Every sound, no matter how insignificant, made her twitch. Eliza had been sitting in her father’s private room under the guise of watching over him while he slept, but really, she couldn’t take her eyes off the door. Ever since Nash’s phone call, one that made very little sense if she was being perfectly honest, she hadn’t been able to relax one bit.
Not that she could ever fully relax at a time like this. Her father had been horrifically assaulted in his office. The doctors counted four broken ribs, a fractured cheekbone and nose, a chipped tooth, and split lips. They’d cleaned him up, sure. Scrubbed the blood away. Added dressings. Pumped him full of painkillers. But they couldn’t hide the bruising around his eyes and nose. They couldn’t get rid of the bloody knuckles or fix the fingernail he’d all but torn clean off in the struggle.
Her father was a broken man in more ways than one tonight, and Eliza had no idea what she was supposed to do to fix it. Aside from clutching his hand and fending off the police when they came around for questioning, Eliza was at a loss.
Of course, she encouraged her father to tell the police every detail he could remember, but she couldn’t blame him for not being in the mood to talk. He’d said more to her in his office when he was delusional with pain than he had now when he was cleaned up and medicated, but again, she couldn’t fault him for that. After all, he’d just endured a trauma. If he didn’t want to talk, she couldn’t blame him.
But she was desperate to know what had happened. There were various pieces she could put together herself, but like most of the puzzles she did as a child, one key piece was always missing. Something didn’t quite add up. Nash had assured her on the phone that no one from his motorcycle club had been involved, but how could she trust him after this? He had been so determined that her father was the man responsible for the death of all those bikers. And now her father had been attacked, most likely by a group of men—was it such a leap to assume members of Nash’s gang had come to campus last night to seek revenge?
Was Nash on his way now to finish the job?
Eliza swallowed hard, paling at the idea that Nash could ever hurt her father like this. Seated on a chair next to her father’s hospital bed, she reached out and adjusted the white sheets, pulling them farther up to cover more of her father’s body. His secretary had been by earlier with flowers and toffees, her father’s favorite guilty pleasure, but Eliza had refused all other visitors. His secretary was like his family, but that title extended to no one else besides Eliza.
If he wouldn’t share his story with the police, he probably wasn’t ready to be gawked at by business associates and underlings, all of whom were probably hoping he’d kick the bucket so they could apply for his job.
Or they’d only be there to show their support because they assumed they would get something out of it. A promotion. A raise. Something. Like hell Eliza was going to let any of them use her father like that. Normally, he had the strength to shake that kind of behavior off, but she had a feeling he’d struggle with that today.
The room he’d been given was a spacious suite that anyone would be thrilled to use. It was on the corner of a floor, two of the walls made up entirely of one large window. There was a bathroom with all the amenities, a flat-screen TV mounted to the wall across from the bed, and dimmer lights to help with the relaxation aspect of recovery. In some aspects, it was better styled and furnished than most of her friends’ apartments—Eliza’s included.
But it didn’t feel welcoming, not when she was so on edge. Her father had expressed a similar sentiment before passing out; this wasn’t a place he wanted to be in for long, and Eliza couldn’t help but agree.
The sooner they were out, the better.
Fleetingly, Eliza heard voices outside the door, and she straightened up, instantly tense. Based on the soft sounds, she assumed they were women—nurses, maybe—and moments later they quieted down, as if just passing by the room. Letting out a shaky breath, Eliza slumped back down in the chair, a tremor passing through her body. Once he was given the okay to be moved, Eliza planned to get her father out of this room immediately.
She wasn’t sure how much time had passed since she last heard the voices, but suddenly there was a soft tap at the door, followed shortly by a more insistent knocking. Fear prickled up her spine, and as she stood, Eliza grabbed the knife that had been left behind on her father’s dinner tray, his meal untouched. She gripped the cool metal tightly, knowing the doctor wouldn’t be back to see her for another few hours.
“Eliza?” A heartbreakingly familiar voice called out to her from the other side of the door, and in that moment, she dropped the knife, letting it clatter to the ground.
“Nash!”
She should have been more cautious, of course. Just because he said he hadn’t sent anyone to harm her father didn’t mean he was telling the truth. But still she ran to the door and yanked it open, expecting to see his looming figure, his broad muscular chest in a fitted tee with a leather jacket thrown over it. A handsome smile on his even handsomer face.
But she saw none of that. Standing in front of her was a man she knew more intimately than most, yet he wasn’t the Nash she had come to know and love—despite everything they’d been through. He had no leather jacket, a staple to his day-to-day wardrobe, and his t-shirt was coated in blood. Her arms fell to her side, as she gawked at him. In that moment, it was very much like finding her father all over again. Nash’s nose seemed broken, the bridge of it crooked, and there was some bruising around his face.
“Are you okay?” he asked, reaching out for her with one large hand, then seeming to think better of it and placing it by his side. “Is your dad…? Where is he?”
“Sleeping,” she told him, her voice aquiver with unsaid emotions. “Let’s talk in the hall.”
Nash nodded and stepped back, and before Eliza followed, she spared a glance over her shoulder at her father’s sleeping form. In that moment, he seemed so peaceful—peaceful like the dead. She swallowed hard, tears making her eyes sting, then blinked rapidly and moved out into the hallway. The corridor was quiet, most of the doors to private patient rooms closed. Down the way, two nurses were rummaging through a supply cart while another made notes to a patient’s chart, then set it back in the slot on the door.
And Nash just watched her. Waiting. Studying her in a pensive silence that was almost calming. Her eyes darted to him, darted to the man she’d called Master, the man she’d fantasized about for months. Someone had kicked the crap out of him—and for some reason, he had a green fabric grocery bag slung over his shoulder, full of… well, god knows what.
“Eliza—”
“You need to tell me everything that’s going on,” she said firmly, holding his eye with a glare, “now.”
“First, are you okay?” Nash asked. This time when his hand went for her, it actually swept her hair from her face and gently tucked it behind her ear. While she wanted to flinch away, she let him, finding herself enjoying the small, intimate gesture.
“I’m fine,” she assured him, pleased that her voice didn’t waver. When his hand lingered, she brushed it away and squared her shoulders. “Are you? It looks like you got in a fight with a baseball bat and lost.”
His lips, those beautiful kissable lips, quirked into a grin. “Sort of.”
“Nash!” Eliza resisted the urge to stomp her foot. “I’m really not in the mood for jokes. Someone really hurt my father, and if you had anything to do with it, I need you to tell me the honest truth before I have a total meltdown here—”
“I didn’t,” he insisted, his tone soothing. He stepped closer, the pull of his persona willing her toward him. “I promise. The Steel Phoenixes knew your dad was under suspicion, but they said they’d hold back until I could completely confirm it. My guys are good on their word. They’re like my family.”
She pursed her lips, unable to understand how a gang of lowlife bikers could be considered family but let the issue go. It wasn’t the focal point of her pain right now—what did it matter, in the end, who Nash trusted? As long as they could actually be trusted, there was nothing else to say.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“Positive,” he told her. Eliza’s eyes danced over the wounds on his face, and when he caught her studying him, she looked away while heat crawled up her cheeks.
“So, what then? What…?” She took a deep breath in an effort to calm herself. “You were totally cryptic and vague on the phone. Not helpful at all. I don’t like being kept in the dark.”
“I don’t blame you,” he murmured in a tone that gave her chills. Eliza crossed her arms to hide them, not wanting to let him know that he had an effect on her, even here and now.
“So spill it.” She hoped she sounded authoritative—a different feat for a woman who preferred the life of a submissive. “Now.”
“I’m so sorry, Eliza,” Nash said, and she felt some of her bravado fade. Licking her lips, she looked away, unable to stay mad and look at the agony in his eyes. “This is all my fault. Every last piece of it. You’re here, in this situation, because I… I tied an anchor to your foot and dragged you into the depths.” She looked back to him sharply, her eyes wide with surprise. “I didn’t mean to. You know that we started because I was scoping out campus for my perp. I didn’t want to take things too far because I knew there was the possibility of it ending poorly, but… I did. I couldn’t help myself. With you, I just… I fell. I’m the reason your dad is hurt—”
“But you said—”
“And it’s because I was catching onto the real killer,” he insisted strongly, grasping her by her arms and leaning down to meet her eye. “Phillip Crest—”
“The vice-dean?”
“He’s the one responsible,” he told her, and something cold and sharp seemed to twist in her gut. It couldn’t be. She’d known Phillip Crest for years, ever since he was brought in to be her father’s right-hand man. He sent her birthday cards and yarn for Christmas.
“No…”
“I have video evidence to confirm it,” Nash insisted. “It shows him with the hitmen who killed my guys. Crest was going to pin it on your dad, but I think your dad started cluing into things around the same time I did, and with more people catching onto him, Crest had to act. And… He did. He got both of us last night.”
She placed a hand over her mouth to hide the way her jaw dropped, and Nash slowly released her. Even once he had let go, she felt the way his fingers had dug into her skin, the slow burn of his touch lingering.
“But he’s so… Not evil.”
Nash gave a cold laugh. “Don’t judge a book by its cover, Eliza. You have to know that by now.”
“But he…”
“He said he’d hurt you if I didn’t do what he said,” Nash told her, drawing her out of her stupor. “He forced me to bring him drugs from my club, and when I did, one of his guys jumped me, beat me, and took everything from me. The only reason I’m not still tied to a chair in some warehouse on the south end of town is because I didn’t bring all the coke he demanded. I managed to lose my escorts, who told me they’d start chopping off your fingers if I made a scene when I realized he didn’t actually have you.”
It was too much to take in, too much to process, but somehow Eliza did it. Nash had been fighting for her, even when she thought he didn’t believe her. He’d been true to his word. And she had doubted him, over and over again, when it came to her father’s safety. Even after she had left him, storming out of his apartment in a flurry of anger and tears, he hadn’t tossed her father to his Phoenixes, but continued to fight on.
His finger touched her cheek suddenly, and she flinched back, so lost in her thoughts about the world crumbling down around her that she hadn’t noticed him reach forward and brush a tear from her cheek.
“Eliza,” he whispered, the pain so evident in his voice that it made her heart hurt, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for all of this. Everything you’re going through is my fault. Even if you hate me for it, I’m going to make sure things are made right.”
She opened and closed her mouth, gawking at him, and then shook her head with a soft laugh. “Nash… I could never hate you.”
His eyebrows shot up, and before either of them could say something else to ruin the moment, Eliza stood up on the tips of her toes and kissed him, arms flung around his neck.
Both seemed tentative at first, their closed lips pressed together, until finally she took a leap and closed her eyes, her mouth parting for him in a way that felt wonderfully familiar.
And there, in the hallway of the hospital, they rekindled what they had lost—and said more than they ever had before.