Logan

 

After negotiating a price with one of Zavier’s usual borrowers for a deal on my truck, I’m ready to head down to the club on foot. But when I walk through the door of the chop shop, Lou is standing there, Zavier’s black Escalade parked along the curb behind him. With a jerk of his chin, he summons me. And like a good dog, I obey.

“Boss man wants a word,” he says, opening the back door.

I reluctantly slide into the backseat, wondering if I’ve managed to use up all my good grace where Zavier’s concerned. The fact that the smug bastard doesn’t even look up from his newspaper should give me a clue, but it doesn’t. It’s nearly impossible to decipher Zavier’s mood.

“Logan, did you know that according to a recent study, violent crime within the city limits of Fortune is on the rise?”

“I bet.”

He casually sets down his paper on the seat between us as Lou starts the engine and we’re heading back downtown.

“You’re not working the club tonight,” he says. “I have a transaction that needs sorting.”

“Who?”

He removes a picture from his jacket pocket and sets it on top of the newspaper. It’s a mugshot of a man who looks to be around forty.

“How much?” I ask.

“Oh, I’m afraid Mr. Compton is in deep by about twelve grand,” he chides. “He’s two days late on my very generous extension, and I’m going to need to see some co-operation on his part if we’re going to continue to do business.”

“You got an address?”

“All business tonight, Logan. I like this newfound dedication,” he praises. “Especially given the theme of our last conversation.”

“Nothing’s changed,” I mutter. “You know I want out.”

“Have you ever had a slice of pie made from fresh Georgia peaches?” he asks, ignoring me completely. “Heaven, Logan. Pure heaven.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“Of course you will. And do you know why?”

“Enlighten me.” The SUV rolls to a stop in front of a rundown deli. Lou parks but keeps the engine running.

“Because I am who I am, and you are, though try as might to deny it, are who you are. Now,” he continues. “Mr. Compton can be found in the pub on the corner of this block. Have a nice chat, get me my money, and feel free to give our tardy new friend a taste of what happens when you fuck with Zavier Kane’s generosity.”

His words are clipped with dismissal and even if they weren’t, the apathetic wave of his hand is pretty clear. I exit the vehicle, watching the tail lights fade from the spot on the dirty pavement where I now stand. I glance down at the grainy photograph in my hand before I rip it in two and toss it in the trash can sitting along the curb. I’m prepared to track down my target when I look up across the street and see Prairie walking into an old church. I stop myself from calling out, my job now forgotten as I jog across the street and follow her. I pause for a minute and read the flyer stapled to the front door.

“You new?” I look at the woman surrounded by cigarette smoke, my confusion must be obvious.

“The survivor group,” she explains. “First time can be scary, but it’s a good group.”

Survivor group, what the fuck?

“Uh, yeah,” I mumble.

“Go on down, Holly will be getting started right away. She usually gets one of the regulars to open up first, gets things going for those who want to share.”

I wordlessly turn back to the door and take the creaking stairs down to the basement. Prairie must be volunteering but I don’t know why she didn’t mention it. I keep to the back of the large room, lingering along the far wall where the light doesn’t quite hit. I don’t know why I feel like I need to remain hidden, but I can’t see Prairie from here and I don’t want to just barge in on these people’s therapy session.

A minute later, a woman with auburn hair is standing at the front of the room. She explains the purpose of the group, to anyone who’s new I assume. She tells a quick story about her younger sister and rattles off a list of organizations before she introduces Prairie. I push off the wall and shuffle over so I can see her clearly. She’s got one hand resting on her neck, toying with the charm on her necklace when she clears her throat and begins to speak.

And that’s when my entire world goes the darkest it ever has. My chest tightens and I can hardly swallow over the lump in my throat. My nose burns and moisture blurs my vision as she continues to tell her story. Two men. A back alley. A burden that she couldn’t share with me five and half years ago because I was a selfish kid and thought I was doing her a favour.

Her voice remains clear and confident, but I suddenly see shadows in her eyes that I haven’t bothered to notice. My beautiful girl. Violated and left to rot near a stinking fucking dumpster. All I can see once my vision clears is the girl sitting beside me in that shitty old pickup truck, smiling at me like we had all the time in the damn world. So fucking innocent.

The other woman’s voice pulls me from the past and it’s then that I realize I’m standing behind the last row of empty chairs, in plain view. Prairie’s uncertain gaze finds mine and right then I’d give anything to turn back the clock and make things right. My eyes are still trained on the front of the room when a soft hand slips into mine and I’m being pulled away. A door clicks shut and Prairie stands in front of me, tears pooling in her eyes.

“Logan, please say something.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

She takes my hand again and holds it up to her heart before she replies, “I was going to, I just didn’t know how. The weight on your shoulders is heavy enough, I didn’t want to add to it.”

I tug my hand from hers and grip my hair tightly before I run the heels of my hands roughly down my face. “I wasn’t there. I didn’t protect you.”

“Logan, you cou-“

“How? How can you fucking look at me?”

“I don’t blame you Logan, it wasn’t your fault. Just like it wasn’t my fault.”

“Fuck!”

“Logan, please, I need you to calm down so we can talk about this.”

Her voice floats above the anger in my veins but it’s not enough to pull me back. Her lips are moving but eventually I hear nothing at all. I let her down. I keep letting her down. She’s tugging on my hand again and soon we’re outside, the crisp air filling my lungs. Her soft hands on my face, her pleading eyes looking up at me. It should be enough to bring me back to reality. It should be enough to make me realize that I need to be here with her. Be whatever she needs me to be. But right now, it isn’t. Because I’m a fucked up son of a bitch who doesn’t know any better. I need to get it out. The anger. The black tar that eats me up from the inside out. I can’t think straight.

“Just stay with me,” she says. “Just stay here with me and breathe.”

She keeps her hands on me, holding me in place until I take a breath with her. She looks at me, tears rolling down her face.

“I don’t need your anger or your regret, Logan. I just need you to stay.”

I place my hands on hers and rest my forehead against hers, breathing in and out until the tension eases and is replaced by shame.

“I’m sorry,” I rasp. “I’m so fucking sorry Prairie.”

“It’s not your fault,” she repeats.

“I’m so fucking sorry.”

“I’m okay,” she says, her voice trembling. “I’m here and I’m okay.”

“I’ll kill them. I’ll find them and kill them both.”

She places her lips gently on mine before she speaks with certainty, “I have you now, and I won’t let you go,” she says. “See me for my strength Logan, that’s how we kill them. Together. You and me.”

“I should have been there. How can you forgive me?”

“That’s the easy part,” she says. “Because I love you.”