Page 22 of Never Sleep with the Enemy

“Crashing your wedding,” Knox snaps before Logan can answer. “What does it look like?”

Logan barely blinks. “Oh, I’m not crashing,” he says. “In fact, I brought a gift.”

He gestures toward the gift table in the far corner.

“Really?” Marla says, her expression brightening. “Thanks!”

Jonah reins her back with a sharp look, and she retreats behind his shoulder.

“Piss off, Shock,” Knox growls.“Now.”

I sense movement behind me—Bronson stepping into place, ready to throw Logan out if needed. Or worse.

But Logan remains unbothered. “I was just leaving,” he says. “Just wanted to offer my congratulations to the happy couple.” He turns to Marla. “It’s very nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Jonah tenses, attempting to shield her, but Marla peeks around his shoulder, smiling despite the tension. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Logan. Shock. Mr. Shock,” she stammers, star-struck.

Logan chuckles, then turns to me. “And thank you for the dance, Miss Katrina,” he says, extending his hand.

My knees feel weak as I take it. “It was my pleasure, Logan,” I say, my voice steady, though my pulse betrays me.

We shake, a brief, practiced motion—until something slips into my palm. My fingers instinctively close around it, its edges firm and flat against my skin.

I tuck my hand behind my back as Logan steps away, his departure as effortless as his arrival. Knox and Jonah lurch forward, eyes locked on his retreating form, ensuring he actually leaves. A few feet away, Jonah catches Ira’s gaze and jerks his chin toward Logan. The hotel’s head of security nods and follows him out.

“Kat, are you okay?” Knox asks as he and Jonah and Bronson close in around me.

“I’m fine,” I say, though my skin still tingles from Logan’s touch.

“What did he do?”

“Did he hurt you?”

“What’d he say?”

“I swear, if he laid a hand on you?—”

“Enough,”I snap, silencing them. “I said I’m fine.” My eyes cut to Knox. “I’m not a little kid anymore, Knox. I don’t need you to save me.”

My brother flinches, the words hitting him like a slap in the face.

Guilt nips at me. “Sorry,” I say, looking down, aware of the weight of too many eyes lingering around us. “Excuse me.”

I break through the circle, shoving past the onlookers, desperate for space. The ladies’ room is my best bet. I move quickly, praying Addison or Jordan aren’t following a step behind me.

Inside, laughter and idle conversation drift from the sinks, but I slip past without slowing, ducking into the first open stall.

I lock the door, exhale, and turn my hand over.

Slowly, I uncurl my fingers, confirming what I already knew.

A hotel key card, with a yellow sticky note pressed to the front.

I WANT

MY ROBE

BACK

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