12. Logan

12

LOGAN

"If you shitheads don't shut the fuck up, I'm coming over there to cram my boot up your ass. Got it?" growls Mudd at the barroom full of Steel Kings. When the buzz around the room dies out, he nods at Silver. "All yours, Chief."

Silver can barely keep from grinning. He shakes his head and redirects his attention to the rest of the club.

Today's our first real meeting since our crackdown at the Chosen Saints compound. We've got to plan out our next moves.

There's still business to finish.

Several of the saints escaped that night, including the Leader.

After more recon work, we've learned of another compound in the area that we'll be invading soon. But first we've got to hash out the details.

I sit at the front of the room along with Mace, Cash, and Tito. I've received plenty of curious stares and whispers from members who have been absent the past few weeks. The club hasn't officially been briefed on my story .

I've made it clear to Silver and Mace I want to keep it that way.

It's none of their fucking business where I've been and what I've been up to.

They're not owed the details. That's for me and the Leader to settle when I put him six feet under.

"Where to even start?" Silver asks, peering around the room. "Word travels fast. Contrary to popular belief, bikers are bigger gossip queens than most old ladies. I know most of you have already heard through word of mouth or seen it for yourself. Ghost's back."

Everybody seated in the bar takes the opportunity for a glance at me. Even the barmaids have slowed up delivering pints and peanuts and cast me curious looks.

I ignore them all, staring at an indiscriminate point in the distance.

"Ghost has been to hell and back. Which means he's in no mood to deal with your bullshit. Keep it away from him," Silver explains. His lecturing tone has clearly been perfected over time. Probably all the scolding he's done with his own kids. "We've got no shortage of problems. Which is what today's meetings about."

Johnny Flanagan thrusts his arm in the air. "I've got a question."

I can practically feel Mace's scowl from my right. The two of them have never gotten along. They barely had chin hairs and were going at it as kids. Fast forward almost twenty years later, nothing's changed.

I'm no fan of Flanagan either considering he's a shit stirrer.

"What is your question, Flanagan?" Silver asks.

"If the rumors are true, you raided the compound of that cult. The one that's been in the news. "

"I'm not the smartest guy around, but I didn't hear a question, Flanny," Ozzie points out, earning several chuckles around the room.

Flanagan shakes his stringy, shoulder-length hair out of his face. "My question is, what's that got to do with us? Why are we getting involved?"

"If you've heard the rumors," Mace snaps, sitting forward, "then you've heard why. You know exactly what the fuck we were doing raiding them."

"That doesn't answer my question," Flanagan says.

"Interrupt the meeting again with a stupid question like that and I'll answer it with my fist."

"Mace," Silver warns. He looks over at Flanagan, his stare scrutinizing. "It's got to do with us, Flanagan, because they had one of our people. You might remember the oath you took when you became a King. If you don't, I'm inclined to let Mace take you out back and teach you the hard way."

Flanagan falls silent with red blotches coloring his face and neck.

Silver gives it a few seconds, then carries on like he was never interrupted with a stupid question.

"We raided the compound belonging to the religious cult known as the Chosen Saints," Silver explains. "We slaughtered most of the higher-ranking members and set free the captives. But their leader—otherwise known as Abraham James—was able to escape. Ghost, care to offer your two cents? You're heading up this situation."

I stand up from where I'm seated, my arms folded over my chest. I keep it short and sweet. I'm still staring at an indiscriminate point in the distance. Public speaking has never been my thing. Less so after returning from years of captivity .

Crowds put me on guard. Even crowds of my own people.

"Everything he said," I say. "The Chosen Saints are a cult that held people captive. Men and women. All ages, races, it doesn't matter. It's a community based off some bullshit scripture Abraham James invented. They use, abuse, and hurt people, and are out for more power and influence. If what we suspect is true, they've got more than one compound in the area. We destroyed one of them. We'll do the same to the rest.

"We've got one of them in our custody. He's down in the basement. Plan is to interrogate him and get him to crack. Give up the address of their alternate location. Once we get what we can out of him, we'll start mapping out the next mission. Expect to be ready at a moment's notice."

The meeting adjourns how it always does—with another refill of drinks from the barmaids and Mick cutting the music back on from behind the bar counter.

Everyone with real responsibility slips out of the main room and into the back. The door snaps shut behind me, Silver, Mace, Cash, and a couple others.

We're in the basement where our captive is being held.

Xavier's strapped down in a chair by rope, a gag stuffed in his mouth. Dried blood mats his hair and dirt and grime cake his skin. He's seen better days.

Too bad those better days for him were hell for me. Funny how the shoe's on the other foot.

"Who gave him a black eye?" Cash asks.

Ozzie flashes a grin. "We had to subdue him. Fucktard wouldn't stay still."

Silver surveys Xavier for a second longer, then says, "Anybody bring any pliers? "

"Would it be a torture sesh without them? Tito and I put together a whole selection."

"Don't put that on me, amigo . That was all you. I supervised."

Ozzie gestures to the assortment of tools he's set down on the table against the wall like some impressive display he couldn't be more excited about. He's brought screwdrivers, wrenches, pliers, a sledgehammer.

"Half of these I stole from the Chop Shop when Korine wasn't looking."

Cash shakes his head. "If she caught you, I'm pretty sure you'd be the one sporting a black eye right now."

"Fuck this."

The two words rumble out of me in an impatient growl.

I stride up to where Xavier's strapped down in the chair and throw a right hook. My fist collides with the side of his head. His neck bends off to the side at the force of the hit. A knot immediately begins to form.

I punch him a second time in the nose. "Remember me?"

"Believer Logan," he croaks. "We meet again."

"You're damn straight we do." Another punch to the face. "Did you think you'd get to flee that night and not be held accountable?"

The others stand back as I unleash a lengthy combination of hits. I hit Xavier so many times, my knuckles crack open. His swollen eye closes the rest of the way up.

"Logan, this is supposed to be an interrogation," Silver says finally.

Mace takes a step toward me. "He's right. We're supposed to be collecting info."

"I'll collect info. After I'm done beating the shit out of him. "

I reach for the pliers and nod at Ozzie. He understands what I'm asking of him and rushes to prop Xavier's mouth open.

Over the next two minutes, the room fills with Xavier's pained howls as I pry a couple teeth from his gums. The front incisors pop out easily. It's the rear molars that are a bitch.

Xavier has no choice but to bear the excruciating pain. His hands flex open and shut as he seizes up in the chair, and the blood in his mouth muffles his screams.

Mace grabs my shoulder. "Logan, pace yourself. We need him lucid enough to gather info?—"

"Back off!" I growl, shrugging him off. When he tries to grab me a second time, I swing on him.

My own brother.

I don't give a shit that I do—we fist fought many times growing up. It was often how Dad had us settle our disputes. He'd clear the coffee table in the living room and let us wrestle and tussle it out. A couple years older, I was always bigger and stronger, but Mace has always loved a challenge.

He usually held his own, even if I more often than not won by the end.

Now's no different as I swing on him. He ducks last second, then locks his arms around me in a submission hold.

The altercation becomes a runaway train from there.

Silver and the others stand back like Dad used to when we fought. They let me break Mace's hold and retaliate with an elbow to his gut. I take a fist in the jaw, and he grunts when I spear into him and we crash against the concrete wall.

I disappear into my pent-up anger.

Mace isn't my enemy—distantly, I can recognize that— but at the moment, he's a representation of it. He's the guy on the receiving end as I draw back my fist and crush it into his ribs.

The others don't jump in 'til we're on the brink of knocking each other out. Silver and Cash grab hold of Mace while Ozzie and Tito jump on me.

When it's all said and done, the basement looks like a tornado raged through it. Xavier remains in the middle of the room, banded to the chair by the thick rope, dripping blood from his gums. Mace is held back on one side while I'm on the other.

"That's enough," Silver scolds. "Both of you, out. Tito and I will handle the interrogation. And if I find out this happens again, I'll kick both your asses. Or maybe let Tom know what his sons have been up to."

Mace storms out with Cash following to check up on him.

I leave in the same foul mood.

"Ozzie, back the fuck off," I call over my shoulder.

The club's resident joker's on my heels. He must figure since Mace has got Cash, he'll do the same for me. But I don't need anybody to make sure I'm alright.

I'm not alright.

I'm still seething. Rage still pumps through my veins. I cross the covering out front where everybody parks their bikes and mount mine.

"Where you off to?" Ozzie asks. "Break somebody else's face?"

"Maybe. I've only broken two today."

He scoffs. "We've got to get those numbers up. I expect five out of you. Minimum."

"Cut the shit. I told you I don't need anybody checking on me. "

"How about a drink? Not here," he adds. He scratches his neck that's covered in tattoos like the rest of him. "You know, blow off some steam."

I pause for half a second, considering his offer. "Where?"

Twenty minutes later, we're two of three inside the Titty Bar. The third guy sits right beside the stage as the early-evening dancers gyrate to "Cherry Pie". He's clearly a regular, peering up at the ladies like they're goddesses on earth, his glasses damn near fogging up.

The place won't be packed for another few hours. That's when the more talented dancers take the stage and the audience fills out.

Ozzie nods his head to the hard rock music and offers dollar bills to any dancer that struts by. He's got no shortage of them, apparently a regular himself.

I'm more distracted by the bottle of beer I'm downing. I've started peeling off the label, my mind miles away.

Things weren't supposed to get so out of hand in the basement. I hadn't intended on exploding like I did.

These days, I've got so much pent-up anger and hatred, I don't know what to do with myself. It can't be healthy, yet it's the only way I know how to cope.

"My girl worked here," Ozzie says over the music. "Her name was Sparkle."

I glance over at him, half exasperated by the fact that he's so damn casual. Like I'm not sporting bloodied knuckles and a busted lip after my fight. But I buy into what he's saying anyway. I figure there's no use not to. He's already dragged me to this bar for drinks.

"What happened to her?"

"She dumped me. Her ex finished his stint in prison."

My eyebrow rises. "And you still come here?"

"She still appreciates the tips," he says, grinning. "So, you going to tell me what the fuck that was about? The way you went off, you blacked out."

I give a shrug.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. I've received a text from Teysha.

Dinner's waiting :)

A deep breath blows out of me. I pocket my phone and pretend I never saw it.

"I don't know what happened," I admit. "That was the first time I've seen one of the pieces of shit from that place. I went into revenge mode."

"You were fucking him up good. Blood everywhere." Ozzie laughs, then catches the eye of another dancer. He waves a wad of dollar bills between his fingers to entice her.

It works. She prances over topless in nothing else but a g-string to pay him a few moments of attention. Sitting in his lap, she smashes his face into her huge tits and then snatches the cash.

"Thank ya, cutie."

Ozzie's grin has only widened. "That was Diamond. Maybe she's the new Sparkle."

My phone has gone off a couple more times. More texts from Teysha.

Over the course of the next two hours, it becomes a running theme. Teysha sending me increasingly upset texts.

I hope you'll be home soon. I've missed you. 3

Please answer. Will you be home soon??

Please don't ignore me. Please come home….

"Who's that? Wifey?" Ozzie asks.

"No," I lie, pocketing my phone. "Somebody unimportant."

Hours go by. The Titty Bar fills up. The music shifts from hard rock from the '80s into more modern songs for the dancers to perform pole tricks to.

I've lost count of what beer I'm on when I finally decide I've had enough.

The lights are still on in the apartment when I make it home. Teysha's waited up for me.

I walk through the door unsure of how I'm going to address the inevitable questions. She's going to want to know what I've been up to, why I didn't answer her texts. I had asked Mace's fiancée Sydney to take her out for the day. Give her something else to do besides mope around my apartment. Even gave her cash to buy herself some things.

But it doesn't seem to have helped. She's as nosy and needy as ever .

I head into the kitchen as she sits up on the couch. "Where have you been?"

"Why are you still up?"

I've popped the tab on a can of beer that I'll be taking with me into my bedroom. Any person with common sense would get the hint that I'm not in the mood for company. Teysha either fails to understand or she doesn't care as she follows me.

"I've been waiting for you! Did you see my texts?"

"I haven't checked my phone. There were more important things going on."

"Were you out drinking? Out partying at the club? Were there other women there?" she asks in a tone that shakes with emotion. "Why won't you ever tell me what you're doing? Why won't you ever take me with you?"

I scowl. "Teysha, lower your damn voice."

"I've… I've been waiting for you!" She rushes ahead of me to block my path. "Why won't you just try?"

In no damn mood to play these games, I grab her by the arm and drag her out of my way. "I don't have time for this shit! Move out of my way."

"You owe me an explanation!"

"I don't owe you shit."

"I'm your wife!"

It's a cold, hollow feeling that pits deep and makes me bark out a loud laugh. I'm about to hurt her, yet I don't give a single fuck that I am.

Just like earlier with Mace.

Teysha's now the stand-in for my anger. My twisted, bitter feelings about all the shit that's happened. It wouldn't be the first time, and since we're stuck together for the time being, it probably won't be the last.

She must know I've got severe mood swings by now .

"You ain't my wife, and I ain't your husband," I snap. "Let's get that straight right now."

I can feel her heart breaking. I can sense the tears welling up in her eyes.

Yet I don't give a damn. I don't have a single fuck to give about what I'm doing.

Maybe she should've done the smart thing and gone home, after all. At least then she wouldn't be subjected to this.

Bringing the beer can to my lips, I down another large mouthful, then head into the bathroom. It's as I flick on the light and tug off my t-shirt that Teysha gasps.

All my scrapes and bruises.

My busted lip and purpled ribs. The tiny cuts up and down my knuckles.

It's been hours and I haven't tended to any of them.

"You got into a fight?" she asks weakly.

"Something like that."

"I wish you'd talk to me."

"I've got nothing to say."

Not to you.

Not after… everything…

Teysha sniffles in the doorway. One second she's there, the next second she's gone. I come up from the sink after rinsing any residual blood out of my mouth.

Nobody's in the doorway. It's empty.

She passes in the hall a second later clutching what looks like an armful of belongings and her duffle bag.

I sigh and go check what fit she's throwing now. I find her in the living room slipping on her pair of sandals and fumbling with the things she's clinging onto. My head slants to the side.

"Going somewhere? "

"Yes," she answers tightly. "Anywhere else but here."

"Teysha—"

"You hate me," she cuts in. "You can't stand being around me. So I'll go."

"It's one in the fucking morning."

"I don't care."

"You've got nowhere else to go."

"I'll find somewhere. The… the bus terminal must be open. And if it isn't…" she pauses to shudder out another upset breath. "I'll wait outside for it to open."

I slam my hand against the front door when she walks over and twists on the knob to pull it open. She tips her head back for a look up at me. Her eyes, so big and expressive, shine with tears. Her whole face wears the emotion she's feeling, from the tremble of her jaw to the way her brows are drawn close.

If it's at all possible, she's pretty when she cries. Something I notice in the brief second our gazes lock.

Then I notice what she has on.

The little flowery blue dress that fits her figure perfectly. She's never worn it before because it's new… and she couldn't look more beautiful.

So damn beautiful it's unreal she's standing before me. That technically she's my wife . Somewhere out there, a man better than myself deserves her.

Yet here she is trying to impress me.

I stand back from the door. "Did you just buy that?"

"Dinner is… dinner's on the stove. Good night, Logan."

Teysha wraps her hand on the doorknob a second time to draw it open. I'm quicker, scooping her hand up in mine. I lead her away from the door, unsure if I'm more irritated by her presence or her attempt at leaving .

It doesn't make any sense how I wish I had the place to myself, yet I don't want her gone.

Not yet.

"Put your things down," I say. "You're not going anywhere."

"I'm not staying where I'm not welcome."

My teeth clench together. "Nobody said you're not welcome."

"You didn't need to. Your body language speaks volumes."

"Look," I sigh, scrubbing a hand over my face. "It's been a long day."

"You smell of beer."

"And you smell like fucking flowers. What's your point?"

Her brows scrunch closer, a little line appearing in between. A quirk of hers I've noticed and grown used to. It forms whenever she's thinking.

She's trying to figure out how to take me.

"Sit down," I order. "You said there's dinner? I'll warm it up."

"Are you going to tell me what happened?"

"If you sit down and stop trying to flee in the middle of the fucking night."

"Hasn't anybody ever told you you're not supposed to swear at a lady?"

"I don't follow those rules. Just like I don't follow the rule that says a hysterical woman should go rushing off into the dark because she didn't get enough attention."

She drops to the sofa like a wilted flower, her expression glum, her eyes no less sad and watery.

A kernel of guilt chips away at me. I turn my back and focus on heating up the pasta she's left out on the stove. Minutes later, I'm walking two large plates into the living room. Hers I set down on the coffee table. Mine stays with me as I claim the loveseat.

More silence stretches on between us.

Teysha picks at the pasta she's prepared. I'm a fast eater, and I drank on an empty stomach. She's barely had a fettuccine noodle by the time I've downed mine like a fucking Hoover vacuum. The pitiful, hunched way she's sitting and picking at her food says enough.

I set down my empty plate and realize I've got to put aside the bitter mood. At least for now if she's going to stop being so damn upset.

"I got into a fight," I admit. "Since you want to know all about it. Me and Mace."

Her eyes widen. "You and Mason? But why?"

"Why not?"

"For starters, he's your brother."

"Which means it's not the first time. Probably won't be the last." I slide fingers through my hair that's grown long up top and then figure I've come this far, might as well keep going. Just for the time being 'til we get this arrangement dissolved. "We found Xavier. We were interrogating him."

She's clearly startled by the news, so much so, she doesn't even answer.

It's as complicated for her as it is for me. Yet our responses couldn't be more different.

"We've learned about another compound we believe belongs to the Saints. We think it's where the Leader— Abraham is his name—is hiding out."

"Abraham," she repeats in a whisper. Disbelief's frozen on her face, like she's time-traveling to the past in her head.

"Hey, look at me," I say, reaching over to palm her knee. I wait ‘til her big brown eyes flick to me. "I'm going to get him. I'm going to make him pay for everything he did to you, alright?"

I get up and start to walk away but only make it a couple steps.

"Logan?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I…" she murmurs softly, then pauses for a sigh. "Can I please… your bed…"

Fuck. This girl doesn't give up.

"Tonight," I say. "Just tonight."

I don't wait for her reaction before striding the rest of the way out of the room. Teysha's just going to have to understand she's seeking something I can't give her.