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If these are the repercussions of disappointing him, I’ll never be good again.
It’d be nice if this is how he punishes me when or if he ever finds out who I really am.
I hope that day never comes. I’d rather not know what he chooses.
I push my hands harder against the window, and he keeps me lifted from behind so he can control every second of being inside me. He doesn’t stop until I’m crying out, and his hips thrust in hard one last time before he rocks in a slow circle, his breaths labored as he bends over, resting his forehead on my shoulder. He’s still holding me in place, and I grin against the window.
“I didn’t mean to tell Hadley,” I say, breathless and grinning. “She figured it out on her own.”
He leans forward, kissing my shoulder.
But he doesn’t say it back.
I’m not sure why that makes me feel a little self-conscious, but I try to ignore the seed of doubt that’s been planted.
“You can’t stay gone that long again. You’ve only been in town one day this week,” he says, kissing the column of my throat, running his hands over my body.
“If this is the reward I get, I may not be able to help myself,” I quip, smiling when he releases a rumble of laughter.
He pulls out of me and slaps my ass, and I turn just as he winks. “Get on something nice. I’m taking you out on a real date tonight.”
Grinning like a girl, I rush into the shower. But as soon as I step under the spray, Logan is climbing in with me, his lips finding mine as he pushes me against the wall.
“We can go out tomorrow,” I murmur against his lips, feeling him grin as he slides inside me again.
Just as he starts a steady rhythm, his lips break apart from mine, and he starts kissing his way to my ear.
“I love you too, Lana Myers,” he says so softly.
And in that moment, I’m completely his. There’s no revenge; there are no deaths staining my hands. I’m just a girl in love with a man who’s destined to hate me when he learns the truth.
And it’s devastatingly tragic; more so than any Shakespearian play ever was.
Chapter 10
Expectation is the root of all heartache.
—William Shakespeare
LOGAN
Lana is wrapped around me, sleeping peacefully, when my phone chimes with a series of rapid-fire texts.
Groaning, I turn over and grab my phone. Lana turns with me, sighing in her sleep as she curls into my side.
I kiss her head before I start reading the texts.
AD COLLINS: We have a situation. Contact me immediately.
CRAIG: The fucking Associate Deputy Director just told me to find you and bring you in. Shit has hit the fan.
HADLEY: I just got to work, and the Godfather is here. You better get in here fast.
Cursing, I bail out of bed, leaving Lana to sleep without me. I’m getting sick of this. My schedule has always been hectic, but it seems to be getting worse with so many high profile killers deciding to go on sprees.
Quickly, I get dressed, wondering what in the fuck Johnson is doing on our unit’s floor. I scribble a note for Lana, promising her I’ll be back as soon as I can, and bail out the door at four in the morning to deal with the shit that has supposedly hit the fan.
By the time I arrive, Johnson is sitting in my fucking office at my motherfucking desk.
