Page 6 of Captivating Nash

She collapsed on top of him, their bodies entwined, breathless and satisfied.

Later that night, Nash sat back in the leather armchair, listening to the rain beating against the windows on the third floor—Cerberus’ headquarters. The thick curtains did little to muffle the sound of the downpour outside, the steady rhythm filling the silence that had settled between him and Fitzwallace. The storm reflected the gray mood of the city itself—a place full of shadows and secrets. It wasn’t for him.

Fitz sat across from him, a glass of scotch in hand, studying Nash with those same calculating eyes that had first lured him to London. The man was a master of persuasion, Nash would give him that. But he wasn’t so easily swayed.

“So, what do you think?” Fitz asked, breaking the silence. His voice was smooth, controlled, the kind of tone that had convinced countless men before Nash to sign on the dotted line.

Nash didn’t answer immediately. He was never one to make hasty decisions, especially not when it involved stepping back into the world he had just left behind. The world of missions, of bullets flying past his head and the constant weight of danger pressing down on him. He could feel Fitz’s gaze on him, waiting, watching for a sign.

“You’d be a valuable asset to Cerberus,” Fitz continued, leaning forward slightly, his glass now forgotten on the desk. “You know it; I know it. The world out there… it’s not like what you’ve left behind in the Navy, Nash. It’s dirtier, more complicated. And without men like you, it’ll only get worse.”

Nash ran a hand through his hair, glancing out the rain-streaked window. Fitz’s words rang true, but they also felt heavy, like chains meant to drag him back into a life he was trying to escape. He had spent years living in the dirt, in the shadows, running missions that blurred the lines between right and wrong. He had bled for his country, for causes that weren’t always clear, and now, all he wanted was to find peace.

“Not interested,” Nash said finally, his voice steady, but with an edge of finality.

Fitz raised an eyebrow, the faintest flicker of surprise crossing his otherwise impassive face. “You’re sure about that? I don’t make this kind of offer to just anyone.”

“I didn’t ask for the offer.” Nash stood, pacing slowly to the window, his eyes following the streaks of rain running down the glass. “You can keep London, Fitz. I’m not built for cold nights and endless rain. I want sunshine. Warm water. Not this.”

Fitz sighed, standing and placing his glass on the mahogany desk. “The world isn’t sunshine and warm waters, Maddox. You know that better than anyone.”

Nash didn’t answer, just kept staring at the city beyond the window. Fitz was right, of course. The world was a brutal place, filled with violence and uncertainty. But Nash was tired of living in that world. He wanted something more—something quieter. He turned back toward Fitz, his expression hard.

“I’m done with all of it,” Nash said firmly. “I’m done with the missions, the secrecy, the killing. I’ve given enough.”

Fitz crossed his arms, clearly frustrated. “You really think you can walk away? Just like that? You think you’ll be happy with a quiet life?”

Nash’s lips curved into a half-smile, but there was no humor in it. “I’ve already made my choice.”

Mediterranean Sea

Off the Coast of Crete

Two months later, Nash stood on the deck ofThe Reverie, his charter sailboat, the gentle Mediterranean breeze brushing against his skin. The sun hung low on the horizon, casting a warm golden light across the crystal-clear waters, with the only sound the soft lapping of the waves against the hull. This was where he belonged.

After leaving London and turning down Fitz’s offer, Nash had returned to his business. Wealthy tourists paid top dollar to be ferried to remote islands, to dive in hidden coves, and to soak in the beauty of the Mediterranean. It wasn’t glamorous by any stretch, but it was peaceful. No gunfire. No secrets. Just sun, sea, and the occasional thrill-seeking tourist.

Nash leaned against the railing, his eyes scanning the horizon where the deep blue sea stretched endlessly in every direction. It was a far cry from the rainy, cold nights in London. Here, he felt free.

But as much as he tried to leave that life behind, it had a way of creeping back in. Every so often, Fitz’s number would pop up on his phone, like an unwanted reminder of the life he thought he had escaped. Nash didn’t answer the first few times. But eventually, the curiosity got the better of him. Fitz never asked for much—just the odd favor here and there. A job that needed a specific set of skills. Skills that Nash couldn’t deny he still possessed.

The first time Nash took a job for Cerberus, he told himself it was just to help an old acquaintance. A quick extraction on the coast of Croatia, something simple, in and out. But it wasn’t simple. It never was. The adrenaline kicked in, the rush of danger, the focus that came with knowing every move could be your last.

After that, the jobs came more frequently. Small, one-off missions that didn’t require much commitment. A shipment that needed guarding. A person who needed protection. Fitz knew Nash wasn’t back in full, but he also knew how to dangle the right incentives to get him involved.

Now, standing on his boat, Nash’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He didn’t need to look to know who it was.

He sighed, pulling it out and seeing Fitz’s name flash on the screen.

“Not today,” Nash muttered under his breath, ignoring the call and slipping the phone back into his pocket.

The phone went silent and then trilled again. He closed his eyes, trying to ignore it by listening to the sound of the waves. As much as he loved the sun and the sea, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the quiet life he’d been chasing wasn’t quite as fulfilling as he’d imagined. A part of him—the part that thrived on the edge, that lived for the adrenaline—was always restless.

On the third attempt, Nash shook his head and pulled out his phone. “Fitz?”

Chapter Three

Deanna

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