Page 51 of Her Dark Angel

My eyes just about bulge out of my head and my heart rate spikes through the roof. What the fuck has Nash gotten himself into? “Officer, is he okay?”

“He’s fine, ma’am, just a few cuts and bruises from a fight he was in last night. We picked him up around three in the morning and he’s been silent ever since. Until now. He requested us to call you, so if you are free to come down to the station, that would be great.”

I’m barely listening to what the police officer is saying as I rush around the room, collecting my handbag from beside the couch and switching my shoes from the uncomfortable heels Cindy dressed me in when I arrived on set to my black flats. All the while I feel Wesley’s intense gaze on me, itching to ask what’s wrong.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can, Officer,” I say breathlessly as I slip my right foot into the worn flat.

“I’ll see you soon, Miss May,” Officer Walker replies in that deep, scary voice of his before the line goes dead.

I waste no time throwing my phone into my handbag, my eyes drifting to meet Wesley’s. My heart is thumping so hard against my rib cage I’m afraid it’ll crack a few bones. His eyes are filled with concern as they bore into mine, and I hate that he witnessed that interaction. If I tell him Nash is in jail for fighting again, it’ll only prove his point. I can’t have him think that he knows Nash better than I do.

“Is everything okay?” Wesley asks, his brows furrowed slightly.

I force a smile. “Yep, everything is fine. Can you just let Jason know I have to step out for a couple of hours for a family emergency? Tell him I promise to make it up to him tomorrow by coming in early.”

Wesley hesitantly nods, although I can tell he wants to question me further. “Y-yeah, I can do that for you. I hope everything is okay.”

I rush past him, my shoulder brushing his slightly. “Everything is fine. I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks!”

As my legs carry me as fast as they can out to my car, blood rushing in my ears, all I can think about is Nash sitting in jail covered in cuts and bruises. Why did he get himself into more trouble after our dinner last night? And why the hell did he call me and not one of his bandmates?

18

KINSLEY

Idon’t know why I’m so nervous walking into the LAPD building. Maybe it’s because of the men in uniform watching me with intense eyes—a reminder that when I needed the law the most, no one was there to help me. Or maybe it’s because I can’t stop thinking about Nash and if he’s okay.

What if this gets out to the media and our publicity stunt no longer works the way it has been? From an outside perspective, people might start to think Nash hasn’t changed, even after dating me. It could lead to questions we don’t have answers to or unwanted theories about us. The last thing we need is people questioning our relationship and blowing our cover.

My throat works to swallow the little saliva pooling in my mouth, but my airways are constricted as I approach the woman at the front desk with kind chocolate eyes and wrinkles by the corners of her mouth. She’s an older woman with graying hair cut into a bob at her shoulders, and a smile so bright someone from the moon could see it.

“Well, hi there, sugar,” she greets, her southern accent so thick I almost don’t understand her. “What can I do for you?”

I clear my throat and twist the beaded bracelet on my wrist. This feels like the ultimate test for our fake relationship. As much as I want to give Nash a piece of my mind for getting into another fight when he needs to be working on not having his public image be trash, I know I need to play the caring girlfriend who is worried for her boyfriend’s welfare.

I’ve played many roles in my career, but never one this difficult.

“I got a call earlier from Officer Walker regarding my boyfriend, Nash Beck. He asked me to swing by and bail him out.”

The woman nods along with my words as her eyes scan a clipboard in front of her. “Ah, yes. Nash Beck. He’s in holding cell two. I’ll have one of the officers collect him while I talk you through the bail-out process.”

As the kind woman with the thick accent talks me through the process and has me pay a fee to release Nash—three hundred dollars, to be exact—I smile through gritted teeth, trying my damn hardest not to crack. When I see Nash, I’m going to give him a?—

“Miss May.”

My head snaps up at the sound of Officer Walker’s deep voice behind me. I lower the pen onto the form I just finished signing and turn around.

It’s nice to put a face to the officer standing behind me. He’s older than I had thought from hearing him speak during our brief conversation on the phone. Maybe mid to late forties with a goatee and blonde hair cut close to the scalp. He’s a good-looking man, but pales in comparison to the Devil standing beside him.

Nash’s eyes are aflame with an emotion I can’t quite decipher when his mismatched eyes find mine. An intense shiver races down my spine as my core explodes with molten lava. Purple bags line the skin beneath his eyes, highlighting how exhausted he must be.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask if he’s okay, but the words die the moment his tired eyes blink slowly.

Nash repositions the leather jacket slung over his shoulder; his tattooed arm flexes with the movement. The dried blood stains on the white tank top clinging to his torso matches the dried blood coated on his busted knuckles.

Is the blood his or from the man he beat up?

My instincts are telling me to run. Run as far away from this troubled man as I can because he could burn me at any moment. But the thing is… I don’t want to run away. I’m like a moth drawn to the flame, unable to look away or retreat. I just know that the closer I get to Nash, the more chance I have of going up in fucking flames.

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