Page 47 of Filthy Devil

“I don’t know anything,” I hiss. “Except I’ve had a bad feeling all day, and now I’m really starting to worry.”

Bugsy and Rev share a glance between one another and then nod simultaneously as if making some sort of major decision. I open my mouth to ask them what is happening, but I don’t get the chance. Before I can say even a single word, both men begin marching away from me and head toward the front door.

Instead of watching them walk away, I follow behind them. My feet move as quickly as possible as I try to catch up to them. They open the door and head into the parking lot. I don’t think I’m supposed to be outside, but right now, I don’t care. They seem worried, which means this cannot be good.

They arrive at an SUV. I watch as they both jump into the front seats while I reach for the handle of the back. Diving into the back, I slam my seat belt in place and then jerk the door closed.

Bugsy turns his head to look at me as he starts the car. “You comin’ with us?” he asks.

I snort. “I’ve been worried about Nash all damn day. There is no way I’m going to sit around chewing my nails and wondering.”

Rev chuckles. “Let’s go, brother. Let Nash ream her ass. It’s not our place, and judging by the determination in her eyes, good fucking luck getting her out of this truck.”

He’s right.

Good fucking luck.

NASH

The noisesin the background are what I hear first. Then, slowly, I open my eyes to find myself alone in a room. It’s a space much like my hidden room at the club. Concrete floors and walls, and no fucking windows.

There is a single door, which is open, and there are three men standing in front of it talking. I don’t try to move yet. My body feels lethargic. I’m not sure I could defend myself if something were to happen right now. So I stay still and quiet.

“What do we do now?” one of the men asks.

The one who was at the club, the one who appeared in front of me. That pencil-dicked motherfucker who hasn’t done a hard day’s work in his whole goddamn life, I would take bets on that.

“We just have to wait. She’ll come looking for him, and then we can get this over with and head home.”

This cannot be all about James. I can’t fathom that she is this valuable to them. There must be more to it than this. In all honesty, I don’t give a fuck if there is more to it. They cannot have her. She’s mine. Now more than ever, I would fucking keep her just to spite them.

A feminine voice fills my ears. I don’t recognize it off hand, but when I take in her words, I realize I know exactly who she is. “So what do I get for luring that old fuck to the club?”

Old fuck?

I’ll show her old fuck. I’m two fucking seconds from seeing if I can get up, and if I can, I’m one second away from choking that cunt out. Because when I open my eyes, I recognize her. And her face. And I know exactly who this bitch is.

Not only one of my dancers. But the bitch tied and gagged to a chair on my stage.

What the absolute fuck?

“Go with Rob, and he’ll get you your reward.”

I chuckle to myself at the idea of this bitch getting her just desserts for setting me up. I can, without a doubt, be assured that wherever they’re taking her is not to a bank to cash a check because, in the Southern Mafia’s world, the only currency worth a damn is flesh.

After she’s gone, and I’m left with just two men standing outside of my door, I decide that there’s no better time than this to try and sit up. Wiggling my hands and my feet, I’m surprised that I’m not restrained.

They either know that whatever they gave me left me too weak to defend myself, or they have no idea what I’m capable of and are underestimating me. Either way, I will walk out of this alive, and they will not walk out of this at all because I will kill them.

Pushing myself up to sitting, I bite back the groan. Maybe I am an old fuck. But I’m not going to give up and let themdo whatever the fuck they want to, either. I am not giving up without a goddamn fight.

And I’ve never lost a fight that I was in. I’m not about to start now.

“You’re up,” a voice purrs.

I don’t bother asking his name. I honestly don’t care. To me, he is Pencil Dick, and that’s what he’ll continue to be. Pencil Dick waltzes into the room as if he is floating on clouds, another fucking reason that I couldn’t give a fuck less about this asshole. Again, he hasn’t worked a fucking day in his life.

I watch as he crouches down in front of me. He tilts his head to the side and smiles. “Good morning, Nashville.”

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