Page 136 of Logan
His eyes are closed, his face screwed up in pain as he rolls from side to side. Pathetic.
“Logan!”
My head snaps up at the sound of my name, my heart seizing in my chest. Sloane? What the hell is she doing here?
I turn to see her sprinting toward me across the yard. Even now, with fear and confusion written across her face, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“Logan, no!” Her eyes are wide and full of panic, fixed on a point over my shoulder. “Behind you!”
I whirl around just in time to see a dark shape hurtlingtoward me. I try to twist out of the way, but I’m a split second too slow.
Blinding, searing pain explodes in my skull as something hard connects with the back of my head. I hear Sloane scream, high and terrified, as if from a great distance.
A deafening ringing fills my ears, drowning out all other sounds. The world tilts, the ground rushing up to meet me.
And then there’s nothing but darkness.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
SLOANE
“Logan! No!” I scream, my voice cracking with panic as Johnny slams the shovel into Logan’s head with a sickening crack. Logan crumples to the ground before my disbelieving eyes, his body going limp like a puppet with its strings cut.
For a moment, the world seems to freeze, everything moving in slow motion as my brain struggles to process the horror unfolding in front of me. Logan lies motionless on the grass, his face slack and pale. And then I see the blood, the dark crimson staining the dirt beside his head, and time snaps back into focus with dizzying speed.
Johnny killed him. He killed him. He killed him. The words loop in my head, a nightmare chant I can’t escape.
“What the hell did you do?” I scream, my voice high with hysteria. Johnny just stands there, his nose gushing blood, the shovel still clutched in his white-knuckled grip. He lookslike a scene from a horror movie, a crazed killer caught red-handed.
“He started it,” Johnny mumbles. He stares at Logan’s prone form with wide, glassy eyes. “He broke my nose. He started it.”
“You killed him!” I can’t stop screaming. The commotion draws a crowd, neighbors pouring out of their houses to gawk at the horrid scene.
Someone grabs me from behind, trying to pull me away from Logan. I fight against their hold, kicking and clawing, desperate to get to him. I have to help him, have to save him, have to?—
Several men tackle Johnny to the ground, pinning him and wrenching the shovel out of his grasp.
“I’m a doctor, ma’am. Let me treat him.” A slim, white-haired man appears in front of me, gripping my shoulders and forcing me to meet his steady gaze. His calm authority cuts through the fog of terror, and I nod, allowing him to guide me a few steps back.
I stand there, my hands clenched into fists so tight my nails cut into my palms. I barely feel the sting, all my attention focused on Logan’s motionless form.
“Bring me a towel!” the doctor barks, and one neighbor sprints inside to comply.
The doctor kneels beside Logan, his hands gentle but sure as he checks for a pulse. “Sir? Can you hear me?”
Logan remains unresponsive, his face chalk-white beneath the slick of blood. The neighbor returns with a towel, and the doctor presses it to the gash on Logan’s head, trying to stem the alarming flow.
Oh God, this is all my fault. I shouldn’t have made Loganpromise not to hurt Johnny. If I hadn’t interfered, if I had just let him handle it his way...
A low groan snaps me out of my spiraling thoughts, and I jolt forward, hope surging in my chest. “Logan?”
His eyelids flutter, his hand lifting to grope at the air. “Sloane,” he rasps, his voice weak. “Where are you?”
I drop to my knees beside him, taking his searching hand in both of mine. “I’m here, baby,” I choke out through my tears. “I’m right here.”
Logan tries to sit up, his face contorting with pain and effort, but the doctor stops him with a firm hand on his chest. “Sir, you need to lie still. You likely have a concussion, and that head wound needs attention.”
“I’m fine,” Logan grits out, ignoring the warning and struggling upright. His face contorts for a moment as he replaces the doctor’s hand and presses on the wound himself. “I’ve taken worse hits than this.”
