Page 27 of Captivating Nash

Nash stared down at Marcus, feeling a surge of bitterness rise up inside him. He wiped the blood from his knuckles, his breathing steady but filled with simmering anger.

"You didn’t have to go down this path, Marcus," Nash growled, his voice low but sharp. "You could’ve walked away. We both could’ve."

Marcus lifted his head, his face bruised and swollen from the beating, but the defiance hadn’t entirely left his eyes. "We don’t all get to walk away, Nash. Not like you did." He spat the words, his tone laced with bitterness. "You got out. You had options. I didn’t."

Nash’s jaw clenched as Marcus’s words hit him harder than any punch. He knew the life they’d led wasn’t easy. Being a SEAL came with a price. For some, it was the battlefield. For others, it was the life after—the disillusionment, the constant fight to find a new purpose. But that didn’t excuse what Marcus had become.

"What the hell did they offer you?" Nash demanded, his fists tightening at his sides. "What was worth betraying everything we fought for?"

Marcus smirked, though it was a weak gesture, his energy clearly fading. "Broadmore’s playing a bigger, longer game than you realize. He’s got his hands on every corner of the world—Fatima’s operation is just one piece of the puzzle. He’s the one pulling the strings."

Deanna’s sharp intake of breath echoed behind Nash. Her eyes flickered with shock, but Nash’s blood turned cold at the mention of Admiral Broadmore’s name. The man who had commanded them, the man who had shaped Nash into the SEAL he became, was involved in this? The conspiracy ran deeper than he could have imagined.

"You’re lying," Nash growled, stepping closer, his shadow looming over Marcus. "Broadmore would never stoop to working with arms dealers like Fatima Al-Fayed."

Marcus let out a bitter laugh, one that sent a chill down Nash’s spine. "You still believe in those fairy tales, Nash? Broadmore’s got bigger ambitions than the Navy ever allowed. Fatima’s just a means to an end. He’s not just playing in the black market—he’s building an empire."

Nash stood still, the weight of Marcus’s words sinking in, tightening around his chest like a vice. Admiral Broadmore—his commanding officer, a man he had once looked up to—was involved in this. Broadmore. It made too much sense now. The technology, the resources, the reach. Only someone with power that vast could pull this off, and now it was clear that Nash wasn’t just fighting Fatima’s operation. He was up against a man who had taught him everything about loyalty, duty, and honor—and was now using that knowledge to tear the world apart.

Nash’s hands trembled with rage, but before he could strike again, Deanna stepped forward, her voice soft but firm. "We need to go, Nash. We’ve got the information we need. Staying here isn’t going to help."

She was right. Every second they wasted put them closer to danger. Fatima’s team was undoubtedly closing in on them. Marcus had given up the critical information they needed, but there would be more coming—backup, reinforcement. They had to move now.

Nash took a deep breath, his anger still simmering beneath the surface, but he forced himself to focus. He leaned in close to Marcus, his voice low and filled with deadly intent. "If I see you again, you won’t walk away. Understand?"

Marcus didn’t respond. His head sagged, his breathing labored, but Nash had no time to care. Stuffing an old rag into Marcus’s mouth, Nash used duct tape to secure it, before he smashed his fist into Marcus’s face, knocking him out cold. He turned to Deanna, his hand already moving to her back as he guided her toward the exit. The urgency thrummed between them now. The stakes had just risen higher than either of them had imagined.

They slipped out of the fishing shack, the cool air hitting their skin as they made their way back toward the docks. Nash’s mind was racing, piecing together everything they had uncovered. The conspiracy reached all the way to Admiral Broadmore. It wasn’t just about arms deals—it was about control. Power. And now that they knew, there was no turning back.

Deanna kept pace beside him, her eyes sharp with resolve despite the fear Nash knew had to be coursing through her. He admired her resilience—she hadn’t faltered, not even after everything they’d been through.

"We need a faster boat," Nash muttered as they reached the docks, scanning the moored vessels. The Zodiac wouldn’t cut it, not with Fatima’s team likely on their heels. His eyes landed on a sleek, high-powered speedboat parked just ahead.

"That one," Deanna said, nodding toward the boat. Her voice was steady, but he could see the tension in her body, the readiness for whatever came next.

They moved quickly, Nash slipping into the boat first and hot-wiring the ignition with a precision born from years of necessity. The engine roared to life, echoing across the quiet harbor. Nash looked over at Deanna, his expression grim but focused. "Let’s get out of here."

Deanna didn’t need to be told twice. She jumped into the passenger seat as Nash hit the throttle and sent the speedboat cutting through the water like a knife. The speedboat shot out of the harbor like a bullet, bouncing over the waves with a sharp slap against the water. The wind whipped around them, the salt spray hitting their faces as they tore across the open sea. The boat bounced across the waves, the spray of the sea hitting their faces as they sped away from the village.

Deanna gripped the side of the boat, her heart still racing from the fight, but the further they got from the village, the more the tension in her chest began to ease. The adrenaline was still there, coursing through her veins, but so was something else—relief. They had made it out. They had survived.

Nash stood at the helm, his expression hard, but when he glanced over at her, there was something softer in his eyes. A flicker of gratitude. Of respect.

“You saved me back there,” he said, his voice rough from the fight.

Deanna met his gaze, her lips curving into a small smile. “I guess that makes us even.”

Nash chuckled, the sound low and gruff, but there was something warmer behind it. Something unspoken between them.

The wind whipped through Nash’s hair, the salty mist stinging his skin, but the rush of adrenaline kept him sharp. They were moving fast, but he knew it wouldn’t be long before Fatima’s people realized what had happened. The speedboat cut through the water with powerful ease, and for a moment, Nash allowed himself to feel a flicker of hope.

But the shadow of Broadmore’s betrayal lingered in his mind, gnawing at him. This wasn’t just about survival anymore. It was personal. Broadmore had betrayed everything Nash had once believed in, everything he had fought for. And now, Nash wasn’t just fighting to stay alive—he was fighting to take down the man who had built him.

Beside him, Deanna gripped the side of the boat, her face lifted to the wind, her hair wild in the breeze. She looked fierce, determined, and in that moment, Nash knew one thing for certain.

They weren’t running anymore. They were going to fight back. They might not be safe yet, but at least they were free.

The day wore on, and a comfortable silence developed between them. There was no reason to fill the empty air with words. The hum of the speedboat’s engine filled the air, instead, as the sun began to set, its rhythmic pulse a steady backdrop against the vastness of the open water. The moon rose and the stars hung low in the sky, scattered across a velvet expanse as the dark sea stretched out before them, endless and undisturbed.

---