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My mind snaps back into focus, and I shove at Logan’s chest with my free hand, the feelings swirling around inside me only heightening my panic—because I don’t understand them. I don’t know why my nipples are hard, or why my clit is throbbing. All I know is that I need to get away from this man.
He doesn’t budge at all when I try to push him away, but I manage to get a leg up and drive my heel into his knee. I’m not wearing my shoes, so it doesn’t do much damage, but Logan flinches slightly.
He blinks, his pupils dilating and contracting as his gaze bores into me. His grip tightens again, just a little, something wild and furious burning in his eyes.
“Logan! Fuck, brother.Stop!”
The loud voice from the doorway jerks my attention away from Logan. Dante bursts into the room, rushing toward us. His large hands wrap around Logan’s, prying them from my neck.
“Breathe,” Dante demands, and it takes me a second to realize that he’s not talking to me. “Just take a breath and think about this,” he says to Logan, his jaw clenched tight but his voice calm and smooth. “Back off for a minute and… and seriously, what the hell? Just… just let her go, okay?”
Logan’s eyes flash, and it’s like he doesn’t see Dante. Can’t feel Dante’s hands on him. Refuses to hear.
But then, slowly, his fingers loosen a bit around my throat.
He releases the wrist he’s got pinned to the wall, letting my arm fall, then finally lets go of his hold on my neck and takes a step back.
I drag in a shuddering lungful of air, slumping against the wall as all the bones in my body seem to melt.
“Yeah, that’s it,” Dante says quietly, subtly putting his body between me and Logan as the blond man backs away. “I’ve got this, okay? I’ll handle it. You just take it easy and get your head on straight, all right?”
I slide down the wall, landing hard on my butt with my knees bent. The remnants of that strange and unsettling arousal are still buzzing through my body, but now that Logan has let me go, the fear of everything he could’ve done to me rushes up to eclipse everything else. My hands are shaking from the amount of adrenaline in my veins, and I can still feel the phantom pressure of his palm on my throat.
My lungs expand so widely that my ribs hurt, as if my body is trying to stockpile oxygen as I slowly raise my gaze to Logan. He’s staring down at me without any expression on his face.
“You’re not welcome here,” he finally says. “Not in my room. Ever. Not even in this house, as far as I’m concerned. ”
If I felt like risking my life again, I’d tell him that’s pretty fucking obvious. But I don’t, so I keep my mouth shut, refusing to say anything.
Hatred burns so brightly in Logan’s eyes that I swear they almost glow, but just when I think he’s going to do something about it—either pin me to the wall again or tell me where else I’m not wanted—he presses his lips together into a thin, tight line and storms out of the room without another word.
The minute I’m alone with Dante, I blow out the breath I’ve been holding, raising my hands to shove my blue and purple hair out of my face.
“Jesus,” I gasp, my voice rough. “Fuck. Why did he… why…?”
Dante looks down at me, his expression hard to read. I’m not sure what it is I see on his face, but it better not be pity. I don’t think I could handle pity from him.
“You okay?” he asks.
A huff of breath that’s almost a laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it, and he sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face.
“Yeah. I guess that was a stupid question.” He hums under his breath, his eyes turning to the door Logan left through. “Logan’s… dealing with a few things. We’ve all got our shit, you know?”
“Please tell me you’re not making excuses for him.”
I raise my hand to my throat unconsciously as I speak, running my fingertips over the place where Logan’s fingers were a minute ago. There was so much control in his grip that I don’t think he even left bruises, but to be honest, that control is the thing that scares me the most about him. It’s just a reminder of how efficiently and precisely he could take me apart if he wanted to.
Dante shakes his head, one shoulder lifting. “Nah. He shouldn’t have gone after you like that. It’s just… violence is in our blood, mine just as much as his. No excuses, but I get it.”
I swallow hard and look away. I want to hate Dante a little for not immediately disavowing Logan, but why would he? What the fuck does this man owe me? Nothing, that’s what.
I may still be breathing because of him, but it’s not like he’s on my side.
But…
Well, I won’t say ‘I get it too,’ because I don’t. Logan’s eyes were filled with a quiet sort of rage before I ever opened my mouth to ask for the Reapers’ help, so his anger clearly isn’t about me. Or notjustme, at least. So no, I don’t get it, but I do understand what Dante is saying. We all have our things. The shit that’s shaped us. The fucked up backstory that digs its claws into us and drags us down certain paths in life whether we want to go there or not.
I’m still freaked out as hell by what he did, but some part of me is morbidly curious about why he is the way he is. I’ve been with them for less than a day, and I’ve already caught glimpses of what each one hides behind the masks that they show the outside world—and every little glimpse I get just makes me want to learn more.
