, yanking me forward. His other hand comes up, gripping my chin hard enough to bruise. His breath smells of mint and rum as he leans in. “You’ll learn to like it. Or you won’t. Either way, you’re not leaving here the same way you came in.”
Terror spikes through me, and before I can think better of it, I spit in his face. For a second, pure rage flashes across his features. His grip tightens painfully, and I scan the other goons, thinking quickly if there is anyway I can break free.
In that moment, like divine intervention, the door at the far end of the warehouse explodes open with a deafening crash.
Nash.
He looks like a nightmare come to life…shirtless with bleeding feet, and his eyes wild with pure psychotic fury.
Blood is already streaked across his chest and arms from whatever violence he’s unleashed on the way in.
In his right hand he holds a tire iron, his knuckles white around the metal.
He looks completely unhinged. Beautifully, terrifyingly unhinged.
Brooks releases me instantly, stumbling back. “What the—”
Nash doesn’t speak, he simply charges. The first thug barely has time to raise his hands before the tire iron swings in a vicious arc, connecting with the side of his head with a sickening crack.
The man drops like a sack of bricks. The second tries to pull a gun, but Nash is already on him, feral and unstoppable.
The tire iron cracks ribs, then smashes down on the man’s arm with brutal precision.
Screams echo off the metal walls as Nash beats him into unconsciousness, each blow landing with wet, awful sounds.
Brooks tries to run, but Nash catches him by the back of his expensive suit jacket and slams him face-first into a stack of scrap.
The older man crumples as blood pours from his nose.
Nash drops the tire iron with a clang and grabs him by the throat, lifting him off the ground with terrifying strength.
“You touched her,” Nash snarls, voice barely human. “You put your fucking hands on what’s mine.”
Brooks chokes, clawing at Nash’s wrist, his eyes bulging with terror. Nash’s face is pure rage, with his teeth bared and eyes black with murder. For a terrifying second, I think he’s actually going to kill him right here, by crushing his windpipe and watching the life drain from his eyes.
“Nash,” I whisper, my voice breaking.
He freezes. His head snaps toward me, the feral intensity in his gaze softening just a fraction when he sees me. Still, his hand stays locked around Brooks’ throat.
“Please,” I whisper. “Don’t. Not like this. I need you here. With me.”
For a long, terrible moment, I think he might ignore me. Then, with a snarl of frustration, he throws Brooks to the ground like garbage. The older man gasps and curls into a ball, wheezing.
Nash crosses the distance between us in three long strides and pulls me into his arms so hard it knocks the breath out of me.
His body is shaking with rage and relief, and maybe something deeper.
His hands roam over me frantically, checking for injuries, pressing me tighter against his bare chest like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.
“I’m here,” I whisper against his skin, clinging to him just as desperately. “I’m okay. You came for me.”
He pulls back just enough to cup my face in both hands, thumbs brushing over my cheeks, wiping away tears I didn’t realize were falling. His eyes are still wild, but when he looks at me, there’s something else there too, something raw and aching and devoted.
“I will always come for you,” he says, voice hoarse. “Always.”
Behind him, Brooks tries to crawl away. Nash’s head snaps toward the sound, a low growl building in his chest.
“Don’t,” I say quickly, gripping his arm. “He’s not worth it. Let him live with what he almost lost. Let my father deal with him.”
Nash hesitates, every muscle in his body coiled like a predator ready to strike. Then he exhales sharply and nods once, turning his back on Brooks completely. He scoops me up into his arms like I weigh nothing, cradling me against his chest as he carries me out of the warehouse.
The cold night air hits us as we step outside, and I can hear sirens wailing faintly in the distance, but Nash doesn’t seem to care. He walks straight to his truck, sets me gently in the passenger seat, and buckles me in with careful hands.
Only when we’re both inside and the doors are locked, does he finally let himself breathe. He leans over the console and presses his forehead to mine, his eyes closed and body still trembling with leftover adrenaline and rage.
“I thought I’d lost you,” he murmurs, his voice cracking. “When I saw them dragging you away…I thought I’d be too late.”
“You weren’t,” I whisper back, cupping his face. “You came for me. Like you always will.”
He kisses me, pressing his mouth firmly to mine in a desperate claiming, full of everything we’ve survived. When he pulls back, his eyes are dark with promise.
“No one will ever take you from me again, Blair. Not your father. Not Brooks. Not anyone. You’re mine. And I protect what’s mine.”
I nod, tears slipping down my cheeks as I lean into him. “I know,” I whisper.
And as the sirens grow louder and Nash starts the truck, driving us away from the nightmare we barely escaped, I realize something with startling clarity: I don’t ever want to be saved from him.