Page 70 of Filthy Devil

There’s a knock on the door, and I jump. Nobody should be here, but then I wonder if something happened to Nash, so I rush to the door. But I’m not stupid. I don’t just wrench it open. I’ve seen those scary movies before.

But when I look through the peephole, it’s not Nash or anyone else from the club, but it is someone I know.

Two someones, actually.

My parents… or grandparents technically, but they’ve always been my parents.

“How on earth,” I whisper to myself.

I don’t know how they found me, but it seems as if they aren’t going anywhere. Wrapping my hand around the door handle, I gently tug it open. My parents stand in front of me, their eyes wide and their brows raised so high that they’re in their hairline.

I’m not sure what to say, so I don’t say anything. Instead, I stand in front of them, stoic and unsure of what to do. It seems like I’ve lived a whole lifetime without them. I know it’s only been a few months, but I feel as if I’m looking at strangers. Or maybe I’m the stranger.

“James,” my mother whispers.

Her eyes are watering, but I know her game. She’s full of shit. She is fake as hell. There are a million reasons why my birth mother left and never looked back. There was a reason she would rather give her body to a whole clubhouse full of men than live at home.

“Mother,” I rasp.

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

I take a step backward to let her into the house, although I don’t know why I do. I should make them stay outside. I don’t know why they’re even here. They walk past me and into the living room.

She spins around, taking in the whole space. I watch her, unsure of what she’s going to say, mainly because I have no idea why she’s here or how she found me. I don’t ask her. I don’t really care. I want her to get whatever the fuck she has to get out and get on with it.

“You’ve made a fine life for yourself, it seems,” she says, pursing her lips together.

Tilting my head to the side, I watch them. My father stays silent, his eyes taking in the place. He’s not going to say anything because he never does. He is the silent figure at my mother’s back, always.

“I’m in a relationship with someone if that’s what you’re implying.” She doesn’t respond, so I continue speaking. “Why are you here, and how did you find me?” I ask.

“When your daughter disappears in the middle of the night with no clues as to where she’s gone, you start asking questions.”

I stare at her in shock for a moment. My whole body jerks at her words. “You told me to go,” I whisper. “You insisted.”

“But I didn’t think you’d actuallygo.”

“No?” I ask. “You thought that I would adhere to your demands. To your rules?”

She jerks her chin. Her eyes narrow on me before she rocks back on her heels. I don’t say anything, waiting for her to reply. When she does, she takes half of a step toward me. Her eyes narrowed, her lips pressed together, and a whole-ass look of disgust on her face.

“Our demands were to keep you safe and ensure your success,” she snaps.

I open my mouth to argue with her but decide against it. Instead, I bite the inside of my cheek, knowing that it’s not worth it. I’m never going to be the person she wants me to be, and I’m okay with that. She isn’t okay with it, but I am.

“I’m safe,” I state.

Staring at her, I know that if I even brought up the fact that she said she wouldn’t support me if I didn’t follow her requests, she would deny it. I can tell she’s in one of her very normal moods of pretending that she didn’t say and mean something that she most certainly did both say and mean.

“Pack your things. We’re going home,” she grinds out.

I stare at her, my lips parted slightly, and then I shake my head once. I open my mouth to tell her that she’s freaking crazy when I hear a deep voice sound behind me. A deep voice that I love hearing, especially when he’s rasping dirty things in my ear—devilish things.

“James isn’t going anywhere,” he growls.

My mother’s entire body spins around as if her feet aren’t even touching the ground, and then she snaps her head back, and I imagine her eyes are as wide as saucers as she looks up at the man who is Nashville.

“She isn’t?” my mother asks snottily, obviously over her shock at the man standing in front of her. “Says who?”

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