Page 68 of Filthy Devil

“Yeah?”

Then I watch as something flashes across her face. I can’t read it, but her mood has instantly shifted. Throwing my legs over the side of the bed, I grip the sheets and hold on as I plant my feet flat on the floor.

I have to hype myself up to stand, knowing that it’s going to fucking hurt when I do. I’m hoping that in a few days, this won’t be as goddamn painful, but my pain meds have worn off, and I’m sore as shit.

“My plan was to hand myself over,” she whispers.

Widening my eyes, I tilt my head to the side. “What changed?” I ask.

Because something did. I know it. She’s no longer talking about leaving. She no longer has one foot out the door. She is here, she is with me, and we’ve been talking about the future. I want to hear it from her.

“He hurt you,” she says. “He was going to kill you. I couldn’t let him do that to you. Too many people care about you, Nash.”

My heart squeezes at her words. What the fuck? What the actual fuck? “But you were willing to let him take you from me? Don’t you think that would have hurt me?” I ask.

She shakes her head, her eyes watering. “I would have been okay with that. There’s someone better for you out there.”

The anger consumes me in an instant. It fills me so goddamn quickly that my vision goes from normal to seeing nothing but a deep shade of red. Her words piss me off, but not as much as the fact that she fucking believes them.

“I need you to turn around and walk out of this room. Right now.”

James’s breath hitches. Pinching my eyes closed, I tip my head, refusing to look up at her. I can’t. I cannot see her right now, or I’m going to do something that I’ll supremely regret. I used to be a man who flew off the handle, but as I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized that isn’t the best way to handle things.

I’m about to fly off the goddamn handle.

I need to breathe.

JAMES

I leave the bedroom,and my feet carry me as quickly as possible into the hallway. What I don’t do is rush to the kitchen. I can smell food cooking, but I’m too upset to even identify what it could be. Nash is pissed at me. He’s angry that I was going to go with the Southern Mafia.

But he had to know that was my plan.

Right?

That or just running away and hiding. And honestly, I was going with the running-and-hiding scenario until they took Nash. I’m not sure what to do now. The panic has set in, and I find it hard to breathe. The air in this house is suddenly stifling.

Trying to be as quiet as possible, I make my way toward the back door. Thankfully, King is nowhere to be found, Shawn is in the kitchen, and the two boys are still playing in the living room, so I am able to slip outside unnoticed.

But I don’t sink down into the very comfortable-looking outdoor sofa. Instead, I move toward the side of the house, where I can’t be easily found or seen. I just need to be alone for a moment, maybe even cry a little.

Closing my eyes, I lean my head back against the side of the house and breathe. I try really hard not to cry. I’m tired of crying, completely over it, actually. If I never cry again, it will be too soon. This whole experience has exhausted me to the point where I am dead tired.

I don’t know how long I stay outside, leaning against the wall with my eyes closed, but it’s long enough that I hear a deep, raspy voice call out my name. I don’t move. Then my name is called again.

I know it’s him.

I feel the zing that slides down my spine, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention.

But I don’t move. I can’t. I’m frozen where I am. It’s not just because he’s mad at me. It’s more because I’m afraid he’s going to say that I’m just not worth the headache. And the simple matter of the fact is that I’m not. I’m not worth any of this. I never was.

“James,” his voice calls out again, this time a bit more impatient than the last.

Then I hear the sound of crunching leaves beneath his feet. Turning my head, I open my eyes and watch as he rounds the corner. Nash stands in front of me. He looks tired as hell. His face is pinched, probably because he’s in pain.

“What the fuck, sweetheart?” he asks on a heavy sigh.

“You didn’t want to see me,” I whisper.

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