Chapter 11
-Hailey-
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The ride felt longer than it should’ve. Every red light stretched, and every turn dragged me closer to the place I least wanted
to be.
Matt’s house. My house. No his. It’d stopped feeling like mine a long time ago.
–
Logan rode ahead of me, his back straight, shoulders tight beneath his leather cut. River rode behind, and the rumble of their engines swallowed the silence.
I sat stiff in the passenger seat of Jake’s truck, staring at my hands, forcing myself to breathe.
I was going back. Just long enough to grab my stuff. Just long enough to remind myself why I never wanted to walk through that door again.
When we pulled up to the curb, my stomach flipped. The driveway was empty, the blinds were open, the front steps looked the same. But the whole house felt… poisoned. My chest squeezed tight.
Jake killed the engine. “You ready?”
No. Absolutely not.
“Yeah.” I lied.
The second I climbed out, Logan was there. His hand brushed the small of my back, just once, but it steadied me more than I wanted to admit. His green eyes swept the street, the windows, the yard. He wasn’t looking at me. He was hunting.
“Let’s make this quick,” he muttered.
I nodded, clutching my keys so tight the edges dug into my palm. I stepped up to the door, slipped the key into the lock, turned it, and-
Nothing.
The knob didn’t budge.
I froze, staring at the key. My stomach twisted into knots as I tried it again, jiggling it, pushing and pulling.
“What’s wrong?” Logan’s voice was tense, over my shoulder.
“It’s not working…” I muttered. “That asshole. He must’ve changed the locks.”
Logan grunted. “Of course he did.”
He stepped forward, one hand gripping the doorknob, the other pressing flat against the doorframe. His muscles tensed, and I could feel the energy rolling off him.
“Logan, don’t-“I started, but he didn’t listen.
With a shove and a grunt, he slammed his shoulder into the door. The wood groaned, the frame splintered, and the door flew inward with a sound like a gunshot. I flinched.
“Jesus,” River muttered behind us, shaking his head.
Logan stepped inside, his boots crunching on the broken wood. I watched him pull a pistol out of his waistband. “Let’s go,” he said, glancing back at me. His voice was calm, but his eyes were blazing. “Get your shit.”
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I peered inside and a rush of memories hit me. Matt’s voice echoing off the walls. Fights that left me curled in the fetal position on the couch. The sound of his footsteps when I’d been too afraid to breathe.
I hesitated, but Logan filled the entire living room. A shield of muscle and ink and danger. I followed.
Inside, nothing had changed. Matt’s shoes by the door. His jacket on the hook. My sketchbook tossed on the coffee table where I’d left it.
I bent down and grabbed it, stuffing it into the tote I’d brought. My hands shook as I reached for the photo albums stacked on the bookshelf. Dust clung to the spines. My throat went dry as I tucked them away.
Every move I made, I felt his eyes on me. Not Matt’s… Logan’s. Heavy, protective. Hungry in a way he’d never say out loud.
When I reached the bedroom, I hesitated. The smell of Matt’s cologne hit me, stale and bitter. My chest heaved.
“You don’t have to-” Logan started.
“Yeah, I do,” I whispered. I crossed the room, yanked open drawers. Every sound felt too loud. The slide of hangers, the creak of wood. I stuffed everything into suitcases and duffel bags.
My phone buzzed in my hoodie pocket. I didn’t have to look to know who it was.
Logan’s jaw clenched. “Ignore it.”
I shoved it deeper, my hands trembling as I zipped the bag shut.
I caught him watching me. His knuckles white around the doorframe, his chest rising hard. Like he wanted to burn the place down around us, drag me out and never let me set foot here again.
And then, in his eyes, a flicker of something else. Not just rage… Need. Memory.
I felt heat rush up my neck. I remembered his mouth on me last night, the way his hands had anchored me like I might break apart without them. And for one dizzy second, standing in the ruins of my old life, I wanted him all over again.
“Logan,” I whispered.
—
His gaze snapped to mine, sharp as a blade. He didn’t move closer. Didn’t speak. But I could feel it had swallowed me whole last night. The silence between us was louder than any confession could be.
River’s voice cut through from the hall. “We good?”
the same storm that
Logan didn’t answer right away. His eyes stayed locked on mine, pinning me in place. Then he gave the smallest nod, like he was pulling himself back from the edge.
“Yeah,” he said finally. His voice was gravel. “We’re good.”
But as he took the bags from me, his fingers brushing mine, I knew the truth. We were anything but good.
By the time we pulled back into the lot, my hands ached from clutching the tote so tight. It sat heavy in my lap, stuffed with pieces of my old life. The last remnants of Hailey Conway- the girl who’d let Matt strip her down piece by piece until there was almost nothing left.
Almost.
Logan killed the engine and swung off his bike, immediately scanning the lot. River was already lighting a cigarette, grinning like the whole errand had been nothing but a coffee run.
I envied how easy everything seemed for him.
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Chapter 11
For me, every second inside that house had been like clawing through a bad dream.
Inside the clubhouse, the smell of bacon still lingered from breakfast, now mixed with the scent of booze.
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My stomach was twisted. I carried the tote upstairs to Logan’s room, dumped it on the bed, and sat down hard.
I thought I’d feel relief. Instead I felt raw, exposed, like I’d ripped the scab off a wound that wasn’t ready to heal.
My phone buzzed.
My blood went cold.
–
I pulled it from my pocket with numb fingers. The screen lit up, and there it was Matt’s name, filling the screen. Missed calls. New messages. Dozens.
-u think u can just walk out on me?
-answer me RIGHT NOW-
-u with that biker scumbag, u little slut?–
I swallowed hard, scrolling faster, my pulse spiking.
-last chance, Hailey. pick up.
-bitch, i swear to god, you’re dead when i find u-
The words blurred as my eyes stung. My throat locked up.
“Hailey?”
Logan’s voice snapped me out of it. He was in the doorway, his green eyes narrowing when he saw my face.
I tried to shove the phone under the blanket, but it was too late. He crossed the room in three strides and yanked it from my hands before I could protest.
“Logan-”
He read. Each line made his jaw flex harder, his chest rise sharper. His hand trembled around the phone – not from fear, from fury.
“Motherfucker,” he growled. His voice was low, dangerous, and I’d never heard anything like it. He wasn’t just angry. He was ready to kill.
He slammed the phone down on the dresser, the crack echoing through the room. “I’m gonna put him in the ground.”
My heart lurched. “Logan-”
“No,” he barked, turning on me. His eyes were wild, his breath sharp. “He thinks he can threaten you? Thinks he can touch you again? Obviously didn’t learn his lesson. He’s fuckin‘ dead. Tonight.”
I stood, gripping his arm. His skin was hot under my fingers, vibrating with barely checked violence.
“Listen to me. If you do that, he wins. You’ll go to prison. I’ll lose you before I even-” My voice cracked. “Before I even have a chance to figure out what this is.”
For a second, I saw something softer in his eyes. His shoulders eased, his jaw unclenched. But the storm was still there, just
under the surface.
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Chapter 11
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He dragged a hand through his curls, pacing the room like a caged animal. “You saw those texts. You think I can just sit
here?”
“No,” I whispered. “But I need you to stay. Here. With me. Please.”
He froze, staring at me like I’d hit him where it hurt most.
Finally, he exhaled hard, rubbing his face. “Fuck,” he muttered. He grabbed the phone off the dresser and shoved it back into my hands. “Don’t answer him. Do not acknowledge him unless I’m right there.”
I nodded, clutching it to my chest.
He came closer then, close enough that I could feel the heat rolling off him. His fingers touched my jaw, just for a second, his thumb catching under my chin. His green eyes burned into mine, still fierce but tethered now. “He’s not touchin‘ you again. Not while I’m breathing.”
My throat went tight. I believed him. That was the best, most terrifying part.
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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.
