Page 15 of Logan
Before I have to answer, Jena swoops in. “Speaking of MC boys, you have any information on Dom?”
Shaina’s eyes flick to her. “He’s cool. Keeps to himself. One of the more respectful guys in the club. Any reason you’re asking?”
Jena smirks. “Let’s just say I didn’t get out of the car alone last night.”
“I might have his number, if you’re interested.” Shaina grins, and Jena hugs her like she just offered her the keys to the kingdom.
We leave with Jena’s phone newly loaded with Dom’s number saved under nothing but eggplant and water emojis.
Shaina suggests lunch, and we walk down the street to Los Amigos. The building’s stucco front looks almost abandoned except for the bright red sign above the door. Inside, the dim lighting and warm chatter make it feel instantly comfortable.
We order margaritas and enough appetizers to feed an army. Somewhere between queso and chips, Jena heads to the bathroom, and Shaina looks at me seriously.
“So, truth. How are you really dealing with this whole Logan thing?”
The margarita has dulled my filter. “Honestly? It sucks. He’s still so hot, and every time I see him it brings back everything, the good and the bad. This whole town is haunted with him. Would I like things to be different? Yes. Will they be? No. So I just have to keep moving forward and telling myself, ‘Fuck Logan Pearce.’”
“Amen, sister!” Shaina laughs, raising her glass.
I clink mine against hers, hoping I can stick to it. Hoping I can actually keep from getting crushed all over again.
Chapter Seven
Logan
I can't forget, I'm drowning in these memories
It fills my soul with all the little things
And I can't cope, it's like a death inside the family
It's like she stole my way to breathe
Don't try to tell me it stops hurting
Don't try to tell me she ain't worth it
- ‘You Don’t Know Her Like I Do’ Brantley Gilbert
We have church this morning, and for the first time in years the club is the last place I want to be. Normally, Sunday mornings here feel like solid ground. I thrive on the routine, the familiar smell of leather and oil in the air, the low rumble of brothers’ voices before we call order, the weight of responsibility that comes with sitting at the head of the table. But right now, my head’s too full of last night.
Seeing Kenzie again was bad enough. Watching that douchebag in the bar lay his hands on her like she was his to touch… it did something to me. A kind of slow, deliberate burn in my gut that hasn’t cooled since.
It was easier when she was gone. Easier to have Dom check in on her now and then, make sure she was doing alright from a distance, and then put her back in a mental box where shecouldn’t get to me. But running into her… seeing her laugh with someone else, dancing, leaning in close… I can’t stomach it.
I may have been the one who ended it, but Mackenzie Bersell is the only girl who ever broke my damn heart. I’ve been with other women since, sure. Plenty of them. But not one has come close to making me feel the way she could with just a look, that electric pull, like the rest of the world went quiet and I could only hear her breathing.
Kissing her last night was a mistake, but one I walked into willingly. I told myself it was about shutting her up, or proving a point, or making sure she knew I still had her number memorized in my bones. Truth? I couldn’t stop myself. And now all I can think about is doing it again. Having her under me, nails in my back, saying my name in that breathless way that used to undo me.
She’s like an itch I can’t scratch without bleeding.
The only problem is… I might die if I do.
I push through the main room of the clubhouse, the heavy scent of stale beer and cigarette smoke hanging in the air. A couple of club girls are passed out on the couch, one with her hair tangled in the fringe of a throw pillow. I shake my head and keep moving.
The back room is already buzzing when I step in. Every head turns toward me, and like always, there’s that brief, heavy silence before I take my place at the front. I remember my first time leading church after my old man passed me the gavel. I was scared shitless, trying to keep my voice even, wondering if they could see my hands trembling. That day, I swore I’d never let them doubt me again. Now I stand with my shoulders squared, knowing every man here would follow me into hell if I asked.
With Jimmy as my VP and Cain as Sergeant at Arms, we’re solid. Strong. Untouchable… or at least we want to believe that.
