Page 168 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
“Ask yourself this,” Reed began, ignoring me, “do you want to be with someone willing to let his brother go to jail?” He jerked a finger at Nash. “Better yet, ask him how he got his millions or billions or what-fucking-ever.”
“Reed…” I didn't know what to say to that, except I knew I’d hate the answer.
Nash positioned himself next to me. Reed narrowed his eyes at us. We looked like a unified front.
“You told Emery she couldn’t go to Dad’s funeral?” Nash’s voice pitched low.
Betty gasped and clutched onto the kitchen rag on the counter. “Reed!”
“You made her stay in Eastridge and bury an urn by herself?” Nash stood nose-to-nose with Reed. “And when Ma asked where Emery was, you didn’t tell her the truth? And you’re pissed at us for lying?”
I expected an argument.
I expected some yelling.
I expected Betty to cry.
I did not expect Reed to swing his fist at Nash.
Reed’s knuckles connected with Nash's face. It barely budged.
“Close your fist if you intend on doing real damage, little brother.” Nash stepped forward into Reed’s fist the second time, allowing Reed free reign on his face.
Punch. Uppercut. Another punch.
“Stop!” Betty shouted.
Basil cocked her head and observed the situation, elbow resting on the island counter.
Meanwhile, I slithered between them, knowing it was a bad idea but doing it anyway. Nash’s eyes cut to mine at the same time Reed’s body fell forward, pushing me onto the hardwood.
Nash split his attention to me, lingering on my wrist cradled in my palm. He sprung into action, twisting Reed into a headlock. He bumped his knee against Reed’s, forcing him to kneel.
“Don’t fight it.” Voice low, his arm tightened around Reed’s neck. “Tap out, and I’ll let go. Don’t make Ma watch this.”
“Emery!” Betty rushed to me, hands flying over my face, but I couldn’t look away from Reed and Nash.
I imagined this was what watching an asteroid hit Earth would be like. Fascinating, destructive, and oddly beautiful.
It made sense how Nash had won so many fights. Boardrooms and offices were child's play. This was his element.
He wasn’t a cruel prince. He wasn’t a twisted warrior either. He was both, and it turned him into a man who would rather break than bend.
“Are you okay?” Betty brushed hair out of my eyes.
“I’m fine.” I thrust myself off the floor, enchanted by the enigma of Nash Prescott.
“Enough!” Betty grabbed a hot pink fly swatter and swung the thin plastic near her sons as if she wielded a knife. “Stop it! I will not have you stain my floors with your sweat and blood. I will not have you ruin my holiday. And I will not have my sons fighting in my kitchen like poorly trained dogs battling over scraps.”
Nash released Reed, who coughed a few dozen times. He beat at his chest, forcing more air out it.
“It’s my fault, Reed.” Betty set the swatter down and helped Reed to his feet. “Okay? I was the one who wanted to keep Dad’s illness from you. I was the one who told Nash to let you take the fall. It was me. Be mad at me.”
“Ma—”
“Let me finish. It was selfish, okay?” She cupped Reed’s cheek. “Nash shouldn’t have done that to the Cartwright boy, but when he tried to tell the cops it was him, I begged him not to. We needed him.”
“You needed the five hundred bucks he sent you and Dad each month,” Reed spit out. “I almost went to jail over five hundred dollars.”
