Page 132 of Keeping Kasey
Silence is the only answer I offer him.
I’m down here for observation, not conversation.
He huffs a dramatic sigh. “Come on, Goldie. I’m just going to keep badgering you.”
I take one bite after the other, regretting my choice to be down here at all. Although, knowing Damon, he probably would’ve stayed to eat with me in my room.
“I was stuck for three hours, you know,” he says, shaking his head. “Do you have any idea how boring that was?”
He means to lighten the mood, but his words have the opposite effect. Hearing him act like three hours of being trapped was some burden only reminds me of the months I spent running. If he wanted to make me sympathize with him, it was a failed effort.
My appetite vanishes, and I take my plate back to the kitchen.
I shouldn’t have.
Logan is leaning against the counter, arms folded over his chest. His expression is neutral, devoid of hatred for the first time.
James is pouring himself another cup of coffee, and the normalcy of the action pisses me off.
I stop in the doorway, wishing I’d just endured Damon’s chattering. It’s torture in its own right, but still more bearable than sharing any space with this man.
Logan must see that in my expression because he lifts his hands. “White flag.”
“Define white flag,” I say, not moving.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, and when I narrow my eyes, he rolls his and adds, “orLover Boy.”
“And I’m supposed to believe that?”
“I doubt it means much, but you have my word.”
“You’re right. That means nothing to me.”
After what he’s put me through, he thinks sayingwhite flagcould make up for everything?
Logan takes off his jacket and tosses it over the kitchen counter. He lifts his hands and makes a show of turning in a slow circle.
“I’m unarmed,” he says, but I don’t hear those two little words—I only hear one.
Charge.
I take three steps toward him with my chin raised so I can look him in the eye as I slam the plate as hard as I can against the counter. The glass shatters around us, but I hold tight to a single jagged shard and bring it to Logan’s neck.
His eyes are wide, but they meet mine even as I dig the glass into his skin. It scrapes, leaving white lines but not quite breaking the skin—yet.
The glass cuts my hand as I grip it in a tight fist, but I’m too hopped up on adrenaline to care.
“If youevertreat me that way again, Iwillkill you. I will slit your throat and watch you bleed out with a smile on my face.”
Without breaking eye contact, Logan slightly angles his chin toward the kitchen.
“Put it away,” he orders.
I dig the glass in deeper, but realize when the sound of rustling comes from the kitchen that he wasn’t talking to me.
James pulled a gun on me.
“Unarmed, huh?”
