Page 1 of Nash

PROLOGUE

NASH

You know the saying,“Better the devil you know than the one you don’t.”

Oh, she knows me.

She just doesn’t know I’m the devil.

Her merlot-colored lips sip a dollar draft beer, and I stare at them, obsessed, aroused, watching her lush lips part, swallowing the liquid before she licks them, satisfied.

Damn, what I want to do to her mouth.

It’s wrong. Very wrong. She’s my daughter’s best friend, old enough to drink now but too young, too taboo for me to crave.

But I do.

I confess—I’m an evil man but a good father.

But what’s more evil than my desire for Vale Monroe and her tempting mouth is the man at the bar lurking behind her.

It takes one to know one—he’s a predator.

Like me, he’s watching, waiting …wanting.

The girls slam their empty drinks down on the round cocktail table, high-five, and shout for another round. The bartender nods, reaching for fresh glasses to fill. Bass beats thump from the speakers, and voices fill the hot, humid air. Neon lights glow above the beach bar, and I lurk in a shadowed corner.

They don’t know I’m here.

Talk about crashing your daughter’s twenty-first birthday party; I won’t do that to Alena. The smile on her face is what I live for.

But I’ll kill for Vale Monroe.

And tonight, it seems I’ll have to.

I watch as the evil piece of shit behind her palms a Benjamin into the bartender’s hand before he deftly drops a pill into the foamy brew, swirling it with a lecherous smirk. Grabbing the innocent glass meant for my daughter beside it, he turns with two beers in hand, elbowing through his group of “bruhs.”

“Bottoms up, my bitches.” He slams the glasses down before them, his joke failing.

Alena rolls her eyes, hating him. Blair, Vale’s twin, glares at him as Vale glances away.

Christ, there’s that look again.

The one on her face that breaks my cold heart.

I’ve known Vale since she was thirteen; her stoic mask can’t hide it from me. I see… No, I canfeelher rage, her fear, her prison, trapped in a life with an ex-boyfriend obsessed with her.

It’s disturbing.

But I get it. What man wouldn’t be?

Vale’s long, raven hair, twisted in two teasing braids, is intoxicating, her grey eyes mesmerizing, her skin alabaster in a town of tans and browns. Her gothic look doesn’t belong on a Southern beach. She’s different. She stands out on purpose. Like a red light warning you to stay away, she only draws men near.

Like me.

Like Chad, her ex.

Yes, I get the irony; I stalk Vale, too. I hate how I want her, feel proud that I’ve never touched her, and grieve how I never will. I relish her from afar because I’ll never hurt her … and I’ll kill anyone who does.

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