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“And you were?”
“You’re asking a lot of questions about shit that ain’t none of your business.”
“Just making sure we’re on the same page. Man willing to pull that off is the kind I need” Just saying the words left an ugly taste in Logan’s mouth, like a skunk had died on the back of his tongue. “I’m not sure you’re that kind of man, unless you can convince me you have the balls to really see something like this through.”
“Oh, I have the cajones.” He puffed up his scrawny chest and glanced around. “I was out at her uncle’s place, figuring on scaring some sense into that little bitch, when who do I see tooling up that long-ass driveway. Figured I could give her car a couple of love taps and get my message through without ever having to get out of my truck.” He hocked a brown loogie. “Like I said, right place at the right time.”
“So you did.” Logan firmed up his stance and fisted his hands.
One punch. That’s all it would take, and he’d have Carl kissing pavement. God knew he deserved it. Tyrell. Carl. Hell, he’d been a total asshole to Miranda, too. It was past time it ended.
Another blast of country music filled the parking lot, jerking both their attention toward the door and a bearded man striding out of the Spotted Pig. Logan recognized him from the brewery. Sam? Stan? Sean? Carl glanced over his shoulder—
And it seemed like his whole body tensed. The other man slowed his stroll but didn’t stop. He climbed into his SUV, the engine roared to life, and the SUV pulled out of the parking lot.
“What a chicken shit asshole,” Carl muttered before turning back to face Logan. “We done here? There’s a pitcher of beer with my name on it in there.”
“Not quite.” Logan shifted his stance. “I’ll give you the first punch.”
“What in the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m going to flatten you like a pancake for what you did to Miranda, but unlike your mother, mine taught me to fight like a man, not a scared little asshole who hides behind a one-ton truck.”
“You’re fuckin’ nuts.” Carl turned away and took a half step before spinning around and planting a sucker punch against the corner of Logan’s mouth.
Blood trickled down from his busted lip, and he reached up to wipe it away with his thumb. “My turn.”
He connected with a right jab to Carl’s nose. Blood squirted down the other man’s face, soaking his gray Harley Davidson T-shirt. Logan followed up with a left upper cut to the jaw that snapped back Carl’s head with vicious efficiency. A sock to the gut sent the other man staggering back until he banged into the driver’s side door of his truck.
The need to keep hitting until there was no mistake about his message thundered through Logan, carried by adrenaline and pent up fury. He cocked his fist back, ready to clock Carl right in the eye.
“Stop.” Carl wheezed out the single world and held up his hand. “Please.”
He hesitated, calculating the damage he’d already done. Blood
, snot, and spit mixed together on Carl’s mangled face. “She’s worth more than a dozen of you, and it’s about time this town realized that. About fucking time I did.” He loomed over Carl. “You don’t come at Miranda again. You don’t drive near her. You don’t go to the brewery. You don’t talk about her. You don’t even fucking think about her or I will find you and pound you into the ground. Got it?”
Carl whipped the back of his hand across his nose and winced. “I got it.”
Adrenaline leaching from his bloodstream, Logan turned toward his truck. He needed to hand over his evidence to the cops. Then, he’d go see Miranda and make sure she really was okay.
“That girl must have one magic pussy to get you all worked up over a little fender bender.” Bitterness, heavy as bricks, weighed down Carl’s words.
Fury exploded in Logan and he whipped around, blood rushing in his ears. He didn’t think. He didn’t breathe. He just found his target and smashed his fist into the disrespectful weasel’s face. At that moment, a chorus of angels couldn’t have sounded as good as the crack of Carl’s nose breaking against his knuckles. The other man slid down the truck’s door, landing in a heap on the pavement.
“You won’t get another warning, asshole.” Logan crossed the parking lot and got into his truck.
After dropping off the recording, he had only one destination in mind and only one person who mattered: Miranda.
Chapter Sixteen
The night was made for yoga pants and her favorite threadbare “Jake Ryan is My Boyfriend” T-shirt, but not—apparently—for sleep.
Never one to stay up past ten, Natalie had staggered off to bed an hour ago. Miranda had downed the Natalie-prescribed cup of soothing chamomile tea, which had done nothing to suck the tension out of her muscles or ease the need to constantly be in motion. Prowling around Uncle Julian’s house, her way illuminated by dim light over the kitchen sink, Miranda stopped in front of the refrigerator and contemplated the stainless steel behemoth.
Julian had been a confirmed bachelor and non-hunter, yet his fridge was the biggest they made with double doors and a pull-out freezer in the bottom. Just another Sweet family quirk, she figured. The thought gave her pause. A few weeks ago, it would have been another sign that her blood was contaminated with order-defying crazy. But today, she chalked it up to a little silly eccentricity. God, she really had drunk the Kool-aid.
Shaking her head, she swung open one of the refrigerator doors and immediately wished she hadn’t. Since she’d been practically living at the brewery for the past few weeks, she hadn’t bothered with grocery shopping beyond instant oatmeal and frozen dinners. Whatever the green mush ball in the crisper drawer had been in a previous life, it was a nasty-smelling science experiment now.
