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)
Then Kite came up, and that was it. Girl forgotten.
But she persisted, and that’s when he knew there was something more to her than he first thought. When she grabbed his arm, fingers curling around his bicep, he’d looked down at her small hand against his skin and felt strange warmth shoot through him. He told her to let go, but the words didn’t stick, because for some reason he didn’t want her to let him go. At the time, he’d put it to the adrenaline still rifting through him.
He watched as she shook her head to tell him she wasn’t listening. Her hair fell in front of her eyes, and he had the urge to push it back. It was like a sucker punch to the solar plexus. He didn’t like getting sucker punched—at all.
She looked down at her feet, shuffled a bit then met his gaze dead on. When she said, “I was attacked after work by a guy ...”
Rage rose up in him so fuckin’ high that he was ready to get in the ring and beat the crap out of his next opponent. The words tearing out of his mouth felt like acid, and he could only hold his breath waiting for an answer, because if this chick was getting— Jesus, he couldn’t even say the word and the thought made him sick to his stomach. It brought back memories of the screams, the girls beaten, the abuse, and his father. It may have hit him harder than usual because of seeing his father that night. But when he asked if she was sexually assaulted and she told him no, it was like a wave of cool relief blanketed him.
Thank fuck.
He had stared down at the delicate fingers over his bulging muscle. Imagining that hand curled into a fist ... No, he couldn’t.
Then he was being an asshole, telling her how she could never fight, because really, picturing this girl having to fight anyone was pissing him off. He felt like wrapping her up in his arms and carrying her away from all the bad shit in the world.
Then what did he fuckin’ do ...? He led her into the worst sludge of the world—his father.
He’d brought her gift-wrapped to his father. “Jesus.”
“Logan?” Emily’s hand rested on his arm, still small and delicate, just like the first time he met her.
Looking at her now, he didn’t know why he hadn’t fallen in love with her the moment he laid eyes on her. She was perfect—the way her lashes dropped to cover half her eyes when she was thinking, how her breasts peaked perfectly beneath her shirt, and her thighs, damn her thighs were rock solid. He felt every bit of them on his bloody bike.
But it was way more than that. His girl had a strong empathy for horses, and the way she was around them, it was sexy as hell. God, she couldn’t see how beautiful she was which drove him crazy, but when she was with those horses, her uncertainty or insecurity or mistrust vanished. Determined as hell, yet still sensual and ... feminine. Her determination was playing against him right now, but despite that he respected her more for it, Jesus, he’d dragged her into hell and hurt her.
She didn’t see her strength, but he saw it from the beginning. God, he prayed every fuckin’ day that Raul or Alfonzo or Jacob wouldn’t break her. And he’d been so fuckin’ proud of her when she stood up to his piece-of-crap father, and even though it was the worst play she could’ve done, a part of him wanted to pull her into his arms and cry— Because she wasn’t broken. Emily never gave up.
Logan groaned, as he wrapped her into his arms and sighed when she came willingly. Jesus, he loved this woman. He’d thought of nothing except her for two years. She didn’t know what went down after he let her go, and he’d never tell her; she didn’t need that tainting her life. But it was her that gave him the strength to survive the hell Raul put him through. Deck ... He owed Deck his life for getting him out.
He squeezed her to him. “You looked hot, Mouse. Out there with that stallion ... I’m buying you more horses.”
“I can buy my own horses, Logan.”
He loved when she called him Logan. Eme and his mother were the only ones who called him that. Now he was called Logan by two remarkable women in his life that survived his father. And Deck. Deck survived his father too and risked his life. He got him out of there and witnessed the shape he was in. Deck wanted him to tell Eme what happened, but he couldn’t. She had enough horror in her life; she didn’t need to hear his horror. He’d shield her from that forever if he could.
“I know you can, it’s not the same thing.”
He caressed her cheek, and she leaned into his touch, her eyes closing as she sighed.
“Rescue horses.”
“Hmmm?”
“You want to buy horses? Save the ones that need it.”
That was his Emily. “Whatever you want.” He kissed her forehead. “Trophy, Emily. You’re a trophy.”
When they pulled up to the house, Crisis and Kite were sitting on the porch drinking beers, and Ream was leaning against the railing.
I unsnapped my helmet and passed it to Logan who placed it on the handle bars beside his. I quickly ran my fingers through my hair while avoiding his eyes. “I’ll, ah ... see you later. I better check on the horses.”
I turned, my heart in my throat and the familiar ache pulsating. Being with Logan today had been ... it was like the sun burning through the fog of my mind. And there in the brightness stood Logan and he was protective and strong and willing to do anything to repair us. Did I trust him? I believed him, so why was I hesitating on trusting him?
Logan tagged my hand and reeled me back in.