My eyes fill with tears when I realize he’s going to leave me. For one short moment, I thought we could do this, be together, perhaps find happiness with each other. Our desires run alongside each other so well. What I crave, he can deliver, but what he needs is something he doesn’t believe I can give him. And because of that, he thinks that walking away from me is the best option.
I’m not sure what he means by finishing something, but I have the distinct feeling he’s about to start a war with his father. That doesn’t bode well for either of us.
Herbert Oakridge is two things—dangerous and connected—which will only ensure he makes an example of me and his son.
Sighing, I push off the bed and pad over to the door to find it locked. He’s keeping me captive once more. After all the progress I made with him, we’re back to square one. I should never have done what I did, but I don’t regret it.
I can’t lose Logan. I’m not sure why I’m so invested in him. Perhaps it’s because he understands me. Nobody ever has. All my life was lived with the acceptance that I was a good girl who behaved, but deep down, there was always another layer to my personality. A darker version of me. And now that Logan has brought it out of me, I can’t hide her any longer.
“Logan,” I call to him, but I don’t hear his movements on the other side. He may be downstairs, but I don’t stop my speech. “I know you’re angry with yourself for what happened, but I’m not. Don’t I get a say in what happens in my life? I thought you were different from your father, but the way you’re acting, you’re turning into him.”
I wait, but he still doesn’t make me aware of where he is or if he’s even listening to me. My heart pounds against my chest, and I fist my hands and bang them against the wooden door.
“You’re not him. Please don’t do this, Logan! You’re nothing like him. Our journey may not be a perfect fairy tale, but you can change our story.” My voice is lower now, hope slowly ebbing away from me. I can’t get through to him if he’s not allowing me to talk to him, if he’s not listening.
I close my eyes and breathe deeply. The guilt of what I did, how I pushed him, is at the forefront of my mind. Even though I craved what he did, aching for his violence, I should’ve taken it slower. But pleasure had taken hold of me, and I didn’t want to stop because I believed he could handle it.
I was wrong.
So damn wrong.
“Logan don’t send me away,” I plead this time. I’m not screaming, I’m not shouting. My voice is low, a pained plea, hoping he can hear me from wherever he is in the house.
18
Logan
I lean my head against the door. My palm flat against the wood, as if I can feel her through the thickness of it. I know she’s right on the other side. My body aches to be near her. She’s done something to me, broken through walls I’ve built and burrowed herself inside me.
Over the past week, all I’ve wanted was to feel her, to touch her like I did last night, and then I ended up hurting her. She can deny it all she wants, but I know what I did. Losing control like that has guilt weighing me down. My gut is heavy with the dark emotion that’s eaten away at me over the years.
Vera isn’t like other girls. That’s a fact. But I can’t be near her if she allows me to do what I did last night. She passed out and seeing her limp body was an aphrodisiac, which is why I need to send her away. It’s wrong on so many levels. I shouldn’t want her like that, but I do.
I thought I could be normal when she tasted me. The moment her delicate hand wrapped around my dick, and I watched her lie down, eyes closed, I hardened again, and I thought it would work, but the more I craved her, the worse my control got.
I snapped.
I shouldn’t have.
“Logan, I want you to do it again,” she speaks up again. “I want you to hold me down on the bed, touch me while I sleep. I want you to find pleasure with me. I’m not afraid of you.”
I want nothing more than to do what she asks. I want to storm into the room, hold her, keep her, but I know she doesn’t deserve this life. My mind is a mess, torn between doing the right thing and taking what I crave to own.
I move down the stairs until I reach my phone. No messages. I hit dial on the number I should’ve called yesterday. I want to tell my father that he can’t have her, that she’s no longer his to take.
I settle in the chair, hitting the display of the cameras, and before my contact can answer the phone, I kill the call to stare at the screen before me. He found her apartment. Thankfully, they can’t track her here. He won’t know where she’s gone. I made sure her computer, phone, and iPad were all offline before coming here, so there’s no way for him to find us.
To find her.
Silence from above greets me, and I hope she’s finally asleep. My gut churns with the guilt of what I did. I made a mistake, the reminder of that is clear in my mind. I should never have touched her. Watching her body go limp, waking her back up, and then watching her slide into a dreamless sleep beside me was what I clearly needed to make the decision.
I’m going to face my father. It’s been years, and I ran for good reason, but now I’m going to return for an even better one. I want to fix myself, mend the brokenness about me so I can give her what she needs.
Every thought I have of walking away from here burns me from the inside out. I can’t watch her leave, and I can’t send her away. Even though I know, I should. I can’t love her, but I can make sure she’s safe and happy.
My phone rings, dragging me out of the moral dilemma I’m going through, and I see Dax’s number on display. Swiping the screen to answer, I press the phone to my ear.
“What’s up?”
“He’s on the warpath,” Dax tells me, no greeting, straight to business. “I doubt he’s going to give up any time soon. Are you sure you’re well hidden because I have a feeling that he’s pulling out all the stops with this?” His tone is urgent, which only seems to make my stomach twist into a tighter knot than it’s been in for a long while.
“I am. She’s . . . she’s with me, and I’m not prepared to let her go,” I tell him. “I can’t let her go.”
“I have other news as well,” he speaks. His voice is controlled, tone calm and collected, but I have a feeling what he’s about to tell me is far from it. But I’m met with silence. I pull the phone away, checking to see if the call is still connected. It is.
“Dax?”
“It’s your mother,” he tells me, causing my body to grow stiff, tense with fear that my father has killed her, or worse, maimed her and tortured her. “She’s gone. We’re not sure where. I have my men working on tracking her, but he’s not giving anything away.”
I think about the times she called me, and I ignored her. I should’ve answered. I wasn’t a good son, not one to spend time with her, or even sit and talk to her, but I loved her, nonetheless. I think when I finally realized how precious life was, it was too late for me to ever make amends.
“I need her found, or I’ll find my father and kill him.”