Page 26 of Captivating Nash

Deanna’s heart raced as they made their way down the narrow dock, her senses on edge. Something didn’t feel right. The weight of the conspiracy they’d uncovered still hung over them, and she knew they couldn’t afford to let their guard down. But she wasn’t prepared for what came next.

They rounded a corner near one of the small fishing shacks when a figure emerged from the shadows—tall, broad, and exuding a quiet menace that made the hair on the back of Deanna’s neck stand up. The man stepped forward with a slow, deliberate movement, his face partially obscured by the fading light, but Deanna could see the cruel twist of his lips as he recognized them.

Nash’s reaction was immediate, his body tensing as if he’d been struck by a physical blow. He stepped protectively in front of Deanna, his hand instinctively going to the knife at his side.

“Marcus,” Nash growled, his voice low and laced with anger.

Deanna’s breath caught in her throat. She recognized the name—Marcus. Marcus Reeves. Nash had mentioned him as a former SEAL teammate. But from the way Nash stood, rigid with fury, she knew this wasn’t a friendly reunion.

Marcus stepped forward, his grin widening as he glanced between Nash and Deanna. “It’s been a while, Nash. Didn’t think I’d run into you here of all places.”

Nash’s eyes were cold, his voice even colder. “I didn’t think I’d see you again, especially not working for people like Fatima Al-Fayed.”

Marcus shrugged, his tone casual, but his eyes gleamed with malice. “Times change. Loyalty doesn’t pay the bills. Besides, Fatima’s got big plans. Plans that’ll reshape the world. I figured I’d be on the winning side this time.”

Deanna’s stomach twisted as she watched the exchange. She could see the pain in Nash’s eyes, the betrayal that ran deeper than just a teammate switching sides. This was personal. But before she could react, Marcus’s hand went to his weapon, the click of the safety disengaging echoing in the air.

“Step aside, Nash,” Marcus said smoothly, his gun pointed squarely at Nash’s chest. “You know how this ends. Don’t make me do it.”

Nash didn’t flinch. He stared Marcus down, his voice hard as steel. “If you’re looking to settle a score, Marcus, let’s do it right now. But if you think I’m handing her over to you, you’re even more stupid than I thought, which is pretty damn stupid.”

Deanna’s heart hammered in her chest as she realized what Marcus was after. It wasn’t just about Nash—it was about the information they’d uncovered, the files that could unravel everything Fatima was planning. And Marcus wanted to stop them before they could hand it over to the authorities.

For a split second, everything seemed to slow. Deanna’s mind raced, adrenaline surging as she tried to figure out how to get out of this. Nash could take Marcus in a fight—she didn’t doubt that—but not with a gun pointed at his chest. If Nash moved, Marcus would shoot.

I have to do something.

Deanna shifted slightly behind Nash, her eyes darting toward the dock just a few feet away. There, resting against a stack of fishing nets, was a rusted metal hook attached to a long pole. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

She swallowed hard, trying to steady her nerves. “Nash,” she whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. “Trust me.”

Nash didn’t turn, but his jaw tightened, his eyes flickering with uncertainty for the briefest moment before he gave the smallest of nods.

Deanna moved quickly, darting toward the dock and grabbing the hook in one swift motion. Before Marcus could react, she swung the pole hard, the hook catching his wrist and knocking the gun out of his hand with a sharp metallic clang. Marcus let out a grunt of surprise, staggering back just long enough for Nash to close the distance.

In an instant, Nash was on him, the two men colliding in a blur of fists and fury. Deanna’s heart pounded as she watched Nash and Marcus grapple, their movements brutal and efficient. Marcus was strong, but Nash moved with a lethal grace, his military training kicking in as he landed blow after blow.

But Marcus fought dirty. He grabbed a handful of sand from the ground and threw it into Nash’s face, temporarily blinding him. Deanna’s pulse spiked as she watched Nash stumble, but before Marcus could press the advantage, Nash recovered, slamming his fist into Marcus’s stomach with enough force to knock the wind out of him.

The fight ended as quickly as it had begun. Nash drove his knee into Marcus’s chest, sending him sprawling to the ground, gasping for air. For a moment, everything was still. Then Nash straightened, his breath heavy, his face lined with anger and pain. He glanced down at Marcus, but he didn’t strike again. He’d won, and they both knew it.

Deanna ran to Nash’s side, her breath catching as she saw the blood dripping from a small cut on his brow. “Are you okay?”

Nash nodded, wiping the blood away with the back of his hand. “I’m fine. We need to move,” he said, grabbing Marcus by his shirt collar and dragging him to one of the dilapidated fishing shacks adjacent to the dock.

Propping him up on a barrel, Nash bound Marcus’s hands and feet—trussing him up like a Christmas goose. She had to admire the way Nash tied the knots—quickly, beautifully, and efficiently. Given her fascination with the way he tied them and her dream where he’d had her bound to his bed, she had to wonder if bondage wasn’t a kink she might want to explore with him.

She shook her head to rid herself of such musings. Here they were in danger, and part of her was far more focused on the future and what might lie ahead for her and Nash after this was all over.

Chapter Eleven

Nash

Nash stood over Marcus Reeves, his knuckles bruised and raw from the interrogation, but the sting of physical pain paled in comparison to the ache inside his chest. The man slumped before him, bound to the rusted chair in the corner of the dilapidated fishing shack, had once been a brother. A fellow SEAL. Someone Nash had trusted with his life, someone who had stood by him through firefights and deadly missions. And now, here they were, enemies.

The betrayal cut deeper than any wound he’d ever endured in combat.

Marcus had been stubborn—defiant at first. He hadn’t given up the information easily, not without Nash having to dig it out of him one punch at a time. The air in the small room was thick with the acrid scent of sweat and blood, and Nash could still hear Marcus’s labored breathing, the rasp of it filling the silence between them. Deanna stood nearby, her face pale but her expression hard. She’d been silent throughout the interrogation, but Nash could feel the weight of her gaze on him, heavy with both concern and understanding.

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