Junie looked like she was about to argue, then thought better of it.Arms crossed, she stormed off toward the kitchen.
Nash watched her go, shaking his head, before turning to Cassie.
“She was already a brat.Now she’s a damn cardshark.Next thing I know she’s gonna be hustlin’ pool tables.”
Cassie, already collecting cards, laughed.“She’s hilarious.And a handful.”She squared the deck, then started laughing again—soft at first, then full-bodied.“Remember when Mav cursed you with a kid ‘just like you’?”
She laughed again, and Nash just sat there watching her, feeling all kinds of stupid good inside.
“You comin’ home with me tonight, Cas?”he murmured.
Cassie glanced his way, her laughter melting into a smile that was pure sex.Christ.For half a second, it felt like old times—like they were still sneaking off where nobody could see, desperate to get their hands on each other—then Margie’s voice carried from the kitchen and her face changed.
“Listen,” she said quietly, tucking the cards away.“You’ve got Junie.You’ve got…Addy.You’ve got all of that goin’ on.”She exhaled, her gaze meeting his.“And I don’t want to be the reason Junie’s crying again tomorrow.”
Heat climbed up his neck—guilt first, then that old familiar anger right behind it.“That wasn’t on you,” he ground out.“That’s Addy.And that’s me lettin’ her get away with it.”
“No, I know, but me bein’ there didn’t make it any better.”
Nash stared at her, feeling suddenly hollow, trying to figure out what she wasn’t saying.“Cas…you’ve been in my bed all goddamn week… What the fuck are we doin’?You gonna clue me in?”
She opened her mouth—
“Ready,” Junie announced, stalking back into the room.“Even though I’m not tired.”
Cassie’s mouth snapped shut, and Nash rolled his eyes.
“We’ll finish this tomorrow,” he said, pushing to his feet.
“Finish what?”Junie asked.
“Nothin’.C’mon, Wild Bill.Let’s get your gamblin’ ass home.”
Guiding his daughter toward the hall, he shot Cassie a long look—and mouthedtomorrow.
Cassie’s eyes narrowed playfully.Fuck you, she mouthed back.
“Yeah,” he said, a grin pulling at his mouth as he disappeared around the corner.“That’s the idea.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Nashduckedunderthehalf-raised bay door and stepped into a wall of heat and grease.Music pulsed low, while a couple of guys in the main bay worked on stripping down a boosted pickup—hood up, doors open, parts laid out in neat rows.
“Shut that fuckin’ door,” he barked, walking past the pickup without slowing.
“It’s hotter than hell in here,” a prospect muttered.“Ain’t nobody—”
Nash stopped fast, turned, and stared at the younger man until the rest of the sentence died in his throat.
“Half is still open.And I don’t need somebody’s mamaw driving by on her way to church and blabbing to half the goddamn town.”
He kept moving, headed into the back bay where the noise thinned and the reason he was here sat on rolling carts and worktables.Hard cases lined the floor, black and scuffed.Several were popped open—one showing foam cutouts holding a mix of silver and matte black handguns.Another case held longer shapes—rifles in pieces.
Nash stalked between benches, counting the cases.Counting what was visible.He counted the men in the room, too—who was actually working and whose attention kept drifting.
“Get off your phones,” he added, eyes cutting to Crusher.
Crusher went a little sheepish as his hand came up from under the table and set his phone aside.
