25. Teysha

25

TEYSHA

I'm like a new woman come morning. The fever I was running has broken, and my stomach's as settled as it can be after spewing up its contents. I open my groggy eyes to Logan asleep at my side, our legs intertwined. The sight makes my heart thrum an extra beat.

For a few seconds, I don't move at all, savoring the moment. How peaceful and at ease he looks, his muscled chest rising and falling with every breath. His expression's vacant, like he's entrenched in faraway dreams. His features look no less strong—his nose a large, straight slope, his chin prominent and defined, but it's his mouth I'm stuck on. Lips that are soft and commanding, wielding the power to make my head spin. That feel so good on me, it's unreal.

I stretch out my hand and touch his cheek like he's done to me so many times.

Even now, it's crazy to think how much my life has changed in such a short period of time. This man lying beside me is my husband, who I've made a union with under the eyes of God, and who I've come to care about.

Just the feel of his warm flesh reminds me I'm safe. I've found the person I've spent my lifetime wondering if I ever would.

It happened under dark and disturbing circumstances I never imagined possible, but sometimes life is a contradiction in that way. Sometimes, the most beautiful bond can emerge from the ugliest trauma.

Logan might not see it yet, but I do. He's fought it every step of the way, but on some level, he senses the truth. We're meant to be together.

His breaths deepen. His head jerks to the side, his steely blue eyes opening at once. I don't shy away from smiling good morning at him, my hand still resting on his cheek.

"Sleep well?"

He blinks a couple times, coming out of his sleepy state. Then rasps out, "I should be asking you that question. Feel better?"

"I do. Thanks for being there."

He grabs hold of my hand that's on his cheek, tucking it inside his own. "It never should've happened in the first place."

"I didn't choose?—"

"What I mean is," he chimes in, cutting me off, "I never should've let you leave. What happened—what almost happened—it's all on me."

"I don't blame you."

"That's the problem. You're too good. Too damn pure-hearted, baby."

A pleasant warmth spreads over me at his rasp, his words. It's like being wrapped up in a blanket of love and comfort, even if he's unaware the effect he has on me. I soften against him, scooting closer, wanting to be as close as someone can be to another human being.

For a while we lay silent and still, both aware it's the final moment we'll have for a while. The entire day's ahead of us, and we've got to make our journey back to Pulsboro.

Logan strokes his thumb over each small swell of my knuckles as if he's counting them up. He's really in deep thought. Probably thinking the same thing I am.

This feels nice. It feels safe lying together like this.

Intimate .

We've often shared in these moments at the apartment. Late nights and slow mornings.

Something tells me Logan secretly treasures them as much as I do.

He finally brings my knuckles to his lips for a kiss of the back of my hand. His last second indulging in the quiet moment before moving on. He gets up to check the time and use the bathroom.

I do the same, sitting up, realizing I'm still in his shirt. He'd offered it to me to sleep in. After I'd shed my dress during my vomiting marathon. I've changed back into my dress when the toilet whooshes and he emerges from the bathroom.

"Where's Ozzie?"

"You don't remember much from last night, do you?"

"Sort of happens when you're running a fever and about to cough up your insides."

"He's in the adjoining room."

Logan walks over to the door linking our room with Ozzie's and pounds a fist to it. Ozzie's answer sounds garbled through the door.

"I'm up! I'm up!"

"Meet us downstairs in five," Logan says.

We grab food from the diner like Logan promised last night. We're heading out to where the bikes are parked when it occurs to me how we'll be getting home .

It should've been obvious considering I rode on the back of one to get to the Lone Star Motel.

But I'd been so out of it, I hadn't given the ride much thought. I'd clung to Logan like I'd turned into a backpack strapped to him.

I slow up as we reach the polished blood-red paint job and chrome that sparkles under the morning sun. Logan kneels beside the saddlebag, placing our few belongings inside. He juts his chin up at me.

"You good?"

"Your bike," I say, swallowing. "It's how we're getting home?"

"We're damn sure not walking."

Ozzie's already mounted his bike, a chrome beast just as big as Logan's. "Teysha, tell me you're not about to yak again."

"How did you know?"

"I heard you through the motel room wall." Ozzie winks at me, grinning as he squeezes his handlebars and revs his engine. "Glad you're feeling better, by the way."

"Here," Logan says, standing up. He drops a helmet over my head, then checks that it's secure enough. "That feel okay?"

"Yes… but…"

"Baby, it's the only way we've got to get home. You'll be safe, alright?"

Hesitantly, I nod. The helmet feels heavy and large, my neck aching. "Alright. But please don't go too fast."

"Move with me and hold on tight. I'll handle the rest. We'll be there in no time."

Logan does that thing again, where he squeezes the skin on my arm in affection. It's become yet another gesture of comfort. The unease pooled inside me recedes even if only slightly. I climb aboard behind Logan, feeling strangely small on such a large, rumbling bike.

He glances over his shoulder at me one last time before we take off. I understand the silent question he's asking and tighten my arms around his stomach, confirming I'm ready.

We're speeding off within the next few seconds. Ozzie goes first, turning out of the parking lot of the Lone Star Motel and the nearby diner. Logan comes up the rear, his bike like thunder as it crashes onto the open roads.

I focus on my breathing. Each breath in and out at a steady pace. My rapid heartbeat gradually slows, returning to normal.

The warm morning air blows past us, surprisingly refreshing on the parts of my skin that are exposed.

We remain behind Ozzie, a wide berth between his bike and ours. Logan's measured in every move he makes, demonstrating what a skilled rider he is. I've placed my hands on his chest, the muscled wall its own form of comfort. He's firm and invincible.

He's showing me there's nothing to worry about.

I relax into the ride. The scenery whizzes by. Along the way, we encounter other trucks and cars. We heat up under the blaze of the summer sun and rising temperatures.

Natural instincts take over my body. I learn exactly what Logan meant by move with him. My body leans in tune with his, my thighs secure astride the back of the bike. Eventually, I'm comfortable enough to let my hands slip to his waist.

I let myself glance at the brown landscape we're crossing over. The faraway towns we're passing by. The patches of dead grass and wildflowers and deep valleys that lead out of sight. I'm inundated with the sensory details like the sticky air and the vibration the bike gives .

I'm enjoying the moment for what it is. A couple hours on the back of a Steel King's bike.

The helmet I'm wearing serves as a disguise for the bright smile that comes to my face.

I wouldn't mind going on more rides like this. Just the two of us.

Before I know it, the ‘Welcome to Pulsboro' sign pops up on the shoulder of the road.

We're home.

Ozzie parts ways with us, turning down a different street to head to the trailer park where I'm told he lives.

I feel dizzy by the time my feet touch solid ground. Logan turns to wrench off my helmet, grinning as soon as our gazes link up.

"All good?"

I smirk myself. "All good."

"What would your mama and grandmama have to say? If they could see you now, what would they think? Riding on the back of a dangerous biker's motorcycle?"

He's teasing me. I giggle as he scoops my hand in his, and we walk up the steps to the apartment. I can't even pretend Mama and Grandma Renae wouldn't be mortified. They'd probably pass out. Mama would probably wind up in tears, crying about how she raised her daughter better than to do these kinds of things.

But I've been coming to the conclusion that not everything I was taught was right.

Not for me.

Growing up, I learned from an early age I was supposed to follow what Mama and Papa told me to do. I read the Bible every day and behaved myself at all times. I crossed my t's and dotted my i's. I did all the things they said a good girl— an honorable Christian woman —should do .

And, in the end, I discovered none of it mattered. I was punished anyway.

I was taken because of it.

One evening, I found myself kidnapped. Tied up in the back of a truck, transported to some place where I was made to do vile things that almost destroyed me.

But I've survived. I've made it out alive, and I've fallen for the man that helped me through the darkest time of my life.

He's showing me how to live. Day by day. Moment to moment.

He's shown me there's a whole world to explore. Other ways of life to experience. All of it I'm doing by his side.

I squeeze his hand, laughter threaded in my tone. "If my mama saw me on the back of your bike, Logan Cutler, I think she'd melt into a puddle of tears."

"Yeah? And you don't care?"

"I don't give a damn."

It's his turn to laugh as we step through the door. "Fuck, it's so sexy when you swear."

"Then maybe you should join me in the shower. Maybe you can fuck me."

His thick brows raise in immediate interest. His expression goes slack, like he's so thrown by my suggestion it'll take him a second to catch up.

Five minutes later, we make it a reality.

I'm pressed up against the tile wall as Logan claims my mouth. His hands grope my breasts and hips and thighs. He fondles my pussy—a word he forces out of me as he bites my lip and orders me to tell him what he's doing to me.

I shudder, so delirious from the pleasure thrumming through me that it's a challenge. Basic speech feels like an accomplishment .

"My p-pussy," I stammer out with another shudder. "Oh, please… touch it some more…"

"Touch what, baby?" he growls.

"My pussy!" I squeak, and he laughs, rubbing me some more. "Yes, touch my pussy. Fuck my pussy. I want to feel you."

"Yeah?"

"Mhmmm."

He slips his fingers inside me, pumping them in and out. He sucks on my neck, his large body like a wall that keeps me trapped against the bathroom tiles. The shower sprays hot water on us, wetting my already slippery pussy.

I find his heavy erection and begin returning the favor. My hand feels small in comparison, wrapped around his veiny, velvety girth.

We come almost at the same time, with Logan's fingers deep inside me and mine encircled around him. He makes no attempt to free me, keeping me pinned against the shower tiles, smashing his lips to mine in another heated kiss.

"You are so god damn sexy."

"Even with my shower cap on?"

"Especially with your fucking shower cap on. Sexiest fucking shower cap I've ever seen," he grunts, teasing me like only he can. He can barely keep from grinning as he nips at my neck, and I giggle.

It's one of many showers.

A new ritual of ours, we make lengthy, X-rated showers a thing more often than not. We mark a lot of other places in the apartment as X-rated too—Logan's insatiable appetite becomes a regular occurrence where sometimes he must have me then and there.

Against the kitchen counter. Bent over the living room sofa. In the hallway on our way to the bedroom. Once on the balcony late at night when we're certain everybody's asleep.

The intensity of his desires is startling at first.

I've never been in a relationship that's sexual before. The few guys I've dated have never gotten more than a handhold and a few kisses out of me. I'm not prepared for what the libido of a healthy, testosterone-riddled adult male entails.

But I quickly discover I love it. My appetite for him is equally as insatiable.

I learn all the different ways to feel pleasure. My body awakens to the many good feelings Logan can draw out of me.

The pussy throbbing. Heart pounding. Deep shudders and curled toes.

I'm a tingling, dripping, writhing mess whenever he's through with me.

I'm speechless the first time he buries his head between my thighs and his mouth does things to my pussy I've only ever read about.

"My fucking gorgeous wife and her gorgeous fucking pussy. I want a taste."

I can only moan for the next few minutes to come. His warm tongue traces every fold, every inch of flesh. It pushes into me and makes me arch against his face. My thighs squeeze together, instinctively trying to trap him where he is, where he's bringing me a level of pleasure that feels unreal.

He responds by nibbling on the inside of my thighs. His beard's rough and coarse on the sensitive skin. His breath so heavy and ragged, it's yet another way he's driving me closer to the edge .

I fall apart like I've got no bones. My body goes limp, and I scream his name for the neighbors to hear. He comes up, his lips slick with evidence of me, and kisses me to silence. He thrusts his tongue into my mouth and then tells me how good I tasted.

A shiver racks through me at my scent on his breath. At the way he's made me feel so womanly and desired.

We settle into bed, already on the cusp of sleep. I'm feeling loose and lazy, the orgasm Logan's given me better than any sleeping pill. He pulls me closer, his arm slung over my hips, and brushes his lips to my brow.

"I might need to go away again."

Seven words that do the opposite of the orgasm—they jolt me all the way awake.

I tip my head up for a glance at him, my eyes going wide. Familiar worry churns in my stomach, queasy sensations I've hoped wouldn't return.

"Go away?" I choke out.

"We've got trouble brewing. Abraham's still out there."

"But maybe you can just… leave him out there. So long as he stays away."

"It's more complicated than that, baby. We know he's got ties to the Barreras."

"The men who had me at Zapote?"

Logan nods, squeezing my fleshy hip. "They were selling you to him."

" Selling me!?"

"They're in the flesh trade. Almost all cartels are."

A feeling I can't place worms through me. Some kind of combination of disgust and terror. I process it for a second—or do my best to—and then murmur the only question that seems to make sense.

"Then does that mean I was… the fi rst time?"

"It's possible," he answers. "It's possible that's what happened to the both of us."

" Oh ."

The word puffs out of me in a breath that makes my lungs feel like they're on the brink of collapse. I'm not sure why I've never thought more about why I was selected when I was. I haven't let myself think much on that evening where I'd wandered onto the parking lot of the Sunny Side Up like I'd done dozens of times before.

I'd wait a few minutes for Grandma Renae to drive by and pick me up.

Instead, somebody else altogether showed up. A white van crashed onto the scene and men jumped out to grab me. I couldn't fight them off. I could barely scream before I was being smacked hard enough to see stars and then dragged away.

The traumatic scene fades before my eyes with my next blink.

Logan squeezes me closer against him, sensing I'm upset. "It makes sense that's what Abraham and the Saints have been doing—they've got to get their people from somewhere. You remember that wine they used to make us drink?"

"That tasted funny..."

"It was spiked with something. Probably courtesy of the cartel too."

"It made it so hard to… to stay awake. So hard sometimes to… move." A ticklish sensation hits my throat, making swallowing difficult. "Sometimes I'd wake in Abraham's bed and… and… I couldn't do anything but lay there… as he…"

A sob cuts me off. I bury my face in him, my tears hot. Logan's muscles clench against me. Otherwise, he's gone still. He's peering up at the ceiling fan as it whirs around. The steely blue shade of his eyes has darkened.

He lets me grieve what's happened, taking however long I need.

Then he does something he's rarely done. He tells me what it was like for him.

"The same thing happened to me," he says, his tone lacking feeling, like he's forced it away. "The wine made it hard to think. Hard to do much. When I did fight back, I paid the price for it. I refused to give in for a long time. Then… then eventually… I realized I had to. I had to do it. I did whatever Mandy wanted me to do to her. I did whatever Abraham told me to do to others."

"You were there for years. You did what you had to to survive," I sniffle. "I don't know how you lasted. I couldn't have."

"I almost didn't. More than once. Including the afternoon I escaped. I was about to end it… end my life. Then I saw the truck unattended and I went for it."

The blood chills in my veins. "I didn't know that."

He points at a scar on his throat, half obscured by the stubble that's grown in. "I tried to slit my throat."

"Logan," I croak, tears rushing to my eyes. "Why would you ever… why would you do that?!"

"'Cuz I was a fucking coward taking the easy way out," he answers, his dark expression reflecting his internal conflict. "I couldn't handle knowing I'd failed… that he was doing what he was and there was nothing I could do. So I was giving up."

I can't even speak. My voice has gone out to make way for the cry that bubbles out of me. Thinking back to that point in time, I'd never guessed what he was going through. I had no clue what he was about to do …

"I made a shiv from a hunk of wood I found. I sharpened it to a point. All I needed was a moment alone."

"You wouldn't speak to me," I whisper, vision blurred from tears. My throat's gone tight, my heart aching. "You wouldn't even look at me."

"I was ashamed," he admits, scrubbing a hand over his face. "I had failed you, Teysha. I promised you'd escape with me. I told you it was gonna be alright. But it wasn't alright. I couldn't protect you. And I couldn't compartmentalize anymore. I couldn't be there knowing what they were doing. Truth be told, I don't even fucking get why you're here. How you don't hate my guts."

Suddenly, it all makes sense. His detached behavior and hostile mood swings. He'd tried his best to push me away, not because he was disgusted and angry with me. But because he was disgusted and angry with himself. This entire time he's blamed himself for what happened.

I throw my arms around him and bury my face in his chest. The sob bursts free, trembling out of me as I spend a second reminding myself, he's real. He didn't go through with it. He's lying with me in bed and we've been given a second chance at life.

"I never," I murmur between breaths, "Logan, I never blamed you. Not once. You kept me going. Don't you see how you've saved me? Don't you know that you were my only comfort?"

"Shhh… don't work yourself up, baby." His palm glides along the swell of my hip as though he's not only reassuring me. He's doing the same for himself. "It's alright. I didn't tell you that to make you upset."

"But you need to know. You need to understand why I… why I…"

…love you .

I lose my voice a second time as the realization seizes me up. It brings even more tears, the gravity of it almost too much to comprehend.

"Don't cry, baby," he coos, holding me close. "I didn't do it. I couldn't. ‘Cuz I've got to make sure he'll never come back. I've got to destroy him for good. That's why I might have to go away again."

My lungs twinge from the cries I've let out. "I wish there was another way."

"There is no other way. I've got to destroy him. Him and the rest of the Chosen Saints. I'll do anything to make it happen. Even if I don't make it out this time."

"But…" I pause to force a breath, trying to keep calm. "But… you have to make it out."

I don't know what I'd do if you didn't…

"The club will make sure you're taken care of," he says. "Mace knows. Silver too. Everybody will look after you. Or you can return to Boulder. Make a new life for yourself there."

"My life is with you. My future is with you. We'll survive it together."

The corner of his mouth twitches like he's endeared by my commitment. "I love that about you, you know that, right? Your hope. Your fucking never ending optimism. Even if it also drives me batshit sometimes that you are."

"Then you should be more like me. More optimistic."

He laughs, the sound rough and hoarse. "Maybe that's what you're for. Maybe that's why you've been brought into my life. To make a grouchy SOB like me a little bit less angry."

"You make me braver. You make me feel…"

Safe.

Seen .

Loved.

Logan lets me trail off. The silence does our work for us, communicating things we're not ready to voice aloud. My epiphany about my feelings and possibly his too.

I distract myself with his tattoos. The many shades of ink marring his skin and their different meanings. He's still studying the ceiling fan as it spins so fast it's a blur.

"You ever gonna go back to school?"

"Hmmm?"

"You were taking classes, weren't you?"

"Oh," I say softly. "Yes, before that happened."

"You should start them up again. Next semester."

"I don't know about that."

"It'll be good for you. You should finish your education. It's important."

I scrunch my nose at him. "You've never taken any classes."

"So? I'm a Steel King. We're not the studious type. But you… it'd be good. What were you majoring in anyway?"

"Don't laugh."

"Now I'll be sure to." He squeezes my hip in warning.

I curl into him, stretching my arm over his stomach. "Biblical studies."

"Why am I not surprised?" he laughs.

But it's not a mocking laugh. It's a laugh born of affection. It's a laugh that makes me laugh too.

"You know I read some of your Bible. While you were gone. I saw it on the nightstand, so I cracked it open."

"You did!?" I squeak, more excited than I probably should be.

"Yeah, a whole passage. It only made me think about you more. Which is the worst thing you can do when you're already missing somebody. "

"You missed me?"

"What did you think would happen when you're so damn gorgeous and perfect and sleeping in my bed every night?"

"Then I should be here every night from here on out."

His eyes gleam as they meet mine. "After Abraham's gone. Then… maybe we can figure out a future for us."

It might sound uncertain, but coming from a brooding loner like Logan, it feels like confirmation of what I've sensed is happening. He's falling for me in the same way I've fallen for him; he's already fallen for me in that way.

He just won't let himself admit it and be happy 'til the threat's eliminated…