Page 135 of Logan
“Please, Logan,” she whispers. “Promise me.”
“Okay. I promise. No murder on the agenda. But I’m still going to have a little chat with our pal Johnny. Set a few things straight.”
“Logan…”
“I’ll be good,” I assure her, already openingthe car door and unfolding myself from the driver’s seat. “No permanent damage. Scout’s honor.”
“Why don’t I believe you were ever a scout?”
“I’m wounded, truly.” I stare across the street. “Call you back in a few, okay? I love you.”
“Love you too. Be careful.”
I end the call and slip the phone into my pocket, all levity draining away as I zero in on my target. Rambett looks up as I approach, his eyes going wide with recognition. He scrambles to his feet, wiping dirt-streaked hands on his jeans.
“You’re the son of a bitch who stole my girlfriend,” he says before I can utter a word. “The rich boss. I knew there was something between you two, but she denied it.”
“She’s not your girlfriend. You’re the one who chose to throw it all in the trash when you cheated on her.”
He flashes a smile, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.
“You’ve got some nerve,” he spits, false bravado dripping from every word. “Strutting in here like you’re some kind of white knight, like your shit don’t stink. You think I don’t know what this is about? You just can’t stand the thought of Sloane with anyone else, can’t handle the fact that she was mine first. This is just you pissing on your territory, marking her as yours like she’s a fucking fire hydrant.”
I could take him down with one kick.
“Unlike you, she’s a person with internal integrity.” I fight the urge to wipe the smug look off his face with my knuckles. “Sleeping with someone else while you’re in a relationship isn’t a mistake, it’s cheating, plain and simple.”
He smiles, a twisted, ugly thing that makes my skin crawl. “My only mistake was getting caught.”
Rage bubbles up in my veins, hot and thick. It takes every ounce of self-control I possess to keep from launching myself at him, from pummeling him into the dirt until he’s nothing but a broken, bloody smear. I take a deep breath through my nose, trying to center myself, to remember my promise to Sloane.
“You got caught again. You sent that video,” I grind out between clenched teeth. “I have proof. How the hell did you get into my offices to film it?”
“I didn’t.” He shrugs again, the picture of nonchalance. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels.
“Then how did you get the footage?”
“I got it in an email,” he says. “From someone calling himself The Silent Witness. And I knew I had to share it, to show that bitch what she’s worth. She thinks she’s so much better than me, but she’s nothing but a whore. And now everyone knows it.”
The world blurs to a stark white at the edges, and a roaring sound fills my ears. One moment I stand, vibrating with pent-up violence, the next, my fist slams into his face with a sickening crunch.
He goes down like a sack of bricks, sprawling on the ground in an undignified heap. He touches his fingers to his nose, pulling them away to stare at the blood coating them. He sticks out his tongue, lapping at the crimson rivulets dripping over his lips.
Stay down,I silently urge him.Don’t get up. I promised Sloane.
No such luck. He staggers to his feet, spitting out a mouthful of blood and what looks like a tooth. With a wordless snarl of rage, he launches himself at me, swinging.
I almost sigh at his pitiful display. His form is sloppy, his movements clumsy. It’s child’s play to dodge his flailing fists. I could end this in seconds, put him down like the rabid dog he is.
Instead, I force myself to hold back, to remember my vow to Sloane. It’s been a while since my fighting days, but I still keep in shape, still spar regularly. My reflexes are as sharp as ever.
He comes at me again, panting and cursing, his face a mask of frustrated rage.
I let him get close, let him think he has a chance. And then I pivot, snapping my foot out in a lightning-quick crescent kick that catches him square in the chest.
He goes flying, landing on his back in the dirt with a heavy thud. This time, he stays down, wheezing and clutching at his ribs.
I approach slowly, standing over him with my head cocked. I didn’t even kick him that hard, pulled back the blow at the last second. None of my old opponents would have gone down from such a love tap.
