Not after last night.
Not after listening to Everett beg him for his touch, his kiss and then listening to the heavy breathing and muffled moans that had come right after.
If that hadn’t been bad enough, I’d taken it a step further and stuck my head around that corner so I could watch the two men going at each other and wished they’d see me, so that maybe they’d let me be a part of them discovering one another for the first time.
“Nash, please.”
I stopped at that because it wasn’t like the man to ask for anything. Especially not me.
Gage seemed surprised that I’d actually stopped and for once,he seemed flustered as he caught up to me. “Last night…” he began. “I’m sorry. I know that must’ve been hard for you.”
“I was merely checking on my charge, Mr. Fortier… to see if he was ready to retire for the evening.”
God, the lie sounded ridiculous even to my own ears.
Gage tilted his head at me, then shook it and stepped back. “You’re giving them too much power, Agent Nash.”
Somehow the use of my title irritated me more than anything, though I had no clue why. But once I played back the rest of his words, my insides began rolling around.
“Who?” I asked, though looking at the pity in his eyes, I knew he knew. It was impossible, but there was no denying that knowing look that was also filled with a healthy dose of pity. And the bastard confirmed it a moment later when he spoke again.
“Jonathan Nash. You were named after the paramedics who saved your life after finding you in the trash can of a women’s restroom at a rest stop just outside Newark three days before Christmas. You were born addicted to drugs, which made it harder to find you a foster home. You were almost a year old before they found someone to take you in. It was the first of almost a dozen foster homes before you turned ten?—”
I punched him.
Mostly to shut him up.
Gage stumbled back, but didn’t fall. I expected him to come at me swinging, but he didn’t.
I would have preferred that.
“You were labeled a hard-to-place kid by the time you were thirteen?—”
I hit him again, but the second he righted himself, he continued.
“Fighting in school, fighting with your foster brothers and sisters, your foster parents, running away. Until it all stopped when you were fifteen and you stayed with the Atwater family?—”
My third punch knocked Gage to the ground. “Shut the fuck up,” I snarled as I launched myself at him. I took a swing at him, but my rage meant I wasn’t able to focus on causing the most amount of damage with the least amount of effort. Instead, I wasswinging wildly at him and Gage easily took advantage and grabbed my arms in a powerful hold. He used pure brute strength to dislodge my weight and then he was rolling us so that I was lying flat on my back beneath him. He pinned my wrists to the ground, but didn’t strike out at me like I would have expected. Blood dripped from his nose, mouth, and a gash just below his eye.
“You were with them for six months before they accused you?—”
“No!” I practically screamed as I bucked frantically beneath him. “That shit’s sealed!” I bit out. “It’s fucking sealed!”
Gage struggled to hold me down as I fought him. I couldn’t let him say the damn words. I just fucking couldn’t.
“Gage!” I heard Everett yell from somewhere. A moment later, another voice broke through the fray.
“Daddy?”
“Stay back, honey,” Gage called, his eyes still on me. I swung my head to the side and saw that Everett was moving toward Charlie, who was standing closer to the side of the house, her features pale and stricken. Everett pulled her to him and then lifted her up. She wrapped around him, even as she turned her head so she could see me and her father.
Her father, who was covered in blood.
What the fuck had I done?
“Get off,” I choked out.
“Don’t you fucking let them win, do you hear me, Nash?” He dropped his voice so only I could hear him. “If you want him, then go after him.”
