Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 107508 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107508 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
I turned and walked away, staring straight ahead, ignoring the heat I felt blazing into my back. And I knew what it was from—Logan.
I put Havoc in her field and was walking back to the house when it started to rain. I heard the motorcycle start up minutes later, and a wave of relief swept over me. I didn’t know where he was going, and I didn’t care as long as it wasn’t here.
The reality was I had no idea who Logan was—the man I fell in love with or the son of a sadistic, ruthless Raul. Was he taking over his father’s business now that he was dead? Maybe he was here to take me back?
Somewhere inside me, I knew that wasn’t true. I’d escaped because of him. He’d managed to get Deck to Mexico to get me out. I’m not sure how or why, but that was how it went down.
When I’d left Logan that night all I knew was that Deck’s men stayed behind. I never asked what happened, and Deck never told me. I had assumed the FBI had gone after Raul when I told them what happened. But why had it taken two years? And why wasn’t Logan arrested if he was with his father?
I leaned over the fence and watched as Havoc galloped across the field toward her herd. The rain teemed down on me, and I closed my eyes, tilted my face to the sky, and let it trickle down my cheeks.
It felt cool after the blazing heat of the day. Within seconds my T-shirt was soaked and my breeches stuck to my thighs like Velcro.
I shook out my wet hair and ran my fingers through it. An image of Logan caressing my head, stroking my hair—
I slammed my palms into the fence and curled them. No. Stop.
I leaned my forehead against the cedar rail while the rain pounded hard onto my back and shoulders.
I’d liked it, his touch. How he was with me. I felt empty without him. Damn it, what was wrong with me?
My therapist had said the thoughts of what happened would fade, that with hard work and reconstructions, I’d stop hearing the girls screams and having nightmares. But she didn’t know everything; she had no idea that I loved the man that brought me into that world. To her he was a stranger who kidnapped me and took me to Mexico to be a sex slave.
Sliding down to the ground, I sat with my knees tucked up under my chin and my arms wrapped around them.
For two years I’d been able to keep Logan locked up inside of me. My therapist and I worked through what I’d witnessed and suffered, and the nightmares did fade. When she began pushing to know more about what I endured from the hands of the “stranger”, that was when I quit therapy. I refused to speak to Kat and Matt about what happened. Kat begged and pleaded with me to talk, but I couldn’t. She knew about Logan and how I felt about him and I wanted to forget, not relive the humiliation.
But eventually they both stopped asking, and I slipped into my void of living. Georgie came by a few times a week, and she was her usual self, no-holds-barred Georgie. She told me about her brother Riot, and we talked about the loss and how Deck had been overprotective of her ever since.
My tears flowed like the rain, slipping down my cheeks as I rocked back and forth, the needles pounding into me. I cried. I don’t know why really. I just did. And it hurt. Seeing Logan tore me open, and I was bleeding, and the thing was I didn’t know how to stop it.
“Mouse.”
I jerked, raising my head. He stood in front of me, soaking wet, water dripping down his face like teardrops.
I stopped rocking. He looked like the man I loved standing there, with his hands tucked in his front jean pockets, a little uncomfortable, maybe unsure of himself. No, Logan was never uncertain.
He stepped closer.
“Emily.” His voice. It was strained and harsh like it was when we ... we were together. He crouched in front of me, the rain having soaked his T-shirt, revealing the dark ink on his skin.
Logan had never left me. He’d always been in me, yet I’d denied it. Fought it because it was wrong. It was abnormal. I had to be crazy to still love this man, and yet ... some fragment of my soul did. I don’t think it would ever be cut out. But I’d keep trying.
He reached for me.
“Stay away.” I punched him in the chest then in the shoulder, my fists like drum sticks hitting him over and over again. “Why are you doing this to me? Just leave.”
He held me by the shoulders, eyes never leaving my face, his expression calm as he let me assault him until I was exhausted. I closed my eyes and fell backward until I was sitting in the wet grass, chest heaving and fists throbbing.
“You done?”
My eyes flew open, and I raised my hand and slapped him across the face. The resounding sound echoed, and the palm of my hand stung like I’d slapped a marble countertop as hard as I could. I didn’t care. I wanted it to hurt. I needed the pain.
I made a strange moan in the back of my throat and went to slap him again, but this time he caught my wrist.
“Once I’ll take. Not twice.”
When I relaxed my arm, Logan let me go. He took off his jacket and tried to wrap it around me, but I pushed him away. His frown lowered and eyes darkened as he relented and threw it over the fence instead. And it was him yielding, because Logan did what he wanted, and if he chose to wrap a friggin’ jacket around me he would.
I stared as the familiar crevices of his chest molded through his tight, wet T-shirt. Get a grip. He let me be tortured. He humiliated me.