Page 46 of Filthy Devil

CHAPTER

EIGHTEEN

JAMES

My back straightensas a shiver of dread slides down my spine. Turning my head, I look over my shoulder at the door to the bar, waiting for it to fly open. It doesn’t. The eggs in front of me suddenly don’t seem appealing at all. Something is wrong. Very wrong. I just don’t know what it is.

I suck in and hold my breath for a moment, closing my eyes as I let that breath out slowly. So damn slowly. When I reopen them, I expect something to be different, but it’s not. Standing from the table, I abandon my eggs and walk over to the small window that looks out over the parking lot.

Nash has been gone since I woke up this morning, and while it’s not odd for him to be gone all day long lately, something feels… unsettling. I’m not sure how long I stand at the little window, but it’s long enough that someone notices.

A warm hand wraps around my shoulder and gently tugs. Whipping around, I tilt my head back to look up into the face of the man behind me. It’s Bugsy.

“You good, babe?” he asks.

Shaking my head a couple of times, I don’t look away from him. I can’t. Instead, I focus on his gaze and try to find anything that is amiss behind his eyes, but there is nothing.

“Have you heard from Nash today?” I ask.

His lips twitch into a smirk. “Is that what this is?” he asks. “You worried about him.”

I can’t explain it without sounding like a fucking psycho. So I don’t. Instead, I shrug my shoulder and bite the inside of my cheek as I try to keep from telling him that I’ve had a bad feeling for a while, and I’m pretty sure something happened.

Because why would I have a bad feeling? There’s no reason to. This is a day just like any other day. Bugsy’s eyes search mine. Then he clears his throat.

“Okay, I’ll call him,” he announces with a nod.

I’m not sure if he sees something in my eyes, but whatever the reason, I’m glad. I watch as he tugs his phone out of his pocket and slides his thumb across a few times, then holds the device to his ear.

I hold my breath.

He doesn’t speak.

Then, he pulls his phone away from his ear and looks down at the device. His brows snap together. I can tell he is concerned, but he doesn’t say that to me. Instead, he clears his throat, his gaze still focused on his phone.

“Bugsy?” I ask softly.

“He didn’t answer, but that doesn’t mean anything. I’ll call his office at the club. Far as I know, that’s where he is today.”

I watch as he stabs his finger against the screen of his phone a few times, then the sound of it ringing fills my ears. I hold my breath, waiting for Nash to pick up the other end of the line, but he doesn’t.

Bugsy clears his throat, then looks behind him and jerks his chin toward someone. I don’t watch, my gaze transfixed on thatphone, the one in his hand, knowing that Nash didn’t pick up two different phones.

“Rev?” Bugsy calls out. “You got a location on Nash?” he asks.

Rev jerks his chin but doesn’t call out across the bar. Instead, he moves toward us. I still get theheebie-jeebiesfrom Rev, but if he can find Nash and assure me that my bad feelings are invalid, then I’ll give him a whole second chance to prove he’s not a dickhead.

If he can prove it.

I doubt this because I think that’s just who he is as a person.

But when he approaches us, his phone in hand and his brows furrowed, I know something is wrong.

“Cell says he’s at the club,” Rev murmurs, almost as if he’s talking to himself.

“He’s not,” I snap.

Both men’s eyes snap to meet mine, but it’s Rev who speaks first. “What the fuck do you know, bitch?” he growls. He lifts his hand, his arm outstretched and his fingers curling into aCshape as he reaches out for my throat. Bugsy knocks his arm away before he can choke me.

---