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The only thing I want to do is kick him in the balls. But his threats have me rattled. I want this story, but what if I am in over my head? My stomach becomes uneasy. My lips thin, and my pupils expand.
“That’s right, baby girl. Let it sink in.” His voice is low, his mouth so close to mine. I wish he would kiss away the chilling thoughts settling inside my head. His eyes drop to my lips, and I silently beg for his warmth. My heart rate spikes, the fury between us transforming into a different kind of heat. I hate what he does. The life he’s caught up in, but this connection that keeps growing between us has me longing for more. He leans in closer, and I inhale a ragged breath, suddenly desperate for him. I push off the wall and lift my chin, about to take what I want, when his phone rings, killing the moment.
Pushing off the wall, he grabs for his phone and looks at the screen. “Gotta take this.” And he disappears through the back door.
I stay put against the wall until my heart stops pounding out of my chest. “What am I doing?” I cover my face with my hands. Just three days ago, I was a measly associate journalist at a tabloid magazine. And now I’m trying to become Barbara Walters and expose the darkness of Chicago’s king of the drug cartel—who just added human trafficking to his resume.
I walk toward the kitchen window. Logan is outside, pacing the backyard on a call. His scowl and drawn eyebrows tell me he’s in a heated conversation, so I decide to let him be. I take a seat at his island and tap my fingers against the granite. This is insane. Why did I even think this would pan out in my favor? As much as I want to get this story, I also want to remain off drugs and in one piece. His warnings start to take flight in my mind. Image after image chills me to the bone. I wrap my arms around myself. My eyes dip to my clothes, forgetting I’m in this ridiculous outfit. Leaving Logan to his conversation, I head down the hall to his room. I discard the clothes Vincent bought me and help myself to Logan’s closet. The couture is replaced with oversized sweatpants and another hoodie that has my name written all over it. Since there is no shame in my game, I take the fabric to my nose and inhale the lingering scent of him.
“Ugh…” Maybe he’s right to call me childish. I’m so blinded by the desire for this story, I’m not seeing the bigger picture or the true danger. I should heed his warnings and walk away from this story. But walking away from the fact that there are hundreds of girls trapped in shipping containers waiting to be sold to monsters is something I can’t do. I just need to buy myself some time until I figure out my next move.
When Logan returns, he finds me on the couch. “What’s all this?” he asks, eyeing my outfit change, then the two open bottles of beer on the coffee table.
“An olive branch? Listen, I’m sorry. You’re right. I don’t know what I’m getting myself into. And I may be foolish to think I can get this story and come out in one piece. And for that, I’ll back off. But if I do that, I need something from you.” He doesn’t reply, his eyes trained on mine. “I need to understand why.”
He finally breaks his silence. “Why what?”
“Why do you stay? Do the things you do? For someone like Vincent? I haven’t known you long, but I know you deserve so much more than the ugliness you subject yourself to. I need to understand how you do what you do without remorse.”
A few more seconds pass before he comes forward and sits next to me on the couch. “Addy, not everything is as it seems.”
“Maybe not. But the big, bold issues seem pretty cut and dry. I’ll quit giving you a hard time about this story. I’ll back off if it’s truly what you need. But there’s more than just a story here, and I just can’t understand how you don’t see that.”
Logan places his hand on my thigh. “I do see. Every fucking day. I see it all. It’s why I can’t let you get close to it. Don’t think for a second I don’t make choices I hate. See shit that keeps me up at night. I’ve had to do things I’m not proud of, but that doesn’t mean I don’t see.” He throws himself against the back of the couch, his hands rubbing down his face.
“Hey, I get it. I’m sorry.”
