Heir of Ashes (The Roxanne Fosch Files #1)

Chapter 13

We were out of the room within an hour. There was indeed a tracker, implanted under the skin of the instep of my right foot. It was deeper than I expected, barely noticeable. Its head was smaller than a lentil, attached to a hair-thin wire about an inch long. One would think my body would have rejected such a thing.

Logan and I separated after we left the hotel. I took a cab to a mall where I spent the remainder of Logan’s money without a second thought. He’d taken the transmitter to dispose of it, told me he had some matters to attend to—finding a car, making calls, and arranging for money to be wired. All in all, I had a couple of hours to kill, so I went shopping before I was to call him at the number he had me memorize before we parted ways.

I went to Arden Fair Mall on Arden Way. It was one of the places I’d frequented as a kid, and I wanted to see it again through adult eyes. I shopped first for essentials, picking up underwear and some clothes from the sale racks. The basics, things I absolutely needed. By the time I made my way to the food court, nostalgia had a tight grip around my chest, squeezing with every breath. I was wearing my new jeans and a blue button-down shirt, my new coat draped over one arm and shopping bags in the other. Despite the disastrous way the day had started, I was feeling almost normal. Michelle used to tell me shopping cleared the mind and freed the soul, and today, I could almost believe her. The thought crossed my mind to call her, to let her know I was fine and alive, but I knew she and the rest of the town were wondering why I had disappeared the same night a mummified corpse was found in my room, not to mention all that blood. Unless the PSS had cleaned up the place before anyone found the vampire corpse. The latter was more likely, and they probably had a story about me circulating around to keep others from looking for me. No, Michelle was safer left wondering.

I ordered fried rice and Kung Pao chicken from Panda Express, then found myself a table. I savored the spicy chicken and vegetables while I visualized the PSS Headquarters, bringing into focus everything I could remember—the grounds, the buildings, the layout. Now and again, I’d take note of my surroundings.

The food court was packed with people and sounds, laughter and shouts, screaming, wailing, and giggling children. Just like I remembered, as if years hadn’t passed. Unlike the chaotic emotions that had overwhelmed my senses in the casino, the atmosphere here was easier to bear, lacking the greed and malevolence. I was an insignificant dot in a sea of bodies.

After I finished eating, I pulled out the sketchbook and the magic markers that had cost more than the flip-flops and pajamas from JCPenney. I began drawing, the cacophony of sounds and emotions around me soothing background noise. I wasn’t a great artist, but I was a decent one. Despite my initial thought that mapping rooms and offices wouldn’t be hard, I ripped a couple of pages before I was satisfied with what I was doing.

First, I sketched the perimeters of the three main buildings on the first page, flipped a page, and began drawing the details of the ground floor of Building C. I had no doubt that Logan’s friend would be found either in that building or the topmost floors of Building A. There was a cubical maze on the ground floor of Building C, where the more recent research was kept, locked rooms that opened with authorization cards and retina scans, and other rooms Logan would definitely not need to search. I drew the details I remembered and marked numbers for reference at the bottom of the pages so Logan would know what was what and where he needed to go or avoid. I drew the whole ground floor of Building C, where the labs were located, although floors in Building C were subterranean, going down instead of up. It was very military, but I suppose it was harder to escape a building with only a couple of entrances, several floors up.

When I finished drawing everything I could remember from that floor and checked the references, the cameras, and sensors, a long time had passed. I politely covered a yawn, stretched my legs under the table, and massaged the kink from my neck before glancing around.

The food court was even more crowded than when I’d arrived, but it was refreshing to be among so many people without drawing attention. I checked the time and was shocked to discover that over four hours had passed. Damn, Logan was probably thinking that the PSS had caught me. I studied my drawings one last time and concluded Logan would be able to decipher them after all. I still needed to do the floors of Building A and the subterranean ones in Building C, but for now, those would do. I rolled up both drawings, stuck them inside my purchase bag from JCPenney, and left to find a pay phone—if they still existed—and arrange a meeting place with Logan. But where? He seemed to have known his way around town well enough earlier.

“Roxy?” someone called. “Roxanne?”

I turned, alarm bubbling in my chest. The first thing I noticed was the blue aura, no smudge, no shimmer. The second was that he wore plain clothes—black pants, a blue knitted shirt, and a black biker jacket draped over one shoulder. But anyone from the PSS could ditch the suit to blend in and to throw me off. This man had broad shoulders tapering down to lean hips and long legs. A linebacker, no doubt, or something in the football line. Nothing particularly threatening, but adding the way his t- shirt was loose enough to conceal a weapon, and how he knew my name … I paid extra attention. He was clean-shaven, with a strong jaw and small mouth. His straight jet-black hair had fallen over the corners of chocolate-brown eyes.

Said eyes were anxious and, after a brief shake of the head, anxious turned disappointed, lips turning down at the corners. Not a threatening look either.

“Sorry, thought you were someone else.”

Chocolate-brown eyes. Striking eyes I had known once. Imagined and fantasized about seeing over and over again.

“Tommy?” I blurted. My heart galloped a thousand miles, and a prickling sensation stung the back of my eyes. It had been a long time since I had last fought to keep tears at bay.

He whirled around, his face a slideshow of emotions. Disappointment cleared to disbelief, bafflement, joy, and back to disbelief, then his face broke into a tentative smile that grew and grew, splitting his face in two.

“It is you! My God, Roxy, it’s you.” He surprised me by giving me a huge, bone-crushing bear hug. “It’s you. Roxy, my God,” he repeated over and over, the words spoken in my ear.

I hugged him back and patted his back awkwardly. I had no idea what else to do. It was an ineptitude I blamed on the PSS.

An eternity later, he let go, and we eyed each other, taking in the changes time had carved on the other. He’d grown into a handsome man, but even as kids, he’d always been a pretty boy. I’d been taller than him back then, but he had at least three inches on me now. His hair was still black, like mine used to be before I’d dyed it, and, unlike mine, his was perfectly straight. His skin had a warm tan, not from too much time at the beach or Navajo ancestry like people often assumed, but from his Spanish heritage. He also had some Asian ancestry, the combination giving him striking features.

I remembered before I was taken, he had shorn his hair to less than an inch to discourage some of the older kids from teasing him that he only needed longer hair and makeup to pass as a girl. Vicky and I had laughed our heads off about it over cups of hot chocolate in this same mall. The three of us—Vicky, Tommy, and I—had grown up together, inseparable until the day I was taken away. He seemed to have thought about that too, because his grin vanished, and his gaze turned serious.

“What happened to you? Where did you go?” he asked, as if I had disappeared yesterday instead of a decade ago. He went on, a shadow of the confusion and hurt he no doubt felt all those years ago clouding his features. “My God, Roxy, my God. You just up and disappeared. We came over every day and asked for you. Vicky and I came over every single day,” he repeated. “Sometimes we came by more than once. Your mother wouldn’t let us see you.”

I nodded once, not knowing what to say, then shook my head and settled for a sliver of the truth. “I wasn’t there.”

He huffed a humorless laugh. “Hell, if we knew that. We went to the cops, you know? But only a guardian could file a missing person report. Vicky and I kept insisting something bad happened to you; we even got the Navajo twins to come with us. Then Dad talked to this cop he knew, and they sent a patrol to check on you.” He searched my eyes for answers I knew he wouldn’t find. “We knew for certain something horrible happened when your mother showed them custody papers, feeding them some bull about your father gaining guardianship. But we knew your dad was dead, and it was all a lie …”

He paused for a second, waiting for me to either confirm or deny, then added softly, “Vicky and I broke into the house and searched it. But then your mother came home and caught us, and she called the cops on us. We couldn’t believe that. Imagine? We even had this sort of restraining order served to us … had to do some community service.” He fell silent, his eyes distant, lost in a memory from a decade ago.

For all the years I had been gone, I never imagined my friends going to the police to report me missing, breaking into my home to search for me. In the earliest days in the PSS, I’d imagined campaigns, missing person flyers, detectives turning every stone looking for clues. But it had been my mother heading the details and checking with the police. For Vicky, I’d imagined some tears before she moved on, and Tommy—a stricken boy too proud to cry—moving on even sooner.

“Do you know what she did after that?” Tommy asked.

I waited, not saying anything. “She left. One day she was there, and the next she was gone, the house empty.” This time, when he looked at me, he was expecting an answer.

I shook my head again before saying, “I’m sorry. I had to go.” There was a lump in my throat that wouldn’t budge no matter how much I swallowed, and the prickling in the back of my eyes intensified.

“But couldn’t you have called or emailed or anything?” he persisted, scanning my face. “We thought you died,” he added quietly.

Another shake of the head. My vision blurred, and I swallowed twice. I was fighting a losing battle. I looked away. We were surrounded by people, some even bumping into us as they passed by, but we might as well have been alone.

Tommy placed a finger under my chin and turned my head to face him. I kept my gaze fixed on the collar of his shirt. A tear fell, followed by a few more.

“Hey, that doesn’t matter anymore. It’s over now. You’re here. You’re back.” He brushed my cheek with his thumb, the motion soothing. I wiped the other cheek with my coat. I wanted to keep my head buried in it.

But then Tommy gently tugged me closer, and I let a few more tears fall onto the crook of his neck. His arm went around me, patting my back. That was Tommy—ever the comforting, gentle type. He had always been there, lending a sympathetic ear, comforting either Vicky or me whenever we had a fight. He had been the linchpin in our trio. It was good to know some things hadn’t changed.

After a few deserved tears, I wiped my face and got myself under control. Tears were useless and I, more than anyone, knew how futile they were.

Tommy gave me a gentle smile when I stepped back and brushed a knuckle softly over my damp cheek. “Your face hasn’t changed much. It’s thinner, and your cheeks seem higher, but I recognized you right away.” He then gave an appreciative look down. “Your body has filled out in all the right places too.”

There was a shocked silence before his face flushed pink. “I mean, not that you were gangly before; you were definitely attractive. I mean …” He winced, his cheeks turning crimson, and I couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped.

He gave me a sheepish smile, his soft chocolate eyes crinkling at the corners, and mimed opening his mouth and inserting his foot. I gave him a genuine smile, appreciating his diversion. Some people never changed.

“What happened here?” he asked, tracing a finger over my bandaged forehead. I wished I had left my hair down after leaving the hotel instead of tying it into a tight ponytail. It wouldn’t have covered the bandage, but it wouldn’t have left it so starkly exposed either.

“I ran into an invisible wall,” I told him, and he smiled, probably thinking I was evading the question.

“So, you’re shopping?” He nodded down at my bags.

“Yeah. My—uh—luggage got lost. I needed a few things, and since I was already in town, I decided to come here and reminisce a bit.”

“My God. Vicky is going to flip when she finds out she missed you. She left just a couple of days ago.” He shifted his biker jacket to his other arm, reached inside his pocket, and extracted a smartphone. “No, she’s in a meeting,” he said to himself and returned the phone to his pocket.

We talked for a while, mostly about him and Vicky. She had just graduated as an interior designer and was currently in New York for her first job. Tommy had also graduated as an accountant at the beginning of the year.

“You’re following in the family tradition?” I asked. His father was the accountant for the family’s investment firm, founded by Tommy’s grandfather. The Santanas were a wealthy family. Tommy’s humor faded. “I’d rather build things. I only became an accountant because it was expected of me and because it was something my father always wanted. But I’m more or less a carpenter.” He opened his hands palm up, showing me the calluses as if needing to prove that he worked with his hands. Just then, a little boy, no older than three, ran up to us, shouting, “Uncle Tommy, Uncle Tommy, Mommy says come!” He kept jumping up and down until Tommy bent and scooped him up.

“You remember my sister Bianca?” he asked, tousling the child’s hair. “This is Carlos, her oldest.” The boy might have been his nephew, but aside from his hazel eyes, he was a miniature copy of Tommy.

Since I had no idea what I was supposed to do or say to the kid, I just stood and smiled.

“That’s her sitting over there with her husband Grant and sister-in-law. The baby on her lap is Carol.” He pointed to a table to the right, but all I saw were curious looks from Grant and calculating looks from the women. I didn’t recognize any of them. They turned away when they saw me looking.

“Guess you better go then.”

“Yeah, I guess I better.” But he didn’t move, and neither did I. We stayed like that, eyeing each other, both thinking about everything that had been and what should have been if I hadn’t disappeared, until the boy began squirming.

“I guess I should go now,” he said and turned.

I watched him go. He took a couple of reluctant steps away, turned, and came back. “Listen, why don’t you come by the old house? I’m staying there until I find a place of my own. Do you remember the address? I mean, if you have time before you have to go?” he asked the latter a bit hesitantly.

I knew this was his way of asking if I’d be around. “If I have time,” I replied noncommittally.

He put Carlos back on his feet and kept a firm grip on his arm while he fished for a piece of paper from his jacket pocket. It was a receipt of sorts. Then he began patting himself for a pen I knew he didn’t have. In this day and age, people were so dependent on technology that things like pens, pads, and even wristwatches were becoming obsolete.

He was probably waiting for me to step in and produce a cellphone to note whatever he had in mind. After a moment of patting, I took pity on him and reached inside my purchase bag for a magic marker. I could see the faint flicker of disappointment behind his smile, but it wasn’t like I kept a constant cell number. And, considering the fact I had no one, I’d go long stretches without needing to carry even a temporary one—like at the moment.

Because Carlos was wriggling furiously, trying to be let free, I took the receipt—Nordstrom’s—and wrote down his cell number, committing it to memory.

“If you decide to come, call me first,” he said, hesitating for a moment, probably to see if I’d return the favor. I didn’t. Instead, I gave him a goodbye hug, and Carlos made protesting noises and tried to wriggle free. I lingered more than was polite, but I knew I’d never see him again. He searched my blank face for a moment, and after I forced a smile that he clearly didn’t buy, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd.

When I turned to go, I found Logan leaning against a support beam, watching. He was close enough to have heard the entire conversation—if he’d been there long enough. I noted he had gone shopping too. He wore a pair of light blue jeans, a black shirt, and a coat similar to the one he’d worn when we first met.

Another food court, a lifetime ago. Without a word, he straightened and reached for my bags. I let him take them. We left the mall in silence, heading to a gray SUV parked at the edge of the parking lot. Logan unlocked the back door and put my bags inside. My duffel bag and his laptop were already there. I didn’t comment or thank him. I figured he wouldn’t have gone back for my things if it wasn’t for his laptop.

Besides, I wasn’t in the right frame of mind for talking. My mood was a mix of melancholy and despair. There was this black void, this emptiness inside me that began that rainy day when the PSS came to my house, ever widening with the passage of time. So far, ten years and counting, and I was still falling with nothing below and only a pinprick of light above.

I wanted more than ever to be free. To talk to my friends, go out for a movie, and have a job. To stop this endless fall. It was moments like this that the immensity of what I had lost because of the PSS hit me the hardest. I didn’t have a college degree. I hadn’t even finished high school or earned a diploma.

The rain had stopped, leaving only a few white clouds scattered here and there, tinged blue and pink and purple with the setting sun. The cold November day was getting colder by the minute. Logan and I hadn’t exchanged a word, and I appreciated the silence.

I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. It didn’t matter to me where we were going. For now, I just needed to try to relax my mind, try to regain some of the balance I lost the day I found a vampire sitting on my bed, flipping through Michelle’s fashion magazine.

We hadn’t gone far before we were slowing again. I opened my eyes, taking in the tall buildings, busy streets, and throng of pedestrians. Traffic crawled steadily, with people hurrying home after a long day, some damp, others dry and prim. A vendor pushed an empty cart slowly around the corner. I didn’t recognize where we were at first, then realized we had gone to Arden West, to the Hilton Hotel.

I followed Logan into the lobby, carrying his laptop while he took care of my belongings. Again, he refused the help of an attendant, and we checked into a room under the name of Kevin Oliver. Even the credit card he used was under the alias. Or maybe Logan Graham wasn’t his real name. Who knew? I didn’t trust him, and he sure as hell didn’t trust me. He’d made that abundantly clear more than once.

We rode up to the fifth floor in silence, then turned down a carpeted hallway to our appointed room.

As before, Logan hadn’t booked cheap accommodations—or a room with two beds. The king-sized bed dominated the space, set against a backdrop of cream, green, dark wood, and subdued lighting. It was a clever blend of masculine and feminine touches.

A flat-screen TV was mounted beside the bed, facing a large, cushy green sofa. An executive desk was on the far side, beneath closed cream-colored drapes. There was also a walk-in closet and a chest of drawers in front of the bed. I went straight to the desk, set the laptop on it, and began opening and closing drawers in a sudden fit of nerves. There was a bulletin featuring Hilton’s entertainment and services, and I skimmed over them, noticing they offered complimentary coffee. Ignoring the rest, I rang for the coffee.

Logan dropped our belongings into the closet and came to stand beside me. It was clear he had something to say, and I tensed up.

He opened his mouth, closed it, then rubbed his nose. The silence between us grew heavy. We hadn’t parted on good terms back at the hotel. Now, I had a hunch he wanted to address it, but I’d rather he left the past where it belonged.

“Look,” he began.

“Don’t,” I cut him off harshly.

His mouth flattened, and his eyes flashed with stubborn determination. I took a step back, ready to walk away if he pressed the topic. I recognized the childish behavior, but there was nothing he could say that I wanted to hear.

“Let sleeping dogs lie,” my mother used to say whenever I became persistent about my father and what had happened to him. Inhaling, Logan turned back to the desk, reaching for his laptop without a word. He logged in with a password that he typed almost in a blur, then pulled something from his coat pocket and placed it beside the laptop—an ancient cellphone that looked like it belonged in a museum, complete with a keypad and small screen. I hadn’t seen one like that in ages.

From his other pocket, he pulled out something else—small metal shears—and turned to face me.

He took my left wrist and examined the blocking bracelet with a frown. “How come it doesn’t work on you?” he asked, cutting off the bracelet with an ease that belied the strength he had just used. A sharp zapping energy coursed through me and made my entire body clench. Even my teeth ached. I wondered how bad it had been for him.

“Why did they use it on you?” he tried again.

I resisted the urge to say “duh” and stated the obvious. “To prevent me from tapping into my other nature.”

“They had you for nine years and never figured out it didn’t work on you?”

I shrugged. “I never gave them any reason to believe otherwise.”

He gave me a look tinged with respect. “So, when you finally had the chance to leave, you could unleash everything you had.”

“It never came to that.”

I had hoped he wouldn’t connect the dots, but now that particular cat was out of the bag, I shouldn’t assume the PSS wouldn’t hear about it. He was a mercenary above all else, a no-trust zone. And it didn’t matter how high he thought his code of honor was. I didn’t—and couldn’t—trust him. Mercenaries made their living by selling their skills and knowledge to the highest bidder.

“I haven’t seen one like that in forever,” I commented, nodding at the antiquated phone, trying to diffuse some of the awkwardness.

He followed my gaze. “The old ones don’t have built-in GPS. Makes them harder to track.”

Oh? That was something to keep in mind. I motioned to his laptop. “What’s the plan?”

Reluctantly, he took the seat in front of the laptop and clicked on a folder titled Roxanne and showed me three addresses. “We’ll visit each house today and see if you recognize anything,” he said, rising just as a knock sounded. “That’s the coffee,” he announced as he headed to open the door. He took the coffee, tipped the delivery man, and brought it over. He poured us both a cup and settled back into the chair.

I accepted the cup he filled and eyed the addresses displayed on the screen, along with the screenshot of maps clearly saved from Google. “Like what?” I sipped the scalding brew.

“Anything. A car, the flower arrangements, anything that looks familiar. Maybe we’ll be lucky, and you’ll spot your mother or a friend coming or going. The PSS will be watching her, but if they figured out you don’t know where she is, they’ll probably monitor all three Elizabeths.”

I paused. “And then?” I asked quietly.

“For tonight, that’s it. If we find out which of the three is your mother, then tomorrow you can approach her—after I scout the place and make sure the Society isn’t waiting to ambush you.”

“And if you find the PSS is watching her?”

“I’ll handle them. I’ll scan the surroundings and when I find them, I’ll keep them occupied and lead them away.” His eyes gleamed with a hint of anticipation. I was sure Logan wouldn’t make it easy for them this time.

I nodded. “If it’s not any of the three?”

“We’ll find her.” His confidence was meant to reassure, but it sounded to me like a brush-off.

We finished our coffee in silence. Logan reached to refill my cup just as I was reaching for the carafe. Our hands brushed, and static zapped between us. I pulled away. He took a deep breath, filled my cup, and said, “About today, I’d like to explain myself.”

“Nothing to explain,” I interrupted. “Forget about it.” I moved to the sofa to put some much-needed distance between us.

“Damn it, Roxanne. Let me speak.”

I controlled my rapidly rising anger, not only because I didn’t want to fight but also because I was tired. He had a right to feel however he wanted about me without having to apologize. We had a bargain, and he wasn’t obligated to like me. I bent to place my cup on the coffee table and told him exactly that. “I don’t want to talk about it. I’m used to disgust aimed at me. You’re not obligated to make excuses to make me feel better. We have a bargain, not a relationship.” I straightened and was about to turn to face him when he took hold of my arm and spun me around. I hadn’t heard him move. Had I been so lost in my own thoughts, or was he that silent a predator?

I flinched at the anger I saw in his eyes. If I had been prepared or even had a little warning, I could have masked my reaction. Still, I controlled my expression with my next breath.

His eyes darkened into a stormy gray. “You’re such a hypocrite. You think I was disgusted because you’re something else? The only one disgusted with you is yourself. You’re so blind with self-loathing that you think anyone who knows you’re not human automatically dislikes you.” His voice held so much scorn and derision that I reacted without thinking.

My hand flexed once, then connected with his face with such force the thunderous snap echoed through the room. His head turned ninety degrees, then returned with a chilling, deliberate slowness. I wouldn’t have been surprised if his eyes began glowing red with the rage blazing in them. He didn’t return the favor—but I could tell he was so furious that he was considering it. A perfect imprint of my hand marked his cheek. His nostrils flared, but no smoke came out—nor did any fire spew from my mouth.

I held my temper enough not to strike again. Or tried, anyway. Somehow, I doubted I would get another lucky shot or another free pass. I should have made a fist.

“You know nothing of how I feel,” I snarled, finally finding my voice, “and I don’t want to listen to any excuses and denials of what I saw with my own two eyes.” I thumped a fist to my chest for emphasis. “God knows I’ve seen it enough times over the years.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed, and he opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off with another decisive snarl. “Fuck off. I. Don’t. Want. To. Know.”

My hand flexed again, but he was faster. His hands clamped onto my upper arms with bruising force, shaking me so hard my teeth clacked. Oh yeah, he was furious.

His eyes were livid, his jaws clenched hard enough to snap. I knew then I had pushed him hard. When his hands tightened, I braced myself. My talons were at the ready. He didn’t shake me though. Instead, he jerked me toward him. Before I could react, his lips crashed onto mine. Shock froze me at first, and then I began to struggle in earnest, terrified suddenly of what he had in mind. Fear choked me, making my struggles feeble. I tried to knee him, but he blocked expertly. Just as abruptly as it began, he stopped, raising his head. His breathing was hard, his warm exhales fanning my face.

I stood paralyzed, afraid to move and trigger another violent reaction. An involuntary tremor ran through me. My eyes, huge with terror, locked onto his. My arms were still pinned down by his unyielding grip. I kept my expression blank, hoping desperately to block the terror from him, but my heart was beating so fast and hard, I had no doubt he could hear and smell the fear wafting from my pores. There was no use in hiding my expression when my body betrayed me so completely, but I did it anyway. It was better to give mixed signals than confirm how he frightened me. If only there were some distance between us … We were so close, our faces nearly touching. I could see small green flecks in his irises before he closed his eyes, visibly struggling to gain control.

He didn’t release me. His breathing was shallow, and I was sure his wolf was close to the surface. I forced myself to relax, hoping that if I could calm down, it would help him rein in his beast. His hands flexed on my arms once. I froze. My heart stuttered before slamming against my ribs with abandon. Logan’s nostrils flared, and a growl rumbled in his chest. Sweat beads appeared on his forehead and upper lip.

He was close. I closed my eyes and made an effort to calm myself, slowing my breathing and with it, my racing heart. An eternity later, Logan’s grip loosened a fraction, but he didn’t let go.

I opened my eyes and looked straight into his.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said gruffly.

No, but your wolf would.

As if reading my thoughts, or just my dubious expression, he shook his head. “I’m in control of my beast. I control my beast,” he repeated for emphasis.

I nodded in agreement. He had yet to let go.

“Ever since I met you, you’ve awakened a protective part of me that I hadn’t realized I was missing. I lost someone once … Someone I should have protected.” He swallowed hard before continuing. “I want to protect you, to keep you away from harm. If you saw disgust earlier, believe me, it was for myself. You were hurt, you handled the Society’s thugs on your own. I should be the one protecting you, keeping people away from you. Seeing all those marks on you was like a slap to my face. They could have killed you while I was lying there, unconscious.”

“They’re not all from The Elites. Some are from Remo’s wards. Some from the Bad Boy Team.”

His eyes darkened, his nostrils flaring. “Not helping here.”

“I’m not an easy person to keep safe. I don’t blame you for any of what’s happened to me.”

“I’m responsible for you, for your safety. I blame myself,” he growled.

I gave a brief nod, unable to come up with a suitable response to that. He lowered his head, touching his forehead to mine, and I stiffened.

“God, don’t be afraid of me. I’m not going to hurt you or touch you if you don’t want me to.”

My eyes flicked to the king-sized bed, and of course, he noticed.

“I can’t stay up on guard all night long and function a hundred percent. This way if you so much as move, I wake up. That’s all. I swear there is no double purpose there. I won’t ever touch you if you don’t want me to.”

“Then let go.” My voice was not as steady as I’d have liked it to be.

“Okay.” But he didn’t release me right away. He took a long, shuddering breath, exhaled slowly, blowing warm air on my face. Then he took a step back, let go of my arms, and turned away.

I watched his back for a moment, gripping my hands together to keep them from shaking. My legs weren’t steady either, so I sat. Logan was still there, and my back was rigid with tension. He took a step away, hesitated, then took a couple more steps. Then the door of the bathroom closed and locked.