16. Logan

16

LOGAN

Teysha's still sleeping when I leave. I make sure to jot down a note and leave it on the bedside table so she doesn't panic, waking to me gone. It's the first morning since she's moved in that I'm up before she is. She might not realize it, but I'm aware she hasn't been getting a full night's rest.

Just shows how much last night took out of her.

I hop on my Super Glide and ride off down the quiet side street.

The Steel Saloon's about ten minutes away.

When I walk through the doors, a couple Tits on Heels call out to me. They're getting an early start this Saturday. It's not even ten a.m. yet.

Mace catches me on my way to the back office. "There you are. I was about to text you."

"Yeah, about what?"

"Last night. You okay?"

"All things considered." I brush past him entering the room. I head for the desk that's never been cleared off a day I've been alive. Since I was a kid, it's been covered in an assortment of papers, bottles, sometimes stacks of cash. I search for the sheet of paper that has the address scribbled onto it. Silver had jotted it down once Xavier broke down and gave up the info.

"How's Teysha?" he asks.

"Same answer."

Mace leans against the armrest of the well-used suede couch in the room. "You both looked upset."

"Your point?"

"Things are difficult right now." He sighs as if dreading his next words. "Some of us… we've got concerns."

I laugh, throwing a look at him from over my shoulder. "Concerns? Seriously?"

"Sydney and Korine said Teysha seems to tune out often. She seems like she's struggling with something."

"And me?" I straighten up and turn around in a challenge. "What about me?"

"You already know," Mace says tightly. "You've been angry. Easily riled up. Impulsive. All things we can't have with our club business."

"So… what? Where are you going with this?"

"You need some help. Some way to get past what happened."

"How many fucking times do I have to tell you I'm fine?" I snap before I can restrain myself. "I've got a handle on things just fine. But I am gonna find Abraham. Then I'm gonna fucking destroy him."

"Logan, you swung on me."

"Was that the first time? Since when are you a pussy bitch?"

Mace straightens up as if about to prove otherwise. "You're my brother. I'm coming to you man-to-man. Deal with your shit. "

My flash of anger fades out like the switch has been turned off. Instead, I jut my chin at him. "You've taken to this fill-in prez thing, haven't you?"

"What else was I supposed to do with you gone, Tom locked up and Silver in the middle of a nasty divorce?"

"My little bro, all grown up."

"You talk to Tom yet?"

"Nah, there's a lot to address. It can wait 'til after Abraham."

"We'll get him," Mace says. "But Silver's right, we've got to have a solid plan."

"The plan is to get in and kill those fuckers."

"What was it like? With them?"

I tense up at the question, playing it off by rolling my shoulders back and cracking my neck. It buys me an extra second or two to figure out a way to answer. So far, every time I've been asked, I've brushed it off. I made vague references to being trapped in hell or cracked a sarcastic comment about it being a walk in the park.

But there's sincerity in Mace's tone. He was serious when he said he was here man-to-man as my brother.

The thing is, I'm not even sure how to process that period.

I've allowed for nothing but rage and the thirst for violent revenge. I've tried my damnedest to block out thoughts about how dehumanizing it was to do what I was made to do. For years , day in and day out.

I've been avoiding public spaces—and most people—for a reason.

Being back in regular society fucks with your head after captivity. You have to figure out how to embrace your humanity and be a person again.

Most places, people, sights, and sounds feel threatening. Most situations are a reason to be on guard.

So when I'm asked what it was like, I might as well be describing something only I can see. Something that's invisible to everybody else.

No one that's asked that question's gone through what I have. None of them have known what it was like to live that kind of nightmare.

I stuff my hands in my denim pockets and shrug. "What do you want me to say? Tell you about how you were beat if you so much as spoke your mind? Or about how we survived off half a can of hash a day? Or how about how we were forced to do things—things we'd never choose to do—with whoever they wanted us to?"

"I figured that was what was going on…" Mace wears a heavy expression as he shakes his head to the side. "You and Teysha?"

"They married us off. They made us… do things in front of them… with them…" My throat has gone bone dry. I try and fail to swallow as my thoughts go to last night.

I'd been able to forget our past and focus on the present. Once we gave in to each other, not once did I think about what Teysha and I had done with the Chosen Saints. Yet thinking about it the morning after suddenly feels worse.

How could Teysha ever want it? How could she look past what I did?

I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. "The first time I ever had sex with my wife, with Teysha , I was doing it against her will."

"After they married you off…" Mace says.

"In front of the entire family as they called it. She was in tears. She couldn't even look at me. That was the first time of many."

"You had about as much of a choice as she did. You realize that, right?"

"She had never been with anybody before me," I snap, suddenly irritated. "I took that from her!"

"Not by choice," Mace says, standing firm. "You're as much of a victim as she is. They used you as much as they did her."

My teeth clench like I'm an animal on the prowl. "I had a choice to listen or not. I listened. I went through with it."

"Look, this is a habit of yours. Blaming yourself for shit you couldn't control. You did the same thing when Mom was murdered. Remember?"

"This is different. I did their bidding."

"Teysha probably sees it differently. You even try talking to her about it?"

I shoot him a skeptical glance. "What do you think?"

"Do you want to work things out? Or are you going through with the annulment?"

…I don't know anymore.

"We're still figuring things out."

"That's what Teysha said last night."

"That's 'cuz it's the truth."

"The clock's ticking," Mace says, moving over to peer out the window. "One thing I've learned from almost losing Sydney is that time… it means a lot. Don't take her for granted. If there's even a chance you want to be with her, you should probably give it a shot. Talk to her. Get on the same page."

He leaves the room on that note.

I can't dispute what he's said, but that doesn't mean it's what'll happen. Teysha and I really do have things we need to sort out. Even after last night, and regardless of what she says, I need to find a way to understand why she'd ever want to stick around. Why in the hell she'd ever want to be with me?

But 'til then, I redirect to the mission I've dedicated myself to—taking out Abraham and the Chosen Saints.

The paper I've been searching for is hidden under a receipt for our latest beer and liquor haul. It's the piece of paper Silver wrote down the address Xavier gave when interrogated. I slip it into my pocket and then head on out.

Mace and Silver think we need some detailed plan to eliminate the Chosen Saints. But that's where I disagree. I'm sick of waiting and doing nothing while Abraham breathes another day. I'll take him out myself, even if I have to do it alone.

The address on the paper leads me to Portales. Beads of sweat slide down the back of my neck by the time I'm turning down one of the last streets approaching the address.

If there's one downside of riding, it's dealing with scorching weather on afternoons like this.

I park my bike a couple blocks away and wipe the sweat from my brow. It's best to keep my bike hidden from view 'til I understand what I'm dealing with. This place could be a false alarm or it could be a full up hornet's nest.

Either way, I'm here to find out.

I'm strapped, my Glock and an assortment of knives a quick draw away if needed.

I'd prefer today stay as a recon mission, but you can never be too safe in situations like this. There's a reason Xavier gave up this address—I just need to figure out why.

The neighborhood seems typical enough. Small single- story houses sit cramped on either side of the street along with plenty of trees, bushes and even a mini market at the corner of the block.

I wander down the sidewalk doing my best to seem inconspicuous. Though if I lived here, I'd be wary of me too.

But the real question is, why would the Chosen Saints have a compound in some nondescript neighborhood in Portales?

I slip between a row of hedges and disappear off the main street. The path leads me between two homes with chain-link fences and clothes hanging out to dry. In heat like this, the t-shirts, shorts and undies are all already stiff cloths of fabric flapping in the hot air.

Pressing on, I come out on the other side, glancing around for the exact address. Where the fuck has Xavier led us, and why does this feel a lot more like a red herring than the real thing?

Maybe Silver and Mace were right that we needed to be careful about following up on what info we were given.

The house belonging to the address resembles many of the others—squat, small, single-story, painted a lemon yellow that's faded and lost its luster over time. The windows are open, the blinds up, affording a decent view inside.

I duck low and creep over toward the house, surveying the area to make sure I'm still alone. Coming up under the open window, I stay crouched and rely on my ears to pick up the sounds from inside.

Some man and a woman are in the middle of a conversation.

But not in English.

In Spanish.

I scowl, wishing I'd either paid attention in high school Spanish class or I'd brought Tito with me for translation. I'm able to sort out bits and pieces.

" Por favor, Juan, ?estarás aquí para la familia? " the woman asks.

" Te he dicho. Me han ordenado. No puedo alejarme. "

" Pero ?por qué tú?"

He slams what sounds like a cabinet before answering. " Los pedidos son pedidos. No me prejuntes más. "

His footsteps thud as he leaves the room. The woman remains where she is, sniveling out a soft cry. I chance it by rising up enough that I'm peeking into the window. She doesn't notice as she's wiping her eyes with a tissue.

What the fuck is going on and why do things feel more confusing than when I arrived? Why would Xavier provide this address of all places? Was he fucking with us? But if he was, then why were this guy and his girl talking about orders? Orders from who?

At least, that's if my limited translation skills are correct.

Before I can figure any of this out, the back door slams shut. The man suddenly appears at the side of the house with a bag of trash.

My eyes snap from him to the aluminum bins only a few feet away from where I'm crouched. Caught point blank peering into his window.

His eyes widen and he releases an angry scream. The bag of trash he's holding drops to the ground. He reaches for the piece strapped to his hip.

"Fuck!" I growl, making a split-second decision.

Recon mission over, I break out in a sprint toward the fence. I'm heaving myself over it as he's squeezing the trigger and shooting. I'm able to bolt through more hedges, ducking around a neighbor's home, hoping like hell he doesn't follow .

A couple more gunshots ring out as I'm already a block down, racing toward my Super Glide. I hop on, starting up the engine with a bumbling rev before I take off and don't look back.

I'm still not sure what the fuck Xavier's reason was for giving us this place as the location of Abraham and the Chosen Saints, but it damn sure won't go unaddressed.

Teysha beams when I walk through the door. She's sitting crisscross style on the sofa, a book propped open in her lap. But I'm much more distracted by the fact that she's got no pants on. The door almost slams shut on my fingers, I'm so damn distracted by the sight.

All that silky brown skin on display. I can practically feel the silk clenched in my grip.

Heat rises from the inside, while on the outside, I cock a brow at her.

"Reading the Bible looking like that?"

She giggles. "Not the Bible. A different book."

"You read other books than the Bible?"

"Are you trying to frustrate me?"

"Guilty as charged," I admit, tossing my keys down. I walk over to where she's situated and snatch the book out of her lap. "Blazing Passions. Word porn? You?"

"Excuse me!" she cries out with a mortified kind of laugh. She reaches up to steal the book back, but I'm too quick for her. "Give it back!"

"I never would've guessed you're into that. So you really ain't so innocent after all."

"It's not pornography!"

"Then why are you all flustered?" I gently tap the book against the top of her head, then stroll off, reading some of the lines out loud. "Massimo's chest rippled with muscle. He took me in his big, strong arms, making my sex throb. Seriously ?"

Teysha's leaped off the sofa to launch an attack from behind. She grabs onto my arm to pry it away, surprisingly aggressive. I break out in a laugh, shrugging her off. But it's not so easy when she latches on, tossing one arm over my shoulder and the other around my torso.

The next thing either of us realize, Teysha's strapped to my back. I'm still walking across the apartment with the book held far out of her reach. More thick laughter rolls out of me as I read another few lines from her book.

"He threw me down on the bed and stripped off my panties," I say, speaking louder. "I'm going to have you for dinner, belladonna?—"

"Logan!" she screams, desperately swatting at the book.

We're both laughing as I toss the book aside and then reach behind me. I twist her around 'til she's sliding into my arms and I'm setting her down on the closest piece of furniture—which happens to be the kitchen stool. The instant I've set her down, I'm trapping her where she is, coming in close to almost kiss her.

Our noses touch, both of us acutely aware of our mutual attraction.

"Are these things you want done to you?" I ask, sounding huskier than usual. "You want me to have you for dinner?"

I can feel the heat that's flushed all over her brown skin. She can barely meet my eye as she nibbles on her bottom lip. She's so fucking sexy when she gets a little shy like this…

More than ever, it weighs on me how I'm the first man who' s experiencing her like this; I'm the only man whose ever been privileged enough.

My hand ghosts up the side of her bare thigh, and I tug on a crooked grin. "You don't have to say yes, baby. Your silence told me all I needed to know."

She flinches in embarrassment, though she lets out another laugh. "I didn't expect you home so soon."

"So what you're saying is, when I'm not here, you walk around in your undies reading word porn?"

"Logan Cutler, if you don't stop!" She slaps me across the shoulder, then nudges her way to freedom. Hopping off the stool and back onto her feet, she walks into the kitchen. "What do you think about drinking the rest of that bottle of White Oak tonight?"

"I think I'm wondering what happened to the sweet church girl in the sundresses."

"She's still in here. But tonight she's on vacation."

My pulse beats faster at the borderline fucking naughty smirk she shoots me. Forty-five minutes later, we're settled in the living room, the bottle of White Oak sitting in the middle on the coffee table.

Teysha's still got no pants on. I'm still enjoying the view.

I bring my glass of whiskey to my lips, sampling the smoky flavor, my attention on Teysha. She's telling me about the time she was fifteen and her mother caught her with a naughty romance book under the mattress of her bed.

It's amusing in more ways than one.

Teysha's still trying to explain why she was reading the book she was; she's telling me the romance genre is mocked but some of the books are the best she's ever read. I'm nodding along every so often, soaking up the fact that I have her all to myself .

I have her undivided attention and she's comfortable enough to let her passion flow.

It's yet another sexy thing about her—she speaks with conviction as she tells me about the books she likes. Though I don't know a damn thing about romance books or most books in general, if it's important to her, then it's worth listening to.

"How about we head to the bookstore tomorrow and pick you up a couple new books?"

Her eyes widen. "I have Blazing Passions. I'll just reread it."

"Nah, we'll go. It's a different scene for me. Maybe I'll pick up a book too."

"There's always the Bible."

"Don't push it," I warn, the corner of my lip quirking.

"I'm going to get you to read a few passages one of these days." She gets up with her phone in hand, her thumb flicking across the screen as she scrolls. "You know what this occasion calls for? Music!"

I'm a serious man. More serious than most.

I'm not known for my dazzling, panty-dropper smile the way Cash is. I'm not the type to be joking and laughing like Ozzie.

But it's impossible to be serious when Teysha puts on music and begins dancing around like a fucking lunatic. She throws her arms in the air and sways her hips as the bubbly pop song plays. I don't even know what the song is, just that it's got an annoyingly catchy chorus.

"You gonna tell me what you're doing?" I ask.

She picks up her glass of whiskey, still swaying her hips. "Enjoying myself. Is that allowed?"

"It is so long as I get to watch."

Teysha takes me up on the challenge. She tastes some whiskey and rocks her hips. Her gaze hooks mine as her body moves with the beat drop.

It's the sexiest fucking thing I've ever seen in my life.

It's in how her eyes gleam and she bites away a smile as if daring herself to keep going despite shyness creeping in. She shakes her ass like no one's watching in panties that hug her hips and show off her smooth thighs. Her round ass bobs enticingly in front of me like it's a fucking snack to feast on.

One I can't wait to sink my teeth into.

All the damn sundresses in the world can't disguise a body like that.

But what's really the icing on the cake is how she has fun with it—how she glances over at me and the shine in her gaze sparkles, like she's aware how goofy it is that she's gotten up to start dancing. She keeps going anyway, dancing her heart out to the music.

Both making a moody asshole like me laugh while turning me on all at the same time.

"When was the last time you got up and danced?" she asks breathlessly.

The song changes to something slower, a female voice crooning about heartbreak.

Teysha drops to the sofa cushion, still clutching her glass of whiskey, a light dew about her complexion from dancing so much.

"I don't dance," I say.

"I'll get you to dance," she insists, smiling wide. "One of these days, I'll convince you."

"You think you'll get me to read the Bible. Now you think you'll get me to dance. Keep going and you're gonna end up real disappointed."

"We'll see."

"You want to take that to get fixed? Tomorrow when we go to the bookstore?" I ask, jutting my chin at the piece of jewelry on the coffee table.

It's Teysha's golden cross. The chain's still broken from when Abraham slashed it the night me and the Kings raided the Chosen Saints compound. Teysha's kept the necklace close at all times even though it's been broken; she's been carrying it in her pocket and fiddling with it whenever anxious.

For a brief second, we both look at the coffee table where the cross lays amid a tangled golden chain.

"I would like that," Teysha says finally, her tone quiet.

The hyperactive energy she had just minutes ago has mellowed out. We sit across from each other sipping our drinks and realizing the silence is a comfortable one.

And when we have something to say, we do.

"You mentioned your mother was religious," Teysha says.

"Yeah, very. She was a good person. A loyal Christian."

"Can I ask why you aren't religious like she was?"

I think about it a second, then shrug. "I've got a hard time believing that there's some guy in the sky that oversees everything. But for some reason he still lets bad things happen to good people. Same question but reversed. Why are you so into it?"

Teysha sets down her glass of whiskey and folds her legs like she had them when I walked through the door. "Because it's nice to know there's a higher power greater than myself. That he sees us all and loves us just the same. That he's there when I need him. Even when times are dark and I have no hope left. He's always there for me."

I spent years sighing and rolling my eyes every time Mom dragged Mace and me to church on Sunday. I slouched in the church pew as the pastor rambled through his sermon and my imagination wandered to sports or what girl I liked in school.

The older I got, the more hostile to it I became. It served as nothing but a reminder of Mom, and how God had allowed her to be so senselessly killed in an act of violence. The very last thing I wanted to think about.

I didn't want to focus on the guilt that I should've known how special Sundays were to Mom before she passed away. I should've been more open, more present for her.

If I shut it off and viewed it in a hostile lens, then I never had to go there.

But hearing Teysha's answer to the question pulls at something deep inside me. It's so earnest and pure, I can only nod in respect. I can't help wondering if I ever could be that damn trusting and hopeful.

Teysha's been through hell, yet somehow she manages to…

In its own way, it's a strength I don't have. The strength to experience adversity—some of the greatest evils this world has to offer—and still somehow have faith in what's good.

"Do you believe in the supernatural? Ghosts? Spirits?" she asks after another few beats of silence.

I'm brought out of my runaway thoughts. I nod, polishing off my whiskey. "I do."

" You ? Ghosts?"

"Ghosts are different. You ever see one of those candid ghost hunter videos? That shit is real."

Teysha's laugh is so melodic it competes with the music playing from her phone. "Wait a dang second, Logan Cutler. Are you telling me you believe in ghosts but not in God? "

"Not the same. Do I need to pull up YouTube?"

"Ever seen one?" she asks, so amused her eyes sparkle. She reclines on the couch, stretching out those damn shapely legs of hers.

"Why would I tell you? You'll laugh."

"And you say I'm shy!" she teases. "Go on. Tell me."

I blow out a sigh, both irritated but engaged in our conversation. "Alright, fine. If you really wanna know, it happened when I was nine. Mace was seven. We were staying the weekend at our grandparents ranch in West Texas. We loved it ‘cuz we got to feed the horses and fuck around on all that acreage. Used to chase each other for hours. Our grandma warned us about going out at night. We were supposed to be in bed by ten."

"But…" Teysha prompts, trialing off.

"But," I continue, "we obviously didn't listen. A cousin of ours, Jimmy, had told us the old barn that was no longer in use was haunted. We wanted to find out for ourselves. So, Mace and me, we waited ‘til they went to bed. Then we went exploring in the dark. Just me, him and a lantern."

Her eyes widen. "You went into the old barn?"

"Sure did. We'd only been there a minute when the flame in our lantern suddenly blew out. There was this chill that blew over us. Mace squeaked like a fucking mouse. Pretty sure he covered his eyes and damn near pissed himself. But I kept my eyes open… then I saw her."

"A ghost?!"

"This woman in a ratty old dress—completely see-through—came out of the darkness. She flew straight at us like she was about to hit us over the head for disturbing her."

Teysha's hands come up to her mouth. "What did you do?"

"Got the fuck outta there," I reply with a gruff laugh at the memory. "Lit a fire right under our little asses. We never ran so fast. We were beside ourselves by the time we made it up the house. Never went back to the barn again."

"And Mace thinks it was a ghost too?"

"He claims he didn't see anything. I always remind him it's ‘cuz he covered his eyes like a pussy."

She draws her knees to her chest. "I've never seen one. But I think they could exist. Are you afraid of them?"

"I'm not afraid of anything."

She rolls her eyes. "It's alright to be afraid sometimes, you know that, right?"

"Alright, I wouldn't want to run into one in the middle of the night. But if I did, I'd do what I had to do."

"Logan Cutler, you're afraid of ghosts!" she accuses with a fresh giggle.

"I told you, Steel Kings aren't?—"

"I have a phobia of blood. And needles. And the dark and quiet."

Setting down my empty glass, I reach for the bottle of White Oak in the middle of the coffee table. "Is that why you want to sleep in my bed every night?"

"I like being near you," she answers. "It makes me feel better."

…that's 'cuz you've gotten attached when you shouldn't have…

I cut off that negative thought, fighting against its sabotage. I've let thoughts like this rule me, pushing Teysha away, deciding it was best if we separate.

I'm not sure what I think anymore, but I'm trying to be in the moment. Enjoy our time together for what it is.

Teysha's attachment to me will have to be addressed another time.

I point at her half empty glass as I pour thirds for myself. "I'm impressed you've been handling that so well. You'll build up a tolerance in no time."

"Since I drank whiskey, you should read the Bible."

"I don't remember striking that deal."

"You might enjoy it. It might remind you of your mother."

"I'll pass."

"If you ever want to, you can read mine. If you ever need it."

"I won't. Now how about you turn that Spotify playlist to something good?"

"Only if you dance with me." She grabs at my hand to pull me up off the couch.

I oblige. Briefly.

I don't really dance. It's more like she dances around me, grabbing at my hands to pull me into the moment and entice me. My arm hooks around her hips to hold her close, enjoying the way her body sways against mine.

Enjoy the chance to peer down at her smiling face.

It's an hour past midnight by the time we drag ourselves to bed. We've finished the bottle of White Oak and made the most of each other's company, tipsiness and all. We settle in bed like has become our routine—fresh off hot showers, lying close in the dark, the sheet strewn over us.

Teysha yawns as she begins drifting off before me.

I grin as she babbles about romance books as if she's forgotten she already told me all about them. Still a lightweight, the whiskey tends to have that effect on her. She's out in the next few seconds, and I'm left confronting the truth.

Teysha said she likes sleeping in my bed because I make her feel better.

The truth is, I feel the same, listening to her soft breaths and feeling her supple body against mine. I fall asleep looking forward to waking up to her sleepy smile in the morning.

"When I said a couple books, I meant make it quick."

Teysha bows her head and avoids eye contact, though the little curl of her lips tells me she knows what she's doing. She knows she's guilty as charged.

We're at the Book Nook late in the morning. She's circled the shop floor at least three times, stopping at different shelves, pulling out books to flip through them, then sliding them back into place.

I was patient for the first twenty minutes. But as the hand on the clock approaches noon, I'm ready to refuel my tank with some food. She's got five more minutes before I carry her out caveman style.

Because it's Sunday, the store sees steady foot traffic. The little gold bell hanging above the door chimes every time someone wanders in or walks out.

"I can't decide," she says with a book in each hand.

"Then get them both. Toss them in." I gesture to the hand basket I'm holding that already has a modest pile of books in it. "You'll probably read through 'em fast. The more books you get today, the longer it is 'til I have to bring you back."

Teysha snickers as she drops both books in and joins me at my side. We head to the front of the store. The cashier has just finished checking out the redhead in front of us. She shuffles off with a large shopping bag full of books, making way for us to step forward.

Being the bright and sunny woman she is, Teysha strikes up a conversation with the cashier. I'm busy tapping my card to the card machine and pressing the buttons on the screen.

"All good to go," the cashier says. "I double bagged so your books should be nice and secure."

Teysha's thanking her. I'm cracking open my wallet to put away my card.

The door chimes open and the moment flips on its head.

Time slows to a glacial pace. I look up in time to meet the dark eyes of the man who's walked in and just pointed a gun at us.