Nash stood frozen in shock, his mind struggling to catch up with what had just happened. One moment, Maverick had been standing at the threshold.
The next, he had surged forward and delivered a brutal punch straight to Julius's face. The impact sent Julius crashing onto the floor, unconscious.
Nash quickly followed inside, his instincts torn between tending to Julius and trying to process Maverick's sudden outburst.
In that room, a woman, who was sitting opposite Julius before he was taken down, lifted her delicate brisé fan, covering half of her face. Amusement flickered in her sharp eyes as she studied Maverick.
"So, you are Maverick Beecham?" she mused.
"Julius," said Nash.
While Nash crouched beside Julius, pressing a hand against his shoulder in uncertainty, Maverick turned his gaze toward the guards stationed by the door.
"Drag him away," he ordered coolly.
The guards moved without question, hoisting Julius up and carrying him out of the room.
