Page 77 of Filthy Devil

“I love my club. And this way, I get to continue to be part of it. But I don’t have to do that here.”

Shaking my head, I wrap my fingers around his wrist. I’m not sure how to respond, so I stay silent. Nash doesn’t, though. He presses his lips together for a moment. Then he releases them.

“You are a target not just because of the Southern Mafia but because of me. Because of who I am and what I stand for. The strip club also takes a lot of my time, and I’m not sure I need to devote my life to it any longer.”

Tears fill my eyes, and I blink them away. This man. I know without a doubt that I did absolutely nothing in this life to deserve it, to deserve him, but he’s mine. And as selfish as it is, I know I’m keeping him. I’m keeping all of him. Nobody else can have him. Not ever again. He’s mine, and I’m his, and that’s just the way it’s going to be until we stop breathing.

“I don’t want you to give up something you love,” I whisper.

He shifts closer to me, his lips almost touching my own before he whispers. I can feel his breath wash over my face and his words… They make my heart beat faster and harder with each word spoken.

“I love you, James,” he rasps. “I love my club, and I love you. I can love separately, but I’ve spent the past thirty-five years devoted to this club. It took a front seat when it shouldn’t have. I missed out on a lot of shit because of it, and I’m not willing to do that one minute longer.”

My body trembles at his words. I don’t know what to say or what to do, so I continue to stare at him as he continues to speak. He goes on to tell me just how he wants his future to look, and I have to admit that it sounds really damn good.

I want that—the life he describes. I want his world, I want his love, and I want his future—our future.

“I don’t want you to miss out on anything, but I also don’t want you to regret anything, either.”

He shakes his head once, his eyes never leaving mine. “Do you know that I have regrets?” he asks. I open my mouth to tell him no but snap my lips shut when he continues. “And not a single one of my regrets is because I missed a day at the club. My regrets center around Elvis and his childhood, nothing else.

“Going nomad will give me the flexibility I want. I’m not ready to move back to Pineville, and I don’t feel as devoted as I should to this club down here. I need a break, and I want to start my life with you.”

I don’t ask him how we can start a life on the move. It doesn’t seem like the right time. I have a feeling that he might get angry if I say something. I need to stay quiet and let him have his moment.

He dips his chin, his lips touch mine, and as soon as his tongue slips inside of my mouth, all thoughts of nomadic living, strip clubs, and motorcycle clubs vanish because I want him to rip my clothes off and fuck me right here on this burned rubble.

CHAPTER

THIRTY

NASH

Sittingaround the table of the strip club, I look at the men. I’ve already shown them the plans for the new clubhouse, and I can tell they’re as fucking pumped about it as I am. I don’t blame them.

I think about telling them that I’ll be leaving, but I decide against it. Instead, I continue to listen to them speak excitedly about the whole process. Watching them, I can do nothing but smile. I’m not sure what to say, how to tell them that once the clubhouse is up, I’ll be gone.

It’s an odd sensation. Building something while knowing that I won’t be part of it after it’s finished. I’ve always been able to enjoy the spoils of my hard work. This will be a first, and I’m not sad about it—it’s just odd.

When we’re finished with our meeting, and I’m done with all my paperwork at the club, I head out of the building and toward my bike. My legs move slowly. I’m still not at one hundred percent since my stabbing. Climbing on my bike, I look around for a moment and smirk.

I love this club.

The strip club started out as a passion project. Something to keep us busy when the MC didn’t really need us for daily operations anymore. I worked hard to make it happen more than once.

But it’s not what I want for my future any longer. It’s not what I want for my life with James, for our children. Because I do plan on having those with her, a whole fucking houseful. And I imagine an already old-as-fuck father who owns a strip club probably isn’t the best. And I want everything that is the absolute best.

I ride toward home, pull into the driveway, and kill my engine when I hear a noise. Looking over my shoulder, I watch as a man approaches. I assume he’s exited the blacked-out Beemer across the street.

He’s dressed in a suit, his eyes focused on mine and nowhere else. He is ready for something, but I’m just not sure what.

Interesting.

Climbing off my bike, I turn to face him. Planting my feet wide, I cross my arms over my chest and look down my nose as he approaches. I don’t know who the fuck he is or who he thinks he is, but he’s got Southern Mafia written all over him. I find it comical that he thought this was the place to come.

That he felt safe walking up to my house—to me.

“Nash Stanley?” he asks.

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