Page 31 of Filthy Devil

“They are,” I confirm.

She shakes her head, her eyes still as big as saucers and filled with absolute terror. She swallows, but I don’t let her say anything else. I cup her cheek. My gaze searches hers, and I try to show her just how calm I am.

“They are here, but they will not touch you, sweetheart. Stay here. I'll be back as soon as I have more information.”

She reaches up, wrapping her fingers around my wrist at her cheek. “I signed myself over to them, Nash. They are here to collect.”

My lips twitch into a smirk as I lean forward and touch my mouth to hers. “Finders fucking keepers, James.”

CHAPTER

TWELVE

NASH

Bugsyand I walk down the hallway. James is locked in her apartment alone, which I fucking hate because this shit caught us all completely off guard, and I don’t have extra protection for her. Something that I will be rectifying immediately.

Clearing my throat as I walk up to my office, I notice that Rev is standing on one side of the door, and another one of my men is standing on the other. He jerks his chin toward me, a smart-assed fucking smirk playing on his lips.

I’m ready to beat that look off his face, but right now, my focus needs to be on whoever the fuck is on the other side of that door.

“Shall we?” I ask.

Bugsy clears his throat, and I watch as Rev opens the door to my office. Stepping inside, I close the door behind me, and Bugsy locks it so nobody can get inside and see my bookshelf entrance.

Walking over to my safe, I reach for my gun and tuck it into the back of my jeans waistband. Then I turn my attention toBugsy and jerk my chin in a silent signal for him to open the bookcase. He does, and we disappear behind the wall.

The room isn’t very big, and the man sitting in the middle of it, tied to a chair, doesn’t seem the least bit fazed to see men standing in front of him. I watch as his chin lifts and his eyes meet mine.

I don’t recognize him.

Then he smiles, and I tilt my head in confusion. Because what the fuck does he have to be smiling about? He’s literally tied to a chair, alone, in the middle of a concrete room. I don’t think it’s anything to be smiling about at fucking all.

“Want to tell me what the fuck you’re doing here?” I ask.

He chuckles. “You do not mince words, do you?”

“I’m not one for fanfare or wasting time. I have plenty of shit to do every single day to keep me busy. Playing games isn’t on that list.”

His eyes focus on mine. They connect to my own, and he speaks. When he does, he’s concise and to the point, which I appreciate. What I don’t appreciate are the words he’s spewing.

“James Bishop is not yours to have. She was not on that trailer, and I want her back. She has been bought and paid for, and her owner is waiting.”

Bugsy snorts behind me, but I ignore him. “And you think I have her?” I ask.

“I thought we weren’t playing games?” he asks.

“Fine. What is it to you? Really? Don’t you people have enough problems? At least that’s what I’ve been hearing.”

His eyes widen, and then he narrows them slightly before he lets out a growl. “It doesn’t matter. She’s mine.”

Ah.

And now he’s fucked up. Big time. I stand back, waiting for whatever it is he’s going to say. I have a feeling I’m not going tolike it, not even for a fucking second. But if I speak, I’m going to show my whole-ass hand, so I impatiently wait for him instead.

What I don’t do is say a damn word. Nothing. This asshole is going to need to start talking. I cross my arms over my chest, plant my feet wide, and wait.

“James Bishop signed the contract, giving herself to the Southern Mafia for the rest of her life. I know it was you who stopped that truck and threatened the driver. I know it was you because he described you, but also, her whore of a mother was involved with you people.”

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