Chapter Eight
THE DAY DRAGGED by despite the continuous flow of customers. Stella could hardly believe that the man who looked cold and possibly dangerous the first night she’d seen him at the bar made her feel safe and like she wasn’t alone for the first time since this nightmare began. She tried to ignore the other desires he was sparking.
She looked up at the door for the hundredth time today. Each time she did, a chill ran across her shoulders. She wasn’t sure if it was from wanting to see Logan or out of fear that Kutcher would walk through the door and drag her God knew where. Although that wasn’t Kutcher’s style. He was stealthy, like a ninja. He’d be more likely to hide in her apartment or in an alley so he could drag her into the darkness and leave her body in a Dumpster.
“He’ll be here,” Dylan said. “You still have fifteen minutes until you’re off work, and Logan, he never drops the ball.”
She tried to smile, but her head was still wrapped around thoughts of Kutcher. He’d been abusive, but she knew that wasn’t the reason he’d wanted her dead. She’d made a mistake the last time he’d come after her. As he was pressing the sharp point of the knife to her skin, she’d said, I won’t tell them about the ring.
The ring. That’s what he’d called his drug-dealing business. She’d overheard him talking about it and put the pieces of his shady life together. His eyes had glazed over, cold and dark, and as the knife violently tore through her skin, she’d thought her next breath would be her last. The second stab sent her to her knees—and then her neighbor had responded to her screams.
The flow of customers slowed, and Dylan leaned his hip against the bar, kicked one ankle over the other, and crossed his arms. “Do you want to talk?”
Stella leaned against the bar beside him. She’d been hoping he’d ask. She’d shared some of the details about her past with Dylan, like the fact that she was hiding from an abusive ex-boyfriend, although she hadn’t told him everything.
“Did you tell Logan about me?”
He shook his head, his dark eyes trained on hers. “I didn’t have to. He’d never ask me to breach a confidence. That’s not how he rolls. Anything Logan wants or needs to know, he’ll find out.”
“I got that impression.” Her pulse kicked up when the front door opened.
They both looked over at a couple as they walked in and took a seat at a booth. She pushed from the bar to go take their order, and Dylan gently touched her arm.
“Three days left?” Dylan’s voice was low and deep, as serious as the day was long.
“Two and a half.” The pit of her stomach twisted into a knot.
“Listen to Logan, okay? I don’t want to hear about you on the morning news.”
She’d listen to Logan. She had no choice. He didn’t seem as though he’d give her one. And she wasn’t sure she wanted him to.
During the day, the bartenders took on the double duty of handling the floor and the bar. Stella didn’t mind. She was glad for the distraction from her thoughts. She took the customers’ orders and saw to two other tables before returning to the bar.
The front door opened again. The late-afternoon sun silhouetted Logan’s tall, broad frame, every muscle of his chest outlined by a tight black T-shirt. How had she missed the barbed-wire tattoo circling his right bicep? Jeans clung deliciously to his massive thighs, and the bulge to the right of his zipper made her mouth go dry. She knew what magic that impressive bulge could perform.
The door closed behind him, and his face came into focus. The stern set of his jaw and piercing stare told her that he had bad news, but it was the way he closed the distance between them, took her by the arm, and walked with his body practically swallowing her whole that had her pulse working double-time.
LOGAN HAD SPENT the last hour watching the bar from the café across the street. He knew Stormy would be nervous if he sat inside the bar and waited, but he needed to have his eyes on her. As long as she was behind the bar or by the booths against the far wall, he’d been able to see her through the windows. Now her shift was over, and all he could think about was getting her out of there. When they’d tossed Kutcher’s cell, they’d found two phones. The fucker had been tracking her all along. Logan had to get her to a safe place. Kutcher had too many friends on the outside to wait out the three days playing cat and mouse, knowing one of Kutcher’s cronies could abduct her at any moment. Stormy was a sitting duck.
“You’re hurting me,” she said in a harsh whisper.
He loosened his grip. He had to find a way to separate the anger that had been mounting since he’d first learned that Kutcher had bought her the phone from his need to protect her. There was no fighting the protective urges he felt toward Stormy, but one thing was for sure: They were done with the physical side of their relationship. He couldn’t afford to fuck this up. He needed all of his senses on high alert when he was with her, and if he didn’t push aside his feelings for her, he’d never be able to keep his focus where it belonged.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. We need to talk.”
Dylan was talking with another employee by the bar. He lifted his chin in Logan’s direction as they passed. Logan had texted him and filled him in on what was going down. He agreed to give Stormy whatever time off she needed, of course, and would have a job waiting for her when the situation was under control.
In the back office, Stormy rubbed her arm, eyeing him from beneath her long dark hair, which had fallen over one eye.
“Just tell me.” She lifted her chin and crossed her arms. “I can handle whatever it is.”
The underlying hint of desperation in her voice drew him closer. “We have to get out of here. Out of the area. He’s been tracking you this whole time. It’s not safe.”
Her lower lip began to tremble, and her brows knitted together. Logan fought the urge to fold her into his arms and hold her until her fear subsided. He tried to ignore the memory of her mouth on his and the desire to kiss her until neither of them could think about what lay ahead. She couldn’t bury this fear in sex, and he couldn’t allow himself to be weakened by the thought of it. He drew his shoulders back, steeling himself against his emotions, feeling his body go as cold as it had during every mission he’d ever served. After killing the man who had murdered his father and blinded his mother, he’d worked hard to try to find his way back to some semblance of normal emotions, and he realized now, as he tried to slide into the icy state, that it wasn’t until Stormy that the urge to care about anyone other than family had broken through that ice around his heart.
Stormy looked at him with her big, trusting eyes and reached for him. Instinct took over, and he gathered her in his arms, feeling nothing like the soldier he’d been. A soldier wouldn’t cave under pressure—a soldier had to protect his heart. Logan was more interested in protecting hers.
He kissed the top of her head as he pressed one hand to her upper back, the other to her lower, and whispered, “I’ve got you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
His blood refused to turn to ice; his heart refused to slip into the frozen state in which it had once spent every waking moment. How the hell was he going to navigate this new terrain? He couldn’t let her out of his sight, but if there was any hope in hell of keeping Kutcher behind bars, he had to get to Mystic, and there was no way he was taking her anywhere near there until he was sure the threat of Kutcher was gone.
She fisted her hands in his shirt. “Where will I go? I need to pack.”
“I’ve got all your stuff. We’re leaving.”
“Where are we going?”
“Let me take care of it.” He reached into his back pocket and handed her the envelope he’d found in the cookie jar.
“I…I usually carry that in my purse, but after what happened the other night, I realized my purse could probably get stolen more easily than my apartment could be broken into. Logan, what did you find in my stuff?”
Last night she’d been attacked. This morning, outside her apartment, she’d thought he was Kutcher. He knew from her calendar how long she’d been living in fear of this man, and he wasn’t going to give Kutcher another second of power over her. He tucked her under his arm, feeling some of the tension bleed from her shoulders.
“Let’s go.”
“Please tell me where we’re going.”
“The only place I know you’ll be safe. My cabin.”