Page 92 of Nash

“Calm down,” he says. “I need to talk to you.”

“Calm down!” I shout the second he removes his hand. “You fucking thundercunt! You scared the shit out of me! Literally.” I check the sheets. “Talk about shitting the bed.”

Oh no.

He does it. I make Nash smile so big and beautiful like he used to in this bed with me and…

The explosion of emotions makes me burst into tears. I cover my face because embarrassment fires through me next.

“Vale.” He leans down to hold me, but I shove him away.

“Don’t touch me. Talk. Leave. Then die.”

“That’s a real risk,” he says, “and that’s why I’m here.”

“Of course, you are.” I roll my teary eyes. “Of course, this is some Bratva bullshit and not you, on your knees, groveling to get me back.”

“I…” He clenches his jaw, shaking his head. “We don’t have time for this. We gotta go.”

“I don’t have to doshit.” I swipe my tears away. “Because I’m not going anywhere with an assmunch, beaver trap, cocksucker, dick demon, fuckwad, groin zit?—”

“Wow, are you going through the dictionary?” he deadpans, ripping my bedsheets away. “Grab some tampons, your laptop, a man-hater book, and let’s go.”

I sit up in myDr. Pepper Is A WomanT-shirt and cross my arms. “Not happening.”

“Oh, it’s happening,” he says, aiming for my dresser with an empty black duffel bag in his hand. Then I notice the gun holstered to his belt. His black tactical boots, pants, and tight-fitted shirt, too.

He’s not dressed like a hot, geeky accountant. He’s dressed like an assassin about to murder my lingerie drawer.

“Touch my drawers and die!”

“Indeed, poison, your pussy kills me every time.”

He grabs a fist full of my panties, shoving them in the bag. Then he grabs bras, socks, T-shirts, and random shit that are not properly coordinated for my look.

“I’m not playing Mafia Monopoly with you again,” I insist. “I’m not going from property to property believing I can win a goddamn thing with you, Nash, so put my shit down and leave.”

He huffs a laugh. “Someone please give me a GET OUT OF VALE JAIL FREE card.” Pause. “And by the way, I don’t have a thundercunt, but I can be a storm of a big dick if you don’t move your ass. Let’s go.”

“Nope.”

I’m going for maximum resistance. I lean over, pulling open the bottom drawer of my nightstand. Fishing through toys, I find my Sunset Dreams dildo and lie back in bed.

He turns around, zipping the duffel closed. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“About to rain my storm on this pretty dildo.”

“Vaallee,” he seethes.

“What? I masturbate when I’m stressed. You should try it because veins are popping on your forehead. Is that your brain finally working?”

“That’s it.” He drops the bag, stalking my way.

“Don’t you dare.” I shake my head. “You will never fuck me again.”

“I’m not fucking you.” He yanks my ankle toward the edge of the bed, and I squeal. “I’m telling you. Get up. Get dressed, and let’s go. Turner escaped, Grant’s been shot, and you and I are going into deep hiding.”

“Grant?” I scramble to my feet. “Is he okay?”

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