Page 32 of Captivating Nash

Once aboard, they were led down a narrow hallway, the clanging of boots against the metal floor the only sound. Nash kept his eyes forward, but every muscle in his body was tense, waiting for the right moment. The corridor was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of diesel and sweat. Broadmore’s men stopped in front of a large steel door, unlocking it before shoving Nash and Deanna inside.

The room was sparse, nothing more than a steel box with a single light overhead. No windows. No way out.

And then he appeared.

Admiral Broadmore stepped into the room, his uniform pristine, his posture rigid. Nash’s stomach twisted with a mixture of anger and disbelief as the man he had once respected more than anyone else looked down at him with cold, calculating eyes.

“Nash Maddox,” Broadmore said, his voice filled with an unsettling calm. “I knew you’d be trouble the moment I heard you were involved. Always too honorable for your own good.”

Nash’s fists clenched behind his back, the restraints biting into his wrists. He kept his voice steady, though every word felt like a challenge. “You taught me what honor meant. What the hell happened to you, Broadmore?”

The admiral’s expression remained unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—something dark. “Honor,” he repeated, almost mockingly. “Honor doesn’t win wars, Nash. Power does. Control does. And that’s what I’ve built—control over the future. Over what’s coming.”

Nash took a step forward, his voice hard as steel. “You’ve sold out everything we fought for. You’re nothing but a traitor.”

Broadmore’s smile was thin, cold. “You’re still playing by the old rules, Maddox. That’s why you’ll never understand. But it doesn’t matter now. You and your little scientist—” He glanced at Deanna, his gaze sharp. “—have caused enough problems. But don’t worry, she’ll be useful before all of this is over.”

Nash’s blood boiled, but before he could respond, Broadmore’s men moved in. Two grabbed Deanna, pulling her roughly toward the door. Nash’s heart lurched, his instincts screaming at him to fight, to protect her, but he was outnumbered. He lunged forward, but one of the guards grabbed him, slamming him against the wall. The door closed with a heavy clang, separating him from Deanna.

“Deanna!” Nash roared, his voice echoing through the cold, empty room, as he slammed his shoulder against the steel door, his breath ragged with frustration.

But it was too late. She was gone.

Broadmore’s voice echoed in his mind, taunting him, but Nash forced himself to breathe, to think. He couldn’t let the anger consume him, not now. He had to wait. To bide his time. There would be a moment, an opening, and when it came, he would be ready.

They moved and locked him in a smaller room off the main corridor containing only a single utilitarian, metal chair. The walls were bare, the floor cold beneath his feet. He sat in silence, his heart pounding as he replayed everything that had happened. He had to get to Deanna. He had to protect her.

In the interim, in order for that to happen, he had to be ready. And the first part of being ready was getting his hands free. At first there didn’t seem any way to get free of the zip ties, but as he looked around, his eyes settled on the chair. He used his hands to explore the frame and found nothing—nothing until he flipped it over and there it was—a small, jagged, sharp piece of metal that had become sheared away. Repositioning the chair, he began to saw away at the plastic restraints.

Minutes turned into hours, or maybe it was only moments—it was hard to tell. But then, the door creaked. A soft, almost imperceptible sound. Nash tensed, his body coiling like a spring. He edged closer, his muscles taut with anticipation. Whoever was coming for him wasn’t expecting him to be ready.

The door handle turned slowly, the metal scraping faintly against the lock. Nash crouched, his instincts kicking in as he prepared to strike. The door opened just a sliver, and before he could think, Nash leaped forward, ready to take down whoever was there.

But instead of a guard, it was Deanna.

She gasped as Nash grabbed her, his momentum nearly sending them both crashing to the floor. He caught her, pulling back just in time as realization hit him like a wave. “Deanna?”

Her breathless laugh broke the tension. “Nice reflexes,” she whispered, pulling something from her pocket. A small, flat screwdriver.

Nash blinked, taking it in as the pieces clicked together. “You…?”

“I slipped this in my pocket when they weren’t looking,” she explained, her voice quiet but steady. “Got myself out, figured I’d come for you next.”

A flood of relief and admiration coursed through him. Deanna had freed herself. She had saved him. Nash shook his head, a slow smile tugging at his lips despite the danger still surrounding them.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured.

Deanna smirked. “Took you long enough to notice. Now, how about you get us out of here.”

Nash’s grin faded as the reality of their situation sank back in. They weren’t safe yet—not by a long shot. But they were together and relatively unharmed. And that was a start.

“I’ll lead the way,” he said, his voice low but steady. “Let’s take down an admiral.”

Deanna’s eyes met his, filled with resolve. “Gladly.”

“Don’t worry about the flash drive…”

“I have it,” she said, reaching down her top and retrieving it. “Just before they took us, I slipped it inside my bra and under my boob.”

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