29. Logan

29

LOGAN

By the time we're drawing our weapons, it's too late. The SUV that's opened fire on us speeds away, tires screeching in the night. I shoot at them anyway, chasing in their wake on foot. I keep up for the first block and a half before they outpace me.

None of my shots land, but I get a look at the license plate.

My heart thumps hard against my ribs, the air I husk out coming fast. For a wild half second, I consider pressing on, going after them. If not on foot, then by smashing the windows of the nearest car and hot-wiring it in hopes I'll catch them in time.

I shove a hand through my hair that's grown long up top and then turn back toward the saloon.

In my rush to go after the SUV and return fire, I hadn't grasped what else had happened. We'd all taken cover the instant they sprayed bullets in our direction. Silver had taken refuge by the bikes parked under the carport. Mace and I managed to duck behind my truck.

Cash wasn' t so lucky.

I return to the lot in front of the Steel Saloon to the jarring sight of him on the ground. A pool of blood surrounds him.

Chills wash over me. I sprint toward him and the others, my pulse racing all over again.

"What the fuck happened!?"

"They got him. In the chest," Silver answers. He's kneeling beside a blanching Cash, pressing a torn piece of cloth to the wound.

"FUCK!" I roar, swinging my arms in the air.

"911's on their way," Mick says. He's come out of the saloon's front doors clutching his phone, as pale as Cash has become. Everybody else inside the saloon rushed out with him, everybody on guard, weapons drawn.

I look over at Mace, who's gone borderline catatonic at his best friend's side.

I'm not sure if he's about to break down from the prospect of losing him or go on a murderous rampage. Knowing my baby brother, probably both.

The moment becomes a whirlwind. Police and paramedics flood the scene within minutes.

Cash is transported to the local hospital. We're left to loiter in the waiting room while he goes into emergency surgery to remove the bullet lodged in his chest.

Mace won't stop pacing the area, swearing under his breath. I step up to the plate, trying to be the support he needs.

"He'll be alright," I say. "You heard the ER nurse. It didn't pierce any major organs. Once they remove it and he's out of surgery, he'll be in the green."

"It never should've happened in the first place!" Mace spits. Veins dilate in his neck, his fists clenched. He paces another leg around the room. "It's those fucking Saints! This shit's over! We fucking annihilate them. No mercy."

Silver rises from the waiting room chair he's been seated in. He grips Mace by the shoulder in the same vain effort to calm him down. "How about some fresh air?"

Mace shrugs him off. "Don't fucking touch me! This isn't a joke!"

"Nobody said it was. But what use is exploding in the middle of an ER waiting room?" Silver asks.

"You might be acting prez, Silv, but you damn sure ain't Tom."

I scrub a hand over my face and turn my back to the rising tensions. I can't think straight with so much racket, so much fucking chaos around me. Cash was shot but I'm the reason they were targeting the Steel Kings in the first place.

It was Abraham seeking revenge. Possibly the Barreras. Maybe both.

They're not gonna let up 'til one of us comes out on top. 'Til I crush every last one of them.

I step outside for the fresh air Silver had suggested. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I discover I've got six missed calls and fifteen text messages.

Almost all from Teysha.

"Shit," I mutter under my breath.

Everything's happened so fast over the last twenty minutes there's hardly been time to process it all.

Teysha answers before the first ring's even over. "Logan," she gasps, "Logan, someone broke into the apartment!"

" What ?!"

"The door was open and… and the place was trashed inside. Everything turned over. Furniture broken. Things ripped off the wa lls."

"Teysha, get the fuck out of there!" I yell, charging forward. "I'm coming to get you!"

"We left. We went to Korine's place… but Ozzie just called her. Cash was shot?"

My muscles ache, contracting tight. I close my eyes. "Yeah, he's in surgery."

"Korine's in hysterics. Her mother too. We're on our way."

I hang up to the rustling noise of Teysha and the others piling into the car. I'm halfway convinced they need to stay where they are and half certain they should be with us. But there's no telling them to stay put. Not when Cash has been shot.

"This is a fucking mess," I swear under my breath.

It's early morning by the time Cash is out of surgery. The ER nurse emerges from flapping doors to let us know he's in stable condition. Two of us are allowed to see him. Mace and Korine make the most sense. The rest of us hang back and breathe for the first time in what feels like hours.

Exhaustion sets in. We look around the room and come to the same silent conclusion—it's been a long fucking night and we're all spent.

Teysha and I head home in strained silence. She's nodding off in the passenger seat. I'm caught between the fatigue that weighs down my eyelids and the rage that's bubbling under the surface. How can I rest when the Chosen Saints have once again come after somebody I care about? How the hell can I take a breather when Abraham's still out there?

He trashed our apartment .

Our home.

Teysha could've come home earlier, and he could've been there. Then what?

What the fuck could've happened if she'd walked through the door and he and his followers had been around?

The disturbing thoughts make me grit my teeth. My grip on the wheel tightens and every breath I draw feels labored.

It's happening all over again. It's spiraling like it has before.

Everything's beyond my control.

No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, it's never good enough. He persists. He remains an unstoppable force that'll do whatever it takes to crush me. Take everything from me. Hurt me.

Hurt Teysha.

I can see it coming. Predict where this is headed.

Abraham's playing a game. He's taunting me, letting me know he has easy access to my home whenever he wants it, and he can just as easily bring her harm again. He will if I'm foolish enough to give him the opportunity.

He'll do what he's always done. He'll take. He'll use and abuse.

I'm supposed to stop him. I'm supposed to be strong and capable enough to.

Yet here I am, fucking failing all over again.

I rush ahead of her on our way inside the apartment. There's a persistent throb in my skull, making it more difficult to think by the second. I've succumbed to the fury. The unhealthy blend of anger and anxiety that's got me feeling like a grenade about to explode.

The wreckage sprawls out in front of me. Teysha hadn't done the destruction justice—just about everything I own has been shattered and smashed.

All of it destroyed as a clear and unmistakable message.

This is not over. Far from it.

My hands clamp shut into tight fists. I stride through the carnage on a fresh pulse of anger, vaguely aware Teysha's my shadow. Though she hasn't uttered a peep, I know she's worried about me. Her energy's almost as tangible as mine. She's afraid I'll do something dumb.

She's right.

Thinking rationally has never been my thing during fits of rage.

"You've got to return to Boulder," I grunt from over my shoulder. "It's the only place you'll be safe. You'll be far away from… this."

"But we agreed I'd?—"

"I know what we agreed. Plans have changed. You've got to go."

"I want to stay here with?—"

"You can't," I snap, my tone harsher than I normally use with her. I spin around, the same rage throbbing inside me now clenching up my face. "Don't you get it? This is bigger than you and me. Lives are at stake, and I've got to handle this."

"What are you going to do?"

"What do you think I'm going to do? I'm going to fucking kill him! I'm going to massacre him and everybody else around him! All of them will be in pieces in a fucking grave by the time I'm through!"

She flinches at the raise of my voice. "But can't we… earlier I heard Silver mention the FBI's involved. Maybe they can handle it?"

"You've got to be kidding me! You can't be serious! "

"If they handle it, you won't have to risk yourself," she says, her eyes large and expressive. Imploring . She takes a cautious step toward me. "If you just calm down?—"

"You should want him fucking dead! You should want him to pay for what he did to you! What's the matter with you? You repeat these stupid fucking flowery words about forgiveness and healing, and you don't realize how weak and pathetic it sounds!" I rage at her, exploding at once. Heat floods me. My heart pounds in my ears. "Do you realize how pathetic it is that this piece of shit did what he did to you, and you still don't want him dead?!"

Her first couple tears roll free. "I can't… I can't wish that on him. Or anyone. It's not my place to?—"

"YOU'RE WEAK!" I roar in her face. "You're fucking weak! And he knows it—and that's why he did what he did!"

Teysha flinches a second time, this time like I've struck her. I might as well have. My words are that cruel. That low, cutting deep.

As soon as they leave me, I see my reflection in her dark, glassy eyes. I see an angry, vicious man raging at her like she's a stand-in for the person I'm really pissed with. The person I'm really speaking to right now.

Myself.

I was weak. I was pathetic. I was unable to protect myself—and Teysha—and Abraham knew that. He used it to hurt us over and over again. He's still doing it today.

Right now.

I have to live the rest of my life with the knowledge that I've failed. It's part of who I am. The blood circulating in my veins. The very oxygen I breathe into my lungs. I can never rid myself of the truth. That I'm some shell of a man, too weak to put up a real fight .

The ire inside me surges all over again, so damn unbearable I can't stand it. I can't live like this. I let out a roar that thunders around the room. Fists clenched, I spin around, itching to destroy the first thing within reach.

Whatever's left in my apartment that hasn't already been destroyed by Abraham and his Saints.

I rush into the bathroom and smash my fist into the mirror. The damage webs out across the glass. My knuckles split open, dripping blood.

Teysha screams in horror.

"Get away from me," I grunt, my breaths ugly and ragged. "You need to leave. You need to get away from me 'cuz you're not safe here. GO!"

I return for a second strike at the cracked bathroom mirror. More blood pours down my clenched fist. More shards of glass crack.

"Logan, please stop!" Teysha cries. "You're hurting yourself. You're getting glass everywhere."

"LEAVE!"

"NO!"

I slam into the broken glass a third time, savoring the sharp sting. Shards of all sizes peel away from the mirror's frame. A satisfying sight.

…until I draw back and discover a large piece sticking out of my hand.

Blood's everywhere.

My blood.

All over the counter. Splattered in the sink basin. Trickling down the inside of my forearm then dripping to the tiled floor.

I deserve it.

I go to pry the piece of glass from where it's lodged in my palm. The stabbing pain intensifies, forcing a grunt out of me. I can't get it out without risking slicing up my hand even more.

"Logan… please… let me see…" Teysha begs, her voice shaky. "Please… this is so much blood… please… Logan…"

She sounds on the verge of her own breakdown. I've driven her to it. Her tears and hoarse cries.

I blink, a woozy filter washing over me. Effects from losing so much blood so quickly. Leaning against the bathroom counter, I prick myself with other broken pieces of glass and growl at her to leave. For her to get the hell out and save herself.

Sweat clings to my brow. My hair's damp and limp.

I'm a fucking mess.

"Leave," I choke out.

"There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear. Because fear has to do with punishment," Teysha warbles out the bible verse, sniffling. She cautiously steps over the shattered glass and reaches for me. Her hand's soft touching my blood-smeared arm.

I shrug her off at first, but she doesn't give up. Her fingertips slide across the throbbing veins in my forearm in a soothing motion. The touch is gentle and considerate, like she's aware she must go slow or else I'll explode again.

But not because she's scared of me—because she's scared for me.

I realize this as she links my uninjured hand with hers. I look over at her. Pity's nowhere to be found. Neither is judgment or disappointment.

Just concern. Just… love .

"Fuck," I mutter as it hits me what I've done. The rage has been like alcohol that's intoxicated me. Now I've sobered up and seen the situation for what it is. My eyes clench shut, and I hang my head back. "FUCK! "

"It's okay," she says softly. "It's going to be okay, Logan. We just need to… we need to take you to the ER."

I don't put up a fight. I let Teysha hold my uninjured hand and walk me to the truck parked outside. She slides behind the steering wheel, adjusting the seat for our height difference. I'm in the passenger seat, weighed down by exhaustion. Still clammy and bloody.

The adrenaline that surged through me minutes ago is long gone. It's left me depleted, feeling like the energy's been zapped out of me.

I rest my head against the headrest of the seat. "Thanks. For putting up with me."

"We took vows. This is as much my fight as it is yours."

"But… I… the things I said… I was lashing out. I didn't mean to hurt you."

She glances at me before setting the car in reverse, a glimmer in her beautiful, expressive brown eyes. "Sometimes when you love each other, you hurt each other. Even when you don't really mean to. But that doesn't make me love you any less. We don't quit on each other, Logan. Ever. That's what marriage means."

I fall silent at the gravity of the words she's used. Words that ring as true for me as they are for her.

Love.

I need nineteen stitches to patch up the damage I've done to my right hand. The ER docs give me painkillers and release me on my way when it's all said and done. Teysha waits for me like the patient, kind, loving woman she is. She doesn't scold me, doesn't rub it in, doesn't say, "I told you so."

More than anything, she's relieved I'm alright .

We visit Cash in his hospital room, checking in on him before we head home. For the rest of the morning we're like zombies. We call an emergency locksmith and clean up what we can around the apartment before we tap out. Exhaustion sets in as we curl up in bed and take the time to recover.

But as spent as my body is, my mind's a nonstop machine. It churns out thought after thought that keeps me awake late into the morning, even as Teysha slips off.

I've checked and rechecked the last-minute locks that have been replaced on the doors and windows. I've strained my ears to pick up on the slightest sound, hyperaware of the possibility that Abraham could be out there at any moment.

At any time, he could be watching us. He could be waiting for the opportunity.

My gun's in the drawer of my bedside table. I've got a hunting knife under my pillow. There's a baseball bat in the far corner of the room, by the door.

The afternoon sun bursts through the curtains a couple hours later like a lifeline. It chases away the remaining shadows and unknown that looms around us. I convince Teysha to spend the rest of the day with Sydney, and Korine, driving her over to Mace's house.

I've got business to handle.

At least if she's with Mace and the others, I can be assured Abraham won't come across her should he return to our apartment.

I slide on my shades and mount my Super Glide. The engine warms up with a thunderous rumble. The sleek body vibrates underneath me. My grip squeezes down on the throttle and I'm off in a cloud of dust.

I have the Pulsboro roads to myself .

Sunday afternoon, everybody's either still at church or at home doing chores or spending time with family.

I cut across town 'til I'm on the highway.

The warm air runs through my hair. The sun beats down on me as it rises higher into the sky. There'll be no escaping its rays on a hot afternoon in July.

I ride the eighty-four miles outside Pulsboro 'til I'm coming up on Jefferson.

Sweat sticks my shirt to my back by the time I'm braking outside the Zapote bar. My leather boot crushes the gravel under me as I step off my bike and stride toward the entrance. There're a couple stragglers hanging around outside who look me up and down like they're on the verge of stepping in.

None of them do.

I shove open the doors to the dive bar, ready to accept what comes of this. I could be walking into another trap; I could live to regret returning to the place affiliated with my worst enemy.

But it's worth it, all things considered. If it means I'm closer to destroying Abraham, I'll do anything.

The hum of conversation drops off once everybody inside recognizes me. Members of the Barreras can only gape across the room then check for their leader's reaction. His is a lot more interesting.

Miguel Barrera quirks a brow, his lip curling. " Mira lo que arrastró el gato. ?A qué le debemos el honor? "