Chapter Three
LOGAN DIDN’T KNOW what to make of Stormy Knight, but one thing was for sure, she was running from something, or at the very least, hiding from something—or someone. The question was, was she hiding out of fear, or was she hiding because she was on the run from the law? The private investigator in him had his theories, and he was chomping at the bit to do a little investigating. But the man in him had seen that flash of vulnerability beneath the sassy, strong exterior she’d projected in the bar, and it piqued all of his protective urges and something deeper that he couldn’t put his finger on.
Logan couldn’t stand still. He was barely able to remain trapped in the office in the back of the bar long enough to explain to Dylan what had happened. He had tunnel vision again—and it was aimed at finding the jackass who had attacked Stormy and making sure he never went near her, or any other woman, again.
“That guy you followed to the bathroom?” Dylan’s dark eyes turned fierce. Logan had known Dylan since they were kids. They’d gone to school together, as had their siblings. With surnames like “Wild” and “Bad,” they were destined to become fast friends, and had remained so throughout the years.
“Yeah. You know him?” Logan paced, eyes locked on Stormy. She had a tight look on her face, arms crossed over her chest. Her hair was tousled, her eyes cold and distant, but beyond that there were no visible scars to reveal the vicious attack she’d just endured. She stood tall, shoulders back, with the same confidence she’d conveyed earlier in the evening, as if she’d compartmentalized the attack and moved past it. Logan knew that moving past something so traumatic could be handled that efficiently only with practice, and that bugged the hell out of him.
“No. Never seen him before.” Dylan turned to Stormy. “Jesus, are you okay? How long until Heath gets here?”
“I’m fine. I’m ready to finish my shift,” she insisted.
“Like hell you are.” Logan didn’t have time to soften his tone before the words escaped. “Heath will be here any minute.”
“I’m fine, and you’re not my father, for God’s sake. You saved me, but you don’t own me.”
Touché. “It’s not about owning you. It’s about what you’ve been through.”
“I’m fine.”
“Whoa, guys.” Dylan stretched his hands out between them. “Let’s not argue about this. He’s right. You can’t go back to work after something like that, and, Logan…” He lifted his thick dark brows. “Dude, I’m the boss around here, not you.”
Logan scoffed, then steadied his gaze on Dylan. “She needs to report this to the police.”
“No. No police.” She turned away and mumbled, “Jesus…”
Logan’s investigative mind sprang to attention. She wasn’t giving away a damn thing, but he intended to find out what she was running from. Logan was good at biding his time. He had a bigger fish to catch before making her even more uncomfortable by pressing her for more information. Besides, he could dig up as much information on her as he wanted to when the time was right.
Ten minutes later Heath arrived. Logan left the room so his brother could examine Stormy in private. He was breathing fire, searching the bar until his eyes landed on the group that was there for the bachelor party. His chest burned with renewed anger. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as he pushed his way through the crowd. He placed one hand tightly on the bachelor’s shoulder, and before he guided him away from the others, he leaned in close enough that the guy would hear him but no one else could.
“You’re coming with me, and if you say a fucking word, I will make sure you never make it to that wedding.” The drunken bachelor opened his mouth, then closed it. Logan led him to the service hallway in the back of the bar, grabbed him by the collar, and slammed him against the wall.
“Hey, man. I didn’t do anything.” The guy held up his hands.
Logan would feel bad for him if he weren’t seething too much to feel. “There was a guy with you. Tall, blond, married. He’s gone, wore a black button-down shirt and jeans. Who is he?”
The guy blinked several times, his face scrunched up in confusion. “Mike?”
Logan tightened his grip, heard the material tear, and spoke through gritted teeth. “Last name. Place of work. Now.”
“He…Mike Winters. Why? I barely know the guy. Met him at work. He’s new.” His eyes darted down the hall.
“Where’s work?” After getting the name of the financial firm where Mike worked, Logan released the guy’s shirt and smoothed it down, then leaned in close again. “He attacked a friend of mine. I suggest you stay away from him and be more choosy with your friends.” Logan stalked back to the office.
He knocked on the door. “It’s Logan. Is it okay for me to come in?” He didn’t want to walk in if Heath was still examining Stormy.
“Yes,” Heath said through the door.
At thirty-four, Heath was the oldest of the Wild brothers, followed by Logan, Jackson, and Cooper. It seemed their parents were on the one-child-every-two-years plan. They were a close bunch. A random home burglary and attack on their parents that killed their father and blinded their mother had brought them even closer together in recent years. As Heath glanced up at Logan with a look of concern, Logan pushed thoughts of his parents aside. He couldn’t think about that right now.
He watched Heath cleaning the cuts on the back of Stormy’s head. His dress shirt was open at the collar, sleeves rolled up. Heath had the hallmark Wild chiseled features and blue eyes that earned them all more women than they could wish for. And though as teenagers their rebellious behavior had earned more focus from teachers than they could avoid, the Wild boys had grown to be well-respected businessmen.
Heath glanced at Logan, pressed his lips together, and arched a brow, giving Logan the How’d you get into this mess look.
He didn’t bother to shoot him back his icy, shut up and fix her stare. He was thankful Heath was there, proving once again that they lived up to their father’s creed. When family calls, you answer.
“Okay, I think you’ll live.” Heath removed his rubber gloves, and Stormy blew out a breath.
“Thank you for coming. I told your brother I was fine, but—”
Heath laughed as he packed his medical supplies in his leather bag. “You must not know Logan very well. He did the right thing by having you get checked out. That’s quite a laceration and bump you have on the back of your head, and those scrapes on your back are already starting to bruise.”
She looked from Logan to Heath. “I can handle a few bruises. What do I owe you?”
Logan noticed her wince as she rose from the chair and reached for her purse. He set a gentle hand on hers and shook his head. “We’ve got this.”
“No charge,” Heath said. “Any friend of Logan’s is a—”
“Patient of yours?” She smirked.
Heath picked up his medical bag and laughed. “Sometimes, yes. Really, this is nothing. It’s good to see my brother, and I’m glad you’re okay. Ice the knot on your head, twenty minutes every hour, and, Logan, watch her for any signs of concussion. You’ve had enough of them to know what to look for.”
“Concussion?” Stormy reached up and touched the knot on her head, wincing again.
“I don’t think you’re in danger of one, but just in case, I feel the need to mention it. You’re in good hands with Logan. He knows what to look for.”
I wish she was in my hands, but I have a feeling she’s going to run like the wind as soon as you leave.
“Well, right now I’m in Dylan’s hands. I have to finish my shift.” Stormy reached for the doorknob.
Heath shot a curious look to Logan.
“Dylan said you’re done for the night,” Logan reminded her.
“Dylan isn’t the one who needs the paycheck.”
“I’ll let you two hash this out.” Heath embraced Logan and gave him a hard pat on the back.
“Thanks again, bro,” Logan said. “See you Sunday?”
“Always.” Heath took a business card from his wallet and handed it to Stormy. “Call me if you have any trouble, and take care of those cuts.”
Stormy tried to follow him out, but Logan stepped in front of her, shutting the door behind Heath.
“Do you mind?” She worked her jaw from side to side.
“You’re not serious. You heard what he said.”
“And you heard what I said.” She crossed her arms again and reached for the door.
Christ Almighty. Really? What was it about her that made him care? He took out his wallet and fished out a few hundreds.
“What are you doing?” She stepped back, as if he’d offered her money for sex.
“You need the paycheck, and I need you safe and healing. I’m giving you your paycheck. Give me a number.”
“You can’t buy me.” She looked away, her jaw set.
He wanted to take her in his arms and remove the veil of confidence that had her body trembling and her eyes blazing. He couldn’t help but reach up and smooth her tangled hair.
“I’m not interested in buying you. What happened to you tonight wasn’t normal. It wasn’t okay, and it’s not something you just kick under the mat and move on from.”
She glared at him. “Says the man who’s never had to fight for his life.” Fear and anger coalesced in her eyes, turning them a shade darker. He was sure she meant to look tough, but it revealed her underlying vulnerabilities and tugged at him again.
He stepped closer, lowered his voice, and couldn’t help that it came out as a low growl, filled with intensity from harsh memories. “I fought for my life every day for four years.”
Her brows knitted together, her lips parted, but no words came.
“I think you should take tonight off and heal for a few hours. You’ll be sore tomorrow, and—”
“I’m not—”
He placed a finger over her lips to silence her. Torture. Pure torture. He didn’t know why—wrote it off to a stressful night—but hell if he wasn’t fighting the urge to seal his lips over hers and make her his.
“Don’t. I’ve seen too much for you to tell me you’re not sore. You’re sore. Your head is throbbing, your back is pulsing along those deep, long scratches. Your muscles are aching from tensing up, and your mind…Your beautiful, strong mind is going to be exhausted tomorrow after realizing, accepting, and trying to move past what that man could have—would have—done to you. Save your breath, darlin’.” He took a step back, giving her room to make a decision.
“But you’re right. I’m not your father, and I certainly don’t own you.” His eyes slid to the pulse point in her neck and fought the urge to soak in the rest of her. “Not all guys are assholes.”
Air left her lungs in a rush of heat. She pressed her lips together, as if she meant to stop it, and pushed past him—heading right back out to finish her shift.