Chapter 144
Hailey
Sam’s note was long gone now, dissolving in sewage somewhere, but the words were still tucked behind my ribs.
Tomorrow night, at midnight, I would be standing in front of Anatoly
Every breath I took felt filtered through Logan’s suspicion. He hadn’t touched me since we left the bathroom, but his presence was a hand wrapped around my neck.
I sat on my stool. The same one I’d been glued to all day. Logan had resumed his post a careful ten feet away from me. having casual conversations with his brothers. But his attention hadn’t wandered.
I took a sip of water and glanced around the room.
Viktor’s men were integrated now. Not quite members of the club, but more like machine guns primed and ready to be used.
A blond giant with a scar through his eyebrow leaned against one of the pool tables. His eyes were doing a slow, perpermal sweep of the room. Two more flanked the main door, replacing the usual prospects, who were probably off patrolling the perimeter.
Ledger was explaining something to Logan. Logan grunted in response. His gaze flicked to me, then to the front door, then to the back door, then back to Ledger.
He was processing intel while maintaining a constant unconscious inventory: Hailey. Door. Ledger. Hailey, Windows, Door Hailey.
The evening slowly bled out. Logan moved us from the bar to the chapel, where Talon was going over patrol schedules with a handful of brothers.
I studied the room as a potential obstacle course. The one window was small, high, and had bars on the outside. No good.
After that, Logan walked me through the garage. The big roll–up door was sealed and padlocked. The side door leading to the back alley was reinforced with steel plating, also padlocked. A camera with a red blinking light was mounted above it.
“Solid,” Logan said beside me. “No one’s gettin‘ in through here.”
Yeah. I wouldn’t be getting out through here either.
He might’ve meant it to be reassuring, but it felt like a tour of my cell.
We ate dinner at a corner table. Meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and gravy. Logan ate methodically, shoveling food into his mouth without tasting it. His eyes kept scanning the room over my shoulder.
I pushed the meatloaf around my plate. My stomach was in knots.
October twenty–fifth. Midnight. The numbers played on a loop behind my eyes, syncing with my heartbeat. Ten. Two–ve
“You need to eat,” Logan said, not looking at me.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Eat.”
1/3
9:16 pm P pp
Chapter 144
It wasn’t concern. It was an order. A test of obedience. 1 forced a bite. The potato was cold and gly
wet plaster until I managed to swallow.
He watched the lump travel down my throat. Satisfied, he went back to his own plate.
After dinner, Logan parked us on the couch in the main room. He found a baseball game on one of the TV and resched arm along the back of the couch, his fingers inches from my shoulder. Not touching just present
I picked up an old motorcycle magazine from the side table. The pages were sticky and smelled like stale beer 1 pretended
to read an article about carburetor tuning, but the words blurred into meaningless shapes
All I could think about was the note. Had every piece flushed away? Had a single, telltale scrap clung to the porcela waiting to be found?
My hands were sweaty. I wiped them on my jeans.
Logan’s thumb started to rub a slow, absent circle on my back. For a second my throat closed up
This was the man who’d held me through nightmares, whose body I knew better than my own. And I was about to rip has heart out of his chest.
The game droned on. The crowd cheered a distant home run. The sound was hollow, like it was happening in another universe.
At some point, he stood up. “C’mon. Let’s go to bed.”
I followed him. The climb up the steps felt like walking to the gallows.
In the apartment, the absence of Anatoly’s camera was like an itchy phantom limb. I could feel the empty spot in the rafters Logan felt it too. His eyes went to the ceiling immediately, then dropped to me.
“I’m gonna shower,” he said, shrugging out of his cut and tossing it over the chair. “Don’t go anywhere.”
I nodded.
The bathroom door clicked shut. I didn’t hear the lock engage. He was giving me the illusion of privacy. Another test.
I stood in the middle of the living room for a few seconds, listening to the running water through the wall. My eyes went to the window.
He had installed a new lock on it, but of course that was meant to keep things out.. not in
So, this would be my escape route. It would work. It would have to.
I moved, quickly and quietly. I went to the bedroom closet and found one of Logan’s hoodies. The worn–out black one I was looking for. It was heavy, and it smelled just like him.
I bundled it up and shoved it under my side of the mattress, at the foot of the bed. The lump was visible, but only if you were looking for it. I smoothed the comforter over it.
The water shut off. I hurried back to the living room and dropped onto the couch, pulling out my phone to look busy.
He emerged a minute later with a towel slung low on his hips. Water droplets clung to the hair on his chest, tracing the lines
of his tattoos.
He didn’t say anything. He just stood there, drying his hair with a second towel, watching me.
9/2
“Your turn” he said finally
In the bathroom, I locked the door. I leaned my forehead against the cool wood and closed my eyes.
“Breathe, Hailey” I whispered. “Just breathe”
I ran the water hot as I stripped off my clothes.
Hoodie Note Phone Window. Fire escape. Fence. Alley, Sam… Railyard.
It played through my head as I showered, over and over. A mantra of betrayal.
When I came out, I threw on one of his t–shirts. He was already in bed. Sitting up against the headboard, staring at me. The muscles in his hare shoulders were coiled with tension.
I slid into my side of the bed, keeping to the edge. I didn’t know if I could handle physical contact right now.
He reached over and turned off the lamp. Darkness swallowed us both.
For a long time, there was only the sound of our breathing. His was a slow, controlled rhythm. Mine felt too quick and shallow, so I forced it to match his.
His hand found mine in the dark. His fingers laced through mine, It wasn’t tender, though. It was possessive. A handcuff.
“Go to sleep, Ace,” he murmured.
I didn’t answer, I just lay there with my hand in his, feeling like the worst kind of liar.
AD
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
