Page 168 of Nash

Turner was my first dead body, and me and my nine iron had a lot to do with it.

Is something wrong with me because I don’t feel guilty about it? I’ve given myself weeks, and all I feel is… Relief. Justice.Revenge.

Or does that make me a boss-bitch mafia queen like the others? Like I was meant for this?

I can hear it in Alena’s voice when we talk. She’s starting to accept this life. She forgives her father. Nash has proven his love for her too many times for Alena to let one colossal mafia mistake erase everything he’s devoted to her.

And when she complains about Loch sticking around? How he moved out of their cabin but still goes to their work? How he acts like nothing’s wrong in front of their colleagues, but he leaves wildflowers by her door every morning? I can hear it, too. He has a fighting chance with her.

Trudging up my porch stairs, I smile.

The kings and queens are fighting for me, too.

Jace has been … well,Jace… bribing me with Reese’s peanut butter cups while sweet-talking me about how I belong with Nash. Sire and Wren invite me to dinner, and we talk about everyonebutNash. They make me feel like I belong with them, too. Axel comes by, claiming he’s buying naughty toys for his mystery woman, but I know he’s checking on me.

All urge me to forgive Nash’s lie about Loch and Alena, especially Nadine. She won’t stop blaming herself, and I know there’s so much more to her story, to the story of all her sons, that would explain some of my resistance away, but right now?

I’m not the little girl waiting for her dad, who never showed up. I’m not the teen survivor who’s free of her tormentor.

So, who am I?

Who are you when you let your past go and face your future?

I huff, sweating as I round the final rung of stairs to my apartment and stop dead in my tracks. “What are you doing here?”

Nash looks too sexy, kneeling by my door with a wilted red tulip in hand, slinging his smiling sunshine everywhere. “I came for my poison.”

The fight in me is instant. My nostrils flare. “I’m not in the mood.”

“Too bad,” he answers. “Because I am.”

“Fine,” I snark. “Stay there and stink. The trash gets picked up tomorrow.”

Maybe that’s who I am now—a fighter.

He smirks. “You’ll get a spanking for that sass.”

“And you’ll get a middle finger. You’re why god created them.”

His smirk only grows. “God knows where I craveyourmiddle finger.”

“I have one nerve left, and you’re dry-humping it.” I march his way, fishing for my keys in my bag. “Get out of my way, or I won’t be responsible for what my knee does to your balls.”

“I love it when my balls are the center of your attention, too.”

“Nash!” I stomp my Mary Jane. “I’m serious. If you think I’m short, you should see my patience.”

“I can’t.” He’s still on his knees. “You have none, just like me, and I’m tired of waiting, Vale. Time to talk.”

“Oh yeah?” I stick my key in the doorknob. “Then, on your mark, get set, go fuck yourself.”

Yep, I’m a fighter…

…and something else.

Because he grabs my shaking hands, gently tugging them away, leaving my keys dangling in the doorknob. He holds my heart, too. It’s hanging by a thread with him touching me again.

I’m his.

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