I want to embrace her, to hold her tight until she stops crying. But the tone of her voice tells me I have to tread so, so carefully.
“Are you sure you don’t need to rest first? The baby—”
“No.” She pulls her knees up and hugs them, putting distance between us. “Talk. Talk now, Logan Pruitt, or I’m walking out of here.”
I swallow hard, then take a deep breath to calm my nerves. Funny how I can kill a man without a second thought, but right now—right this second—my palms are sweaty as all hell, and I can’t seem to catch my breath fully. But I can’t let her walk away from me. Not when all I’d do is follow her and carry her back here kicking and screaming. She’d hate me. And that thought alone is worse than any wound I’ve ever endured.
She waits, her tears finally slowing as I try to collect my thoughts.
Then I start. I tell her how I started nowhere and with nothing. How the only skills I’ve ever had have been physical. I can fight. It’s the only way anyone can survive a childhood like the one I had. I learned to impose my will on anyone who tried to hurt me.
I talk for what feels like an hour, telling her about my days as an apprentice to Carl Winsten, an old Brotherhood assassin who’d taken me under his wing. His wife, Virgie, was mean as hell, but they both taught me how to use knives, guns, and my fists to take care of myself and make money. I spent years honing my skills, and then I got good enough to take contracts. I’m so goddamn good at taking lives. Mostly mafia assholes or white-collar crooks, but terrorists and others mixed in. I was nothing but a killing machine—until the day I met Quinn.
She listens to everything. Every word.
“Ben and Nova, they’re both contract killers, too. Ben is my apprentice. Nova is a freelancer.”
“She was never my friend.” She wipes another tear.
“She’s your friend.”
“No, you planted her.”
“Sort of, yes. I wanted a trained operative close to you at all times. My work is dangerous, and I never wanted it to touch you. That’s why Nova lives near us, why your work is at home, and why I have the control room and armory in our closet.”
“I’m so stupid.” She shakes her head.
“No, sugar. No.” I scoot closer.
She recoils. “Please, leave. Just go and let me think. I have to think.” She rubs her temples.
I want to fight her on this, to show her that I’m still the same man who loves her unconditionally.
“Go!” She covers her face with her hands.
I stand, my heart tearing to ribbons. “Sugar, I love you. That’s never changed, and it never will. I’ll go, but I won’t be far.” I pause at the door. “And if you try to run, I’ll find you.”
15
Quinn
My tears have stopped coming. I forced myself to relax when I realized being upset isn’t helping the baby. Logan promised me that Nova would be fine. That gives me some comfort. When she hit the floor, I think I stopped breathing.
Even with everything going on, I still trust Logan. I shouldn’t. I’m crazy and naïve, but the truth is I’m also madly in love with a man I’m not sure I fully know.
When he’d poured out his life to me, I’d been torn in half. On one hand, I was upset that he’d kept it from me, and on the other, I wanted to grab him and pull him into me. Like I could protect the young Logan from a shitty childhood. It’s almost laughable. My husband doesn’t need protection based on the way he threw that knife earlier. Or maybe he does, but only in a different kind of way. My compassion for him isn’t something I can just turn on and off. That’s never been me, and certainly not with him. I love him unconditionally, and it hurts that he doesn’t understand what that means or just how far I’d go to make him happy, to be with him, to keep our love alive.
So I let him talk. Even though I wanted to hug him so many times—in between the times I wanted to smack him for being so utterly dense.
Still, I stayed strong. If I broke too soon, he might think he could get away with this again. Even as I think that, I know he won’t. He’s learned his lesson. The anguish has been clear on his handsome face. I might not know as much about my husband as I thought I did, but I do know he loves me. I’ve never doubted that for a second. That will never change. I think he loves me with a deepness that might border on insanity.
I shouldn’t be surprised at how strong his feelings are for me. I can only imagine how he felt that first time I looked him in his eyes and told him I loved him. I have no doubt I’m the only person to ever utter those words to that man. No wonder he’s so scared to lose me. He must have been terrified of me finding out the truth.
My stomach turns suddenly. I bolt from the bed toward the bathroom. Harley skitters off the bed with me, clearly freaked out by my sudden departure. I barely make it to the toilet before I throw up. Not that much comes out.
“Sugar.” Logan’s big warm body is behind me within seconds. He holds my hair back as I try to throw up more but only dry heave. “I’m sorry,” he says sweetly, like he’s the cause of me being sick. There is pain and remorse in his words.
“I’m fine.”
He lifts me into his arms, sitting me on the bathroom sink to help me clean up.
“You need to eat.”
“I’m—”
“You’re eating,” he orders, his tone firm. My body can’t help but respond to him. I press my thighs together, knowing this is so not the time to be getting aroused, but my body always needs him.
“How is Nova?” I ask, needing to know that first.
“Still asleep and doing fine.”
I suddenly burst into tears. I was sure I was dry after all I’d shed earlier. I also promised myself I was done with the waterworks for a while. But I can’t seem to control my emotions. I’m sure some of it's due to hormones.
“Sugar, you're killing me.” He holds me close as he takes me over to the bed, sitting down with me in his arms. I bury my face in his neck, needing his comfort. Everything always feels better when he’s close.
I must nod off for a bit, because when I come to, I hear Ben talking to Logan. I slowly open my eyes. My stomach feels fine now. If anything, I'm hungry.
“That should be fine. Thank you,” Logan tells Ben as I lift my head. “Food is here.”
“Mmkay.” I slowly slip off his lap, stretching my body. Logan’s eyes never leave me even as I go to use the bathroom. “I’m not throwing up, and I’m still trying to decide whether to smack you.” I roll my eyes at him, even though I love the fact that he worries over me so much.
“You need to eat.”
“I’m going to.” I slip past his giant form that’s blocking the bathroom door. His erection brushes against my stomach. I pause to glance up at him through my eyelashes. There is so much emotion on his face. But his desire for me is clear in his eyes.
“The doctor said sex was okay,” he says.
An unexpected bark of laughter pops from me. That was the last thing I expected him to say.
He clears his throat. “I mean, you need to eat.”