Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

LOGAN

T he rhythmic thwack-thwack-thwack of the helicopter rotors accompanied me on my flight out to the rig. It was the first time since I'd bought the thing from Jude that I was making it out here, and as I peered out at the rough seas below, I wondered if I should have come out at all.

It looked like a prison sitting on top of the ocean, obscured by dark clouds and violent sprays of water as the waves crashed into it. Or maybe I just should've come in the winter, before the summer storms started.

Either way, as I leaned forward and eyed the multimillion-dollar investment I'd made last year, I had half a mind to call Jude and ask him why the hell he'd sold me this hunk of hideous metal. Maybe I should've let him scuttle it to become a reef after all.

A shudder passed through me at the thought of having to land on that thing—and then stay out here on the turbulent sea at the very least until the weather cleared. I sighed. As much as I would've liked to call him and ask him why I'd bought this desolate floating cage, I knew it hadn't been his fault.

In fact, I'd even pushed him to sell it to me rather than to scuttle it back when he'd been of two minds about it. In my defense, it'd seemed like a great new adventure at the time.

I'd heard he and Flynn were interested in selling and I'd contacted him about it immediately. I'd even flown him out here to give me a tour one day.

On that occasion, however, the skies had been blue and the seas had been calm. Jude had seemed knowledgeable, if distracted by his situation with McKinley at the time. The crew was kind enough during our tour, and I'd felt like a conquering hero at the prospect of saving so many jobs.

I sure as fuck didn't feel like a hero—conquering or otherwise—as I watched the water flood the landing deck and wondered just how the hell the pilot was going to navigate this landing. My leg started bouncing as I felt him starting to make his descent.

"You may want to hang onto something, Mr. Jones." His voice came through the headset and on instinct, my hands shot out to follow his advice.

Wrapping my fingers around the conveniently mounted straps built into the frame, I tried to remind myself that he was a professional. A pilot who had come highly recommended and for who a landing like this was probably just another Tuesday.

"They say the storm rolling in is a big one." He spoke through the headset again and my stomach plummeted. "These winds are brutal. Hold on tight, okay?"

Fuck .

As he made our final approach, I thought about the fact that once he put us down on that thing, I had no idea how long it was going to be before I could leave again. If the storm rolling in was that big, I guessed it could last days—or it could be over in an hour.

Either way, I'd heard the men who worked these rigs were hardcore, but I'd never really thought about the conditions they worked in on days like today. Or really even the conditions they worked in every day.

All I knew was that the rig was making me a tidy little profit, and as an investment, it was definitely paying off. To be honest, I hadn't really thought about it—or the people who worked it—much at all after the purchase had come through.

If it hadn't been for the advice of my business manager, I probably wouldn't have thought to come out here for another year—which was about how long it'd been since I'd bought the damn thing. Give or take a few months.

The helicopter canted dangerously to one side, and my muscles locked, my eyes slamming closed. I felt it veer much too far to the left. For the rest of the landing, I kept my chin tucked tight to my chest and my eyes were rooted to the white floor beneath my feet.

If I was going to die today, I wasn't about to keep staring at the rig we were about to crash into. At least it would be a pretty epic way to go, but still. I wasn't quite ready to leave this life just yet, so instead of surrendering to the idea of meeting my maker, I remained resolute in my thoughts of the agenda I had once we landed safely.

One purpose of my visit was to inspect the state of the actual rig rather than simply the financial statements showing how much it was making, and to meet the crew. Outside of that, I'd also been told that my presence would bolster morale and assure the people who worked on it that their jobs were safe.

Why they would think otherwise, I didn't know, but I supposed times were tough and this particular rig had changed hands a few times in the last few years. On that level, I supposed I understood why it'd been important for me to make the trip, but I sure wished I hadn't as the helicopter kept canting and gliding from one side to the other, making my stomach churn and my heart freeze over far too many times.

The second, and more important, reason for this visit, however, was research. A lot of what Jude had said to me while he'd been going back and forth on selling the rig had hit home, and I couldn't do anything about it if I hadn't even seen how it was being operated right now.

When we eventually landed with a loud thud and a few weird leaps, part of me wanted to jump out of my flying, would-be grave and kiss the damn ground. The problem with that, however, was that of course, it wouldn't be ground I was kissing, but rather rusted metal on a rig from which I might be washed away as soon as I knelt down.

This whole fucking thing is just one big death trap, isn't it? Nobody sane would do this for a living. That's for sure. On the other hand, Flynn, Jude's brother, had done it for years. All I'm going to say about it is that it's no wonder he retired young.

In his case, he claimed it'd been partially as a result of the ethical dilemma presented by working on an oil rig while also being a champion for the environment, but I didn't know. I definitely would've gotten out of this game as fast as I could.

Thankfully, as Derrick, my chopper pilot, and I jumped out and made our way across the pad, we weren't washed into the deep blue sea and I released a harsh sigh of relief when we ran through a heavy metal door and it slammed shut behind us. A little damp but otherwise none the worse for wear after our rough landing, Derrick and I both straightened up and offered our hands to the men waiting for us.

For the purposes of this trip, Derrick wasn't just my pilot. He'd also been my assistant's liaison to make the arrangements, and he clearly knew one of the men who was waiting for us—even if man was a loose term to use in relation to this guy.

He couldn't have been more than twenty, but Derrick shook with him first. "Evan, it's nice to finally meet you in person. This is Logan Jones, our newish but fearless leader."

"Mr. Jones," Evan said. He extended his hand toward me once he'd released Derrick's. "I'm the Offshore Assistant on the rig and this is Bradson Davies. He's our Safety Officer for the current two-week rotation."

"Evan," I said, giving him a firm handshake before moving on to Bradson. "Safety Officer, huh? Have there been any incidents while the weather's been like this?"

"No, sir," he said clearly as he motioned toward yet another heavy metal door down the corridor behind him. "It regularly gets a lot worse than this and our safety protocols and procedures are airtight."

As we started toward the door, he gave me a long-winded breakdown of said protocols and procedures, but it went in one ear and out the other as I looked around. Through the door were more long hallways that split into metal staircases.

Everything felt dampish and musty, constant creaks and groans pierced the air, and the metallic, briny scent now that we were inside was not great. Sure isn't the most inviting place.

Evan took over once Bradson seemed to be done with his highlight reel of how he kept people safe, and I tried to pay some attention again. "As you can see, sir, our rig isn't the most modern, but we've got an excellent games room, a movie room, and a pretty good gym."

I blinked hard, surprised at what I'd just heard. "Are you serious? There's a games room and a gym on this thing?"

"Yes, sir," Evan replied proudly. "It keeps our workers entertained and comfortable when they're not on shift."

"Of course." I cleared my throat. "What other facilities have we got?"

As I asked the question, I got blasted in the face with a gust of fresh-laundry-scented air and Evan flushed beet red. "Well, uh, that's our laundry room we just passed."

"I got that part. Thanks."

"I should've warned you. Everything gets pretty intense on the rig when we're all cooped up inside and we've battened down the hatches."

I waved him off. "No problem. Tell me more."

"Well, uh, we've got two communal dining halls, which we'll be getting to soon. A commissary for drinks and snacks, as well as the living quarters and an industrial kitchen."

I thought back to the storm rolling in outside. "What are the living quarters like?"

"Uh, they're bunk style, sir. Shared between two to four occupants with an ensuite bathroom for each cabin."

"Ensuite bathroom," I repeated. "Sounds promising. You mentioned we'd be getting to one of the dining halls soon?"

"Yes, sir," he said enthusiastically, pushing open yet another door and waving me through ahead of him.

As it turned out, we'd already arrived at one of the communal dining halls, and once again, I was reminded of the similarities between the rig and a prison. Everything—including tables and chairs—was bolted down and workers sat hunched over lunch trays, but all conversations ceased when we walked in.

Derrick was still chatting quietly to Bradson behind me, but Evan and I were suddenly faced by at least fifty sets of narrowed eyes belonging mostly to men, but with a few women dotted between them. As I stared back at them, making eye contact with a few that earned me scowls in return, I practically felt the hostility rolling off them.

Evan did his best to counteract the cold shoulder I was getting from the crew, but even as he kept up his cheerful chatter about the rig, I heard the workers muttering about me when I walked past. Annoyance bubbled up inside as I listened to some of what they were saying, but I clenched my jaw and did my best to ignore it.

"A city slicker like him shouldn't be running a place like this," one guy commented obnoxiously. "He's like a walking billboard for bad decisions."

Okay. Yep. I've heard enough.

Irritated by the poor reception and irked by his particular comment, I spun around to confront him. "This city slicker bought this hunk of junk in the middle of nowhere, saving it from being handed over to the environmentalists who were going to turn it into a reef. If that had happened, you'd all have lost your jobs. Does that sound like a better alternative to you?"

My chest was heaving, my gaze locked on his ruddy face as I waited for some smartass response that never came. Feeling marginally better, I shook my head and then turned back to Evan. "Let's go. I can't wait to see what other gems this place has to offer."