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He doesn’t make a peep the entire drive, his scowl doing the talking for him. Every time I open my mouth to say something, I swear he growls, and I shut my mouth. When we pull up to my building, I debate jumping out and running. But to where? Who knows. And since I’m out of shape, I doubt I would get far before he tackled me and snapped my neck.
“Let’s go,” he grumbles, throwing the car in park. His phone dings, and he stalls, reading the message. “Fuck. Fuck!”
“What’s wrong? Do you have to go? We can meet up later.” I reach for my door handle to get the hell outta dodge—literally, his Dodge Challenger is pretty souped-up and fast—but he snags my wrist.
“Not going anywhere.” He pulls me back into my seat and starts the car back up.
“I thought we were—”
“Change of plans. Vincent needs me to meet him. And he’s requesting I bring my girl. I need you to spit out anything I need to know about you.” He starts to pull into traffic when a black car cuts us off and blocks us in. I grab the dashboard, preparing for destruction, but Logan slams on the brakes before the car hits us.
“Fuck.”
“Why so many f-bombs? You seem to say that when things are about to go bad.” That’s when my focus is drawn on the guy getting out of the black car. “Is that…?”
“Yeah. Keep your mouth shut.” Logan rolls the window down halfway to a man I recognize from the gala last night. “What the fuck you want, Chino?” he barks.
“Just following orders. Vincent wants to see you,” Chino says.
“Yeah, thanks for the memo, asshole. I was just on my way there. Get your piece of shit car out of my way.”
Chino laughs. “Not my orders. We’re supposed to escort you there. You and your little girlfriend.” He leans in, eyeing me with interest, and my skin crawls with the heebie-jeebies. Logan reaches out, wraps his hand around Chino’s neck, and thrusts his face forward. His nose bashes against the doorframe of the window, and he grunts loudly. “You look at my girl like that again, and I’ll break more than your nose. Got me?”
“Fuck!” he howls, and Logan releases him. Chino stumbles away from the car, holding his gushing nose. “Get the fuck in my car.”
Logan turns to me. “Let’s go.” I nod up and down so fast, I feel like a walking bobblehead as I throw myself out of the car. I watch in fascination as Logan storms past Chino and opens the black Mustang’s door for me, unsure whether to swoon over his romantic gesture or piss my pants at how damn scary he is.
The drive to wherever we’re going is silent. Chino stares at me with disdain through the rearview mirror, and I find myself scooting closer to Logan. He has yet to lose the scowl but shockingly grabs my hand and folds his fingers over mine. My nerves begin to unravel with each minute spent in silence. The severity of what I’ve gotten myself into starts to register. Maybe I just come out and confess what I’ve done. There’s a small chance Vincent will understand, and we won’t have to keep up this silly charade. But what about the career-altering article that’s going to make you famous? True. True. Logan may be scary, but he’s not going to frighten me away from writing this article. I’ve been waiting my whole career for a break like this. Yeah, it’s dangerous, and I may have to go into hiding for the rest of my life because the Chicago mob wants my head, but my name will be written in the history books. I can see it now…Atticus Finch exposes—
“Knock it off,” Logan hisses, leaning into me.
“Stop what?”
“Whatever it is you’re thinking. That grin. It’s not happening.”
How does he—you know what, it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t have to know my plan. Play nice while keeping an ear open. That’s what I need to do. I’m a journalist. I need to seize every opportunity, and this is no different. I turn on my charm, or whatever I think my cheeky smile is, and reply, “Anything you say, babe.”
The rest of the ride is quiet, besides the little squeak that escapes me when he squeezes my hand too tight. We pull up to a hidden storefront, and everyone gets out. Logan walks around the car and wraps his arm around my shoulders.
“This’ll be quick, babe. Then we can get some lunch.” He leans in and presses his lips to the top of my head. I know this is super fake, and he actually hates me, but I enjoy the comfort and pet name. I cozy up next to him, wrapping my arm around his thick waist, and walk with him inside the store.
