Chapter 101
My fingers brushed against the knife handle. One quick move and I’d
have answers–one way or another.
Fuck it.
I knocked. Three sharp raps that echoed in the silent house like
gunshots.
“It’s open,” Nash’s voice drifted through the door, casual as a summer
breeze, yet somehow laced with something darker, more dangerous.
I plastered on my best innocent–teenager smile and pushed the door
The hinges didn’t squeak–of course Nash would have oiled
them. “Nash! Still in bed?”
open.
He was hunched over the desk, back to me, focused on something I
couldn’t see. Morning light spilled across his broad shoulders,
highlighting the perfect stillness of his posture. He didn’t turn.
“Been up since six,” he replied, his pen still moving across whatever
he was working on. “Unlike some people who appreciate a good sleep-
in.”
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Chapter 101
I edged deeper into his room, eyes scanning every surface, every
potential hiding place. The air smelled faintly of sandalwood and
something metallic–gun oil, maybe. The dresser? Too obvious. The
closet? Maybe. Under the mattress? Amateur hour.
My fingers twitched near the knife at my waist. I could have it at his
throat in under a second. One clean movement. He was distracted,
still writing or whatever the hell he was doing. But something felt off
-this was too easy. Nash wouldn’t leave himself vulnerable unless it
was a trap.
“Looking for something?” Nash asked, still not turning.
I froze mid–step. My heart accelerated, adrenaline flooding my
system. This was it. The charade was over. My fingers closed around
the knife handle.
Then Nash shifted, and I caught sight of what he was working on. Not
writing. Drawing.
Drawing me.
The sketch was hauntingly beautiful–my face in perfect detail, illuminated by moonlight, Satan’s Heart gleaming at my throat. I was smiling in the drawing, but it was my real smile, not the fake one I showed the world. The one I’d almost forgotten existed.
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Chapter 101
“If you’re looking for Satan’s Heart,” Nash said casually, finally
turning to face me, “the one in this drawing.”
I released the knife but kept my hand near it. “You know what it’s
called?”
“Of course.” Nash’s lips curved into a smile that didn’t quite reach his
eyes. “It suits you. Mysterious. Dangerous.” His gaze locked with
mine, intense enough to burn. “Captivating.”
I tensed, waiting for him to make a move, to reveal his true
intentions. Instead, he stood slowly, offering me the sketch with one
hand while the other reached into his pocket.
My muscles coiled, ready to strike.
“By the way,” he added, pulling something from his pocket that
caught the light, “you left this in my car yesterday.”
Between his fingers dangled Satan’s Heart, its obsidian surface
catching the morning light, throwing crimson reflections across the
walls.
“I meant to return it sooner, but didn’t get the chance.”
He stepped behind me before I could react, his movements fluid and
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