24. Logan

24

LOGAN

Death might be waiting for me inside Zapote. I rush toward the bar's rear door anyway.

Locked.

The knob jiggles when I grapple with it, refusing me entry. I back up several feet to gather momentum, then throw my whole body weight at the door. The wooden barrier shakes against its frame, almost budging under the force I'm using.

I repeat the collision two more times, slamming my shoulder into it. If it's painful, I don't feel it—adrenaline buzzes through me. I'm one-track minded. My only purpose in life has become breaking this fucking door down and getting to Teysha.

Summoning what strength I've got left, I crash into the door again, finally cracking it open. Before even giving a thought to what could be waiting for me, I bolt inside. Opting for the more silent and stealthy weapon, my hand fumbles for the hunting knife strapped to my side. I keep my eyes peeled for the first sign of her.

…or the scumbags who she was with .

A guy coming out of the restroom almost walks right into me. He stumbles back, his eyes going wide with surprise as I rush past him.

The back half of Zapote feels like a funhouse with its tight turns and smaller rooms. I shove aside a curtain cordoning off one of these rooms only to find some brunette on her knees, sucking somebody off.

Miguel was vague describing tonight's festivities, but I knew exactly what was going on.

Initiations are infamous in motorcycle clubs and other gangs for a reason.

The Barreras cartel is no different.

The women that drop by bars on nights like tonight are around for one purpose only.

Panic screams from the inside. Silent torment on the outside. The only sound I'm capable of are the labored breaths I take and the throaty grunts I give. Sweat drips down the side of my face as I come up on the last room.

A stockroom not unlike ours at the Steel Saloon.

Cases of beer and alcohol are stacked six feet high, along with other unneeded things stowed away. I almost turn back 'til I catch scraps of dialogue.

"Hold her down."

"Hurry up."

"You'll get your turn."

It's the last words either of them ever speak. The last fucking breath they take as I storm inside and jam the blade of my knife into them. The first piece of shit gets stabbed in the back of the head. I'm able to pry the knife out of his skull in time to slit the other one's throat.

Teysha's been pushed up against a table, her dress bunched at her waist. Her eyes are wide with fear, the rest of her trembling .

She's in one piece.

I made it in time. I stopped it from happening.

The relief's so powerful it makes me lightheaded.

"We should get the hell out of here," Ozzie says from somewhere behind me.

It's enough of a wakeup call to pull me back to the present moment.

I hadn't even realized he'd followed me inside. Giving a nod, I grab hold of Teysha by the hand and sprint for the door. We make it all the way onto the dusty lot before Miguel or any of the Barreras catch on to what's happened.

Our engines rumble starting them up. We blast off into the night without looking back.

The next time we stop we're in Portales. We come up on some truck stop diner and motel that we decide to rest up at. Teysha's sick and out of it and could barely manage on the back of my bike. Whatever the hell she drank at Zapote fucked her up big time.

Ozzie tosses a key at me. "Adjoining rooms. Figured three's a crowd."

"You figured right."

"How's she doing?" He juts his chin at her.

We're in the parking lot of the Lone Star Motel. Teysha's slumped over the back of my bike, her tangled hair half covering her face. All the wind from the ride has messed it up even more than it already was.

"Not too good," I sigh.

"A couple hours of rest will do wonders. Sunup?"

"Sunup. "

We part ways outside our respective motel room doors. Ozzie steps into room 310 while I guide Teysha into 311.

You've been to one fleabag truck stop motel off the highway, you've been to them all. The place reeks of cigarettes, and the box AC unit in the window kicks out hot air instead of cold. There're four channels available on the TV and dust and grime wherever you look.

Far from the best accommodations but good enough for a couple hours of rest.

I glance at the dusty clock radio perched on the nightstand.

It'll be another five hours before sunrise. That should be decent time to recover.

"You alright?" I ask.

Teysha's plodded a couple steps into the room, then collapsed on the closest piece of furniture. It just so happens to be the desk chair with a broken wheel at the bottom.

She shakes her head, her expression unreadable. Beads of sweat shine on her brown complexion as if she's been running a few miles. Considering it's seventy-five degrees out and she was on the back of my motorcycle, braving the wind, it doesn't make sense.

…unless she's sick.

All the pieces click together when they need to. Another second, and she'll spew everywhere. I hook an arm around her waist and walk her into the bathroom.

Nobody likes throwing up.

Not the person throwing up. Not the other person standing by watching.

Damn sure not me.

But there's no other option as we make it to the bathroom and Teysha rushes for the toilet. We get the lid up a split second before the toxic contents come sputtering out. The room fills with the thick sounds of retches and gags as she kneels beside the toilet and spits up what's making her ill.

I'm no caretaker. I'm not the thoughtful kind of guy that's cared for family or girlfriends while they were sick. Mostly because I've never been around when they have been. Nobody's ever been sick with the flu and thought I was the person they wanted to look after them.

Why would they when I prefer to be far removed from most people?

I'm more of the loner type for a reason.

My nature emerges as I stand idly by and listen to the soundtrack of Teysha's retching.

Her whole body quivers. She clings to the toilet bowl like it's a lifeline, sweaty and tearful all at once.

Fuck.

Do something.

Unsure how I can even make a difference, I approach slowly and then kneel beside her. My hand comes to her back, feeling how her very spine vibrates. Whatever it is that's got her this sick is bone deep. It's got her spitting up her insides 'til nothing's left but bile.

"Hey, it's alright," I say. "Just get it all out."

"My… hair…" she croaks.

It takes me another half a second to get what she means. I cup her dark chocolate strands away from her face like my hands are a ponytail holder. She bows forward again to yak up more bile. Yellowish green liquid that makes my own stomach churn.

I shove aside any beginnings of nausea and focus on getting Teysha through the moment.

"Here," I say, getting up to grab one of the motel's complimentary little paper cups. I fill it with water from the sink and then bring it to her chapped lips. "Drink. Rinse. Seems you've got the worst of it out."

"Th-tha…"

"Shhh, just drink."

Another few minutes pass like this. With me kneeling beside her at the toilet as she comes down from the sickness. Then I ease her to her feet and mention the shower.

"At least none of it got on your dress."

The corner of her lip quirks. "Hooray."

"I'm being serious. You're a pretty neat vomiter, all things considered."

The slow blink she gives, her long lashes fluttering, almost makes me laugh.

"My compliments need some work. Alright, let's get you in the shower."

Teysha's obedient as I unzip her sundress. The fabric falls to a heap at her ankles. I help her step out of it and into the bathtub.

Concerned she's so dizzy and sick that she'll slip and fall, I wait on standby every second she's under the showerhead. As soon as she's reaching to twist it off, I'm ready to wrap her up in the biggest bath towel available. She shudders stepping into it, giving me a grateful nod.

"You want to wear my shirt to sleep in?" I offer. "Considering we've got nothing else."

"I want some toothpaste and a toothbrush."

"That might be out of our scope for now. But I've got some gum."

"Anything to take away this vomit breath. I can taste it."

My thumb strokes her cheek before I catch myself and drop my hand. "Yeah, alright. Take what's left of the pack. "

It quickly becomes undeniable that I'm all over the place.

I'm caught between the urge to take care of her and the anger and frustration at what's happened tonight. The fucked-up shit that could've happened had I not shown up when I did.

The relief it didn't runs so deep I'm lightheaded. Then the next second comes and my temper reemerges.

How could she be so reckless? How could she put herself in that situation? Does she realize I was just about to lose my fucking mind over her missing?

These are the questions I'm asking myself, bitterness materializing.

Finally, she swivels away from the bathroom mirror and pads back into the rest of the motel room. I'm still perched by the window. I cock a brow at her.

"Rinse your mouth out enough times?"

"I think so… for now."

"Feeling better?"

She releases a deep sigh. "For now. My stomach still feels queasy."

"Hopefully it'll pass. We'll grab some food at the diner next door before we take off."

"About tonight… Logan…" She pads over to the edge of the bed to sit down, her bare feet so damn slender and feminine looking against the grungy, decades-old carpet. When she sits down, her knees touch, her hands in her lap like she's in fucking etiquette school.

It couldn't be more obvious this girl's too good for the Lone Star Motel. She's too good to be caught up in… this .

She shouldn't be in shitty motels or smoky bars. She shouldn't even be married to me in the first place.

These are my thoughts as she pauses collecting hers.

She braves a look up at me. "I didn't expect you to show up. But thank you for rescuing me."

"Seems to be a theme."

It's the first brutal cut of the bitterness I've been holding in. Anger and frustration have been boiling under the surface for hours now.

More proof that this girl has gotten to me.

I wouldn't be so pissed otherwise. She put herself in such a dangerous situation. She might as well have strolled into a fucking lion's den…

All because she refused to return home. All because she wanted to go off wandering where she should've never gone.

She flinches as if struck. "I'm sorry."

"That also seems to be a theme."

"It's not what you're thinking."

"Then tell me, Teysha, what the fuck is it? 'Cuz from where I'm standing, it looks a lot like what I'm thinking."

"If you're going to raise your voice?—"

"Do you understand what you did? How damn lucky you were I came by when I did? You get what was gonna happen at that bar? You know what an initiation into a gang means? You know what women have to do to get in?"

"You don't even know my side of the story!"

"I don't need to know it to know it was a fucking stupid decision!" I'm up on my feet, the veins throbbing in my neck. My pulse kicks up all over again like we're back at Zapote.

I'm an intimidating man. Six-two, two-ten pounds of muscle.

When I'm angry, everybody knows about it. They hear it in my booming voice and feel the hot pulse in the air.

For someone as sheltered and naive as Teysha, I might as well be some barbarian from another world .

She shrinks like a violet where she's seated on the edge of the bed, blinking at me with those damn big, expressive eyes of hers. Eyes the color of coffee. Eyes that carry a shine in them like no other when she's happy and content.

Things she deserves. Things she'll never have if she keeps fucking around where she shouldn't be…

"Don't you get it?" I growl, throwing my hands up. "Don't you see how I'm trying to protect you from all the shit out there? But you can't do what I tell you to do—you've gotta run off and make trouble and then expect me to bail you out. I didn't sign up for this. I didn't ask for you or your baggage!

"You think you can play house and expect me to just go along with it! You've got no damn clue what it means to be married… let alone married to a guy like me! Why can't you just listen and do what's best for yourself? Why can't you go home and heal so you can find somebody who can give you the things you want!?"

By the time the last word in my rant rumbles across the room, I'm breathing hard. I've taken several steps toward the bed where she's seated. I've waved my arms in sharp, aggressive movements like I'm at my wit's end.

And I am.

I don't know how else to get her to understand.

I'm not the man for her.

I'm not the knight in shining armor she's looking for. Why can't she want better for herself?

Teysha's fallen quiet, though her misty eyes and trembling chin speak for her. She's doing her best to hold in her cry. She's succeeding at making me feel like an even bigger piece of shit the second silence fills the void and I realize I didn't listen to a word she had to say.

Instead I yelled at her. I ranted and told her she was baggage .

The girl's still clammy from her bout of sickness. She doesn't feel well, yet I'm being an asshole.

Guilt saws through me to the bone. I bite down on my jaw, closing my eyes and counting backward from ten.

This girl will be the death of me. This girl means… something.

Something I'm not sure I'm ready to face.

"Tell me," I grind out seconds later, coming to my senses. "Tell me your side of the story."

She shakes her head, looking anywhere but at me. I cross the room and drop down next to her, scooping her hand up 'til it's in my lap and not her own.

"Tell me, baby," I say in that damn tone. That damn rasp that's gentler just for her. "What happened? Did they…"

I can't even get the fucking words out.

I don't even fucking know what I'd do if they did—I already killed the bastards.

But if they did… I'll hunt down their dead bodies and figure out how to slaughter them all over again.

"You interrupted before they could," she answers. "And I didn't go there by choice. I did buy a ticket to Boulder."

"They take you from the terminal?"

Slowly, she nods. "They grabbed me and told me if I screamed they'd kill me and my family. They flashed a gun and told me to act calm. We got on the bus to Jefferson and that's when they brought me to the bar. They were waiting on someone."

Abraham.

"But he didn't show up," she continues, wiping a puffy eye with the back of her hand. "Then they started feeding me drinks. But it wasn't like the drinks you've made me…"

The guilt I was already feeling magnifies by one hundred. Can I really be pissed with her? She told me she was leaving. She went to the bus terminal to go home.

I'm the one who didn't take her; I'm the fucktard who didn't check up on her to make sure she made it. Instead, I counted on the unreliable account of some clerk.

I waited hours before I even sent her a text. Ignored Sydney when she expressed concern.

This is on me.

We sit in uncertain silence for another minute. Teysha's busy studying the ugly shag carpet beneath her feet. I'm processing how wrong I've been.

I'm questioning what it means that I've gone off the way I have.

These feelings invading my chest can't be ignored. They can't be pushed aside or denied. They're quickly becoming an issue.

I can't walk away from Teysha; I can't even fucking stop caring for her the second she needs it.

She shivers from beside me and I put an arm around her in hopes I'll warm her up.

"Cold?"

"Just a fever… I think…"

"Probably whatever the hell they gave you. C'mere."

I wrap my other arm around her, half dragging her into my lap. She rests her head against my chest, her long lashes touching her cheeks as she closes her eyes. My nose winds up in her hair, greedily inhaling the flowery scent of whatever product she's put in. It's a scent that's come to ease any stress in my body. It's come to signify peace and calm.

It makes my heart feel like it's skipping a damn beat .

I swallow against the rush of emotion that threatens to take over.

Now is not the time to go there.

"Let's get you in bed. You should get a couple hours of rest. It'll help."

"Will you…" she trails off, seemingly deciding against whatever she was about to say.

But I already know. Because I've started to memorize every little thing about her—including her quirks.

"I'll lay with you," I say, stroking her hair. "I won't go anywhere."