“You’re trash from the street who never deserved to lick the shit off the soles of my shoes and you think you get to win? You think some fucking rat off the street is going to best Adam fucking Archer? My grandfather shat in your grandparents’ soup bowls and they ate it up and were grateful. But you—”
A sharp gut punch from Logan shuts Adam up but doesn’t make him look any less mutinous. Fury pours off of him in waves as he glares back up at Logan and then lets out the roar of a wounded beast at the same time he charges.
But Logan’s quick.
At the last moment, he feints left and then jerks out of the way to the right. But Adam’s momentum continues forward. He’s unable to readjust for the last minute move.
And he goes sailing right over the balcony in the spot where Logan was just standing.
Oh my g—!
The laptop I’m holding clatters to the carpeted rug at my feet as I run out onto the balcony.
But Logan holds out an arm to brace me, holding me back.
Which is when I hear Adam’s panicked shouts.
“Help! Heeeeeelp!”
And I looked down to see that Adam is dangling from our balcony, holding on by just a few fingers to the stone railing.
The screams continue, jumping in pitch and octave until Adam is screeching in the range of a soprano. “Help! Oh gods, please. Help me! I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything! I take it all back!”
Logan looks down at the flailing man in disgust, but only for a second before leaning over the waist-high railing to grasp Adam’s wrist.
I’m only standing a couple of feet away from both of them and I see it—the instant the expression on Adam’s face changes.
From panic to glee.
But I can’t shout Logan’s name fast enough.
Adam lets go of the balcony completely and grasps Logan’s arm with both of his hands, yanking Logan off balance and pulling him further over the edge of the railing.
“I lost everything. And now so will you!”
Adam’s a fucking maniac, jerking and twisting, trying to wrest Logan all the way over the edge of the railing. And it’s working. Logan’s cursing and struggling to get a hold on the railing, but inch by inch, he’s going over.
Adam is winning. He’s trying to take my Logan from me and he’s winning.
“You son of a bitch!” I scream. And then I run forward, stick my leg through the railing so I can reach down to him, and kick Adam in his crazy, evil fucking face.
Adam tries to lunge for my leg with one of his hands, and that’s his undoing.
He loses hold of Logan’s arm.
And then he falls.
Strangely enough, this part does seem to go in slow motion.
Down and down he falls, arms wheeling in the air. I can’t look away, somehow expecting something at the last minute to save him.
He’s Adam Archer. Golden boy of the city. Sexiest Bachelor of the Year for three years running.
But no magical golden parachute appears beneath him.
He hits the ground, three stories down, as hard as any regular man would. And I know, even without running down the stairs to check, that he is just as dead as any other man would be after such a fall.
And I don’t give a flying fuck.
I grab Logan around the waist and he grasps for the railing now that he has both arms free to steady himself. Together, we haul him back onto the balcony, where he collapses, heaving hard.
It’s only then that I see he’s bleeding. Not much, it looks like the bullet just grazed his cheek. The same one that’s already scarred.
“Logan! Your face! Are you okay?”
He lifts a hand to his face and then looks at the blood on it. But then he just starts laughing.
He draws me into his arms, but that’s obviously not enough, because soon he’s dragging me into his lap and hugging me harder than I’ve ever been hugged before.
“It’s over,” he whispers into my hair. “Our happily ever after can finally begin.”
Epilogue
Daphne
Five years later
“Isabella,” I call, craning my head to peer into the bushes in the back garden. Her brother babbles on the blanket beside me, pulling up clumps of clover.
“I’ve got her,” Logan’s deep voice rings out a second before he appears with my girl on his shoulders. He has to duck to fit under the clematis covered archway, but then he pauses so Isabella can pick one of the purple flowers. They both drift my way so my daughter can present the blossom to me.
“Thank you. Baby, you didn’t go into Daddy’s office while he was working? You know you’re supposed to stay out.”
“I wanted to see Daddy.” Isabella shrugs. “He said I could.”
“It was fine.” Logan sinks down next to me. “She sat on my lap and didn’t talk too much.” He ruffles her hair and she gazes up at him adoringly.
She is such a Daddy’s girl. Both of our kids have their dad’s dark good looks, but Isabella has my mother’s eyes.
“I thought you were on a call,” I ask him quietly as the kids play together.
“I was.” Logan lounges out beside me, his huge body taking over most of the blanket. He wriggles to get comfortable. I would’ve missed his sigh if I wasn’t looking for it.
“Everything good?” I raise a brow. He knows better than to keep bad news from me.
“It’s fine. I went over the latest numbers from the New Rome labs. St. James is happy.”
“That’s good.” When I first learned of the deal Logan worked out with a shadow investor, I was skeptical. It seemed too good to be true. Unlimited funding for our full-time research? Logan wasn’t sure either. “A deal with the devil,” he called it.
But so far, it’s worked out well. Just ask the other Battleman’s patients who are in remission. Yeah, we have to have regular infusions, but we’re able to live healthy, normal lives.
“St. James sends his regards. He’ll be at the gala. No plus one.” Logan grins suddenly. “I told him we’d help him find a date.”
“You didn’t.” I can’t imagine joking or teasing someone like St. James. He’s my age, but so intimidating. “Maybe we should introduce him to Rachel. Whenever I call her, she complains she’s too busy running Belladonna to have time to date.”
Logan snorts. “They’d kill each other.”
“Probably.” I shake my head, imagining them meeting. I’m about to joke about it when a few drops of water hit my arm.
Isabella runs up to us. “Mommy, it’s raining.”
“You grab her, I’ll get Nathan and the blanket.” Logan kisses me and we triage, racing inside ahead of the heavy summer downpour.
An hour later, Logan finds me in my mother’s old room, which I’ve converted to my study. It has the best view of the gardens. I stare out the window, letting the rain lull me to peacefulness.
“Kids are asleep,” my husband whispers in my ear.
“I was going to check the latest test results,” I murmur. “But I might have a few minutes.” I turn and ease up to tiptoe to twine my arms around his neck. “What do you think, Dr. Wulfe? Will this only take a few minutes?”