Chapter 134
Raven
Nash's expression shifted so fast I almost missed it—warmth replaced by something cold and lethal. The transformation lasted maybe two seconds before his face smoothed into professional neutrality, but I'd seen it. Whatever he'd done to them, he'd enjoyed it.
"Maddie won't be bothering anyone anymore." His voice carried the same tone he might use to discuss the weather. "Animals got to her before we could extract the body. Mountain lions, most likely. They're territorial in that region."
Bullshit. Mountain lions were solitary hunters and avoided human remains unless desperate. But I kept my mouth shut. Maddie had tried to kill me. If Nash had arranged a more... permanent solution, I wasn't going to cry about it.
"And Tyler?"
"Secured." Nash's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "My holding facility in Riverside County. Very private. Very secure."
I thought of Tyler's face when Maddie had attacked me—the fear, the desperate calculation, the cowardice that had kept him frozen while his girlfriend tried to gut me. He wasn't evil, not really. Just weak. Stupid. Self-serving.
"What do you want me to do with him?" Nash asked.
I considered. Tyler had stood by while the original Raven had been brutalized. He'd participated in her humiliation. But he'd also hesitated before attacking me, had looked sick when Maddie died. He was a follower, not a leader. A tool, not a weapon.
"Let him stew for a while," I said finally. "Your facility—I assume it's not exactly Club Med?"
Nash's laugh was dark. "The inmates at Riverside fall into two categories: the extremely dangerous and the extremely wealthy. Sometimes both. Tyler will have... educational opportunities."
I pictured Tyler locked in a cell next to cartel enforcers and white-collar criminals who'd ordered hits on their business partners. The boy who'd coasted through life on his quarterback status and his father's money, suddenly stripped of every advantage.
"Well," I said, unable to suppress my smile, "guess he'll learn some life skills. Character building and all that."
"Generous of you."
"I'm a generous person." I paused. "Where have you been the last few days?"
Nash's expression shifted again, this time to something I couldn't quite read. Amusement? Anticipation? "A few days without me and you're already asking questions?"
"I'm curious," I said flatly. "Not desperate."
"Are you sure?" He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, looking entirely too satisfied with himself. "Because it sounds like you missed me."
Asshole.
"You know what?" I grabbed the bed rail, intending to pull myself into a sitting position. My ribs immediately screamed in protest, but I gritted my teeth and—
"Okay, okay!" Nash moved so fast he blurred, his hands on my shoulders, easing me back down with surprising gentleness. "Christ, Raven. I'll tell you."
I glared at him. "Well?"
"I've been tracking your mother's killer." He said it casually, like he'd been picking up groceries instead of hunting an international assassin. "Cross-referenced financial transactions, shipping manifests, satellite imagery. The Surgeon maintains a network across three continents, but his primary operations center appears to be somewhere in Eastern Europe. Budapest, most likely. Maybe Prague."
My pulse quickened. "And?"
"And he has connections in Los Angeles. Deep ones. A family he's been protecting for years—or using, depending on how you look at it. I haven't identified them yet, but the pattern's clear. Money flowing in and out through shell corporations. Real estate purchases that don't make sense. The kind of paper trail that screams 'professional criminal with local assets.'"
I processed this. The Surgeon had killed my mother sixteen years ago. Which meant he'd been operating in LA for at least that long. Building relationships. Establishing infrastructure.
"I want to help investigate," I said.
Nash shook his head. "You're going to recover. Finn's already on his way to Budapest. He'll handle the Eastern European angle."
"And you?"
"I'll be here." He said it like it was obvious. Like there was nowhere else he'd rather be than a hospital room watching me heal from knife wounds.
I studied his face. The slight softening around his eyes. The way he'd positioned himself between me and the door, like he was guarding me even now.
"Why do you care so much?" The question came out before I could stop it. "About me, I mean."
His smile was slow, dangerous. "Do I?"
"You sat outside my operating room for an hour," I pointed out. "Miles told me. Said you looked like someone had died when you went in, and someone had been resurrected when you came out."
"Miles talks too much."
"Nash."
He was quiet for a long moment. Then: "I'm kind to all beautiful women."
"Bullshit." My voice came out sharper than I'd intended. "You've killed women for touching you. I've seen the reports. The bodies. You're a germaphobe who'd rather shoot someone than shake their hand."
His expression didn't change. "So?"
"So you let me touch you." I pushed myself up on my elbows, ignoring the protest from my ribs. "You want me to touch you. Don't pretend this is about business."
Something flickered in his eyes. Vulnerability? Hunger?
"Come here," I said.
He didn't move. "Raven—"
"Come here."
He approached slowly, like I was a wild animal that might bolt. When he was close enough, I reached up and grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him down until his face was inches from mine.
"You can't resist me," I whispered.
"That's your theory?"
"It's a fact."
"Confident." His breath ghosted across my lips. "I like that about you."
"Good."
I kissed him.