Page 64 of Logan
Cain moves toward the far corner of the room, his boots thudding against the concrete. “Dom, cut the clothes off him.”
Dominic doesn’t hesitate. He steps forward, pulls a knife from his waistband, and drags it down the front of Anthony’s body in one clean motion. Fabric tears, falling to the floor in strips. The blade kisses skin in its path, leaving thin, angry red lines that bead with fresh blood. Anthony flinches but stays silent now, his jaw clenching tight.
When Cain comes back into view, I see the pressure washer in his hand. The sight of it pulls something dark and satisfied from deep in my chest. “Always wanted to see if this thing could wash away skin like it does dirt in the shop.”
He flips the switch, the motor humming before the water blasts out in a narrow, brutal stream. Cain stands about eight feet away, aiming directly at Anthony’s now naked body. When the spray hits him, the scream that rips out of Anthony is pure agony, echoing off the concrete walls. Skin shreds under the force, curling away to reveal raw, angry tissue beneath.
Cain glances back at me, smiling like a man who’s just discovered a new favorite toy. “Go check on Mac. I’m gonna enjoy this shit.”
A hand touches my shoulder, pulling me out of the memory and back into the now. One of my brothers standsbeside me. “Thinking he’s about ready for you. I go at him anymore, it’ll kill him.”
I’d told the guys from the beginning that I wanted him to suffer, but that the final blow was mine to take. That it had to be me. I walk closer, the soles of my boots sticking faintly to the damp floor from the mix of blood and water. He’s slumped forward, head hanging, and for a second I wonder if he’s already gone. I smack his cheek, once, twice, until his eyes flicker open.
“Death might seem like a reward to you right now,” I tell him, my voice low, steady, the kind of tone that doesn’t waste words. “Just know that you didn’t break her. She will rise above everything you ever tried to do to hurt her. She will move on and have a life with me where your memory will cease to exist.”
My hand clamps around his throat, fingers digging into tendons and veins. I squeeze. The air hitches in his chest, his breaths turning into sharp, wheezing gasps. His eyes bulge, locked on mine, and I watch the light start to leave them. I needed this. I needed to end it for her. To make sure that this man would never again touch her, stalk her, hurt her, or even speak her name.
He jerks a few times, desperate, before the fight drains out of him completely. His final gasps fade into silence, and then the weight of him sags in the chains, lifeless.
It’s done.
The buzzing in my head starts to fade, replaced by something quieter but heavier. Now I just need to make sure that Mac is okay.
She has to be.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Mac
This is my fight song
Take back my life song
Prove I'm alright song
My power's turned on
And I don't really care if nobody else believes
'Cause I've still got a lot of fight left in me
‘Fight Song’ - Rachel Platten
Some nights, I wake up choking on air that isn’t there.
Tonight’s one of them.
The first thing I notice is the pounding in my chest, a rhythm too fast, too loud, like it’s trying to escape my ribcage. My skin is damp with sweat, and my throat feels tight, like invisible hands are still there, pressing, squeezing. The darkness around me is thick, pressing in, and for a split second, I can’t tell if I’m in my bedroom or back in that hotel room. My brain scrambles, flickering between memory and reality.
Logan’s arm is still around me solid, warm, steady, and safe. The weight of it is the only anchor I have right now. He shifts slightly behind me, and his voice comes low and gruff from sleep.
“You with me, baby?”
I nod even though I know he can’t see it. My voice comes out small. “Yeah.”
He doesn’t ask if I had a nightmare. He knows. He just pulls me in tighter, his chest to my back, his arm curling across me like a shield no one could ever break through. The kind of hold that makes the room feel smaller, safer, like there’s no place for the dark to slip in. And maybe there isn’t.
I focus on his breathing slow and even. A rhythm I can match mine to. I wait for the panic to pass, willing the claws in my chest to loosen.
