23. Logan

TWENTY-THREE

One second,I'm standing between Jared's knees, basking in the afterglow of delicious mutual blowjobs. The next second, I'm being shoved under the table with my dick still hanging out in the open.

My knees hit the floor, pain radiating through the joint and up and down my legs. My head connects with the edge of the table, making me see stars. I end up sprawled on my back… with my fucking dick still hanging out in the fucking open.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

I don't know who's shouting that—me or Jared. Probably both of us. Not that it matters. Bullets are flying into the cabin, splintering wood and shattering plates. Even the feathers in the fucking duvet are floating up into the air.

"Logan, your pants!" Jared yells at me. His dick is already safely tucked away, jeans zipped and buttoned like I hadn't been slobbering all over it mere minutes ago.

God-fucking-damn it! I shake my head, trying to clear away the stars and scramble to pull my underwear and joggers up before any of the sharp things flying around can detach my dick from my body.

Jared's shouting into the walkie-talkie. "All units, come in. All units, we are under fire." When he releases the talk button, all we get back is static. He glares at it like he can will someone to respond. They don't.

"Where are they?! Where's the backup?" Everyone spent days reassuring me backup would be minutes away—no seconds away. And that there was no possible way Alonzo could make it all the way to the cabin undetected. He'd have to pass a series of agents who will radio us a warning. We won't be caught with our pants down.

It would be funny if it wasn't so goddamn ironic.

Jared's jaw is set. His eyes are hardened. He looks like the man I first met in the abandoned industrial facility. The one who could rip apart bad guys with his bare hands. The one who wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet in some villain's head.

He's scary as fuck like this. But also hot as hell.

My heart races. My breath hitches. It's hard to tell whether I'm reacting to the barrage of bullets flooding the cabin or to my inappropriately timed lust.

"What do we do?!"

A bullet hits one of our bowls of chili. The ceramic shatters, sending shards raining down over the edge of the table. Clumps of cold, congealed chili land in wet plops on the floor.

Curled into a ball, with my arms over my head, I stare at the red splatter. That was our dinner. Our perfectly normal, entirely unexciting dinner. During which we traded blowjobs. Now there's a bullet mixed in with the beans and tomatoes.

What if it had come through the window a few minutes earlier? What if we'd dragged the sex out for a few minutes longer? Then the bullet wouldn't be lying in a puddle of chili. The bullet would be lodged in me.

"Logan!"

My head snaps around at the sound of my name being shouted in my ear.

Jared's holding the barrel of a gun, shoving the grip toward me. "Do you remember what Victoria taught you?"

Victoria? What did she teach me? It takes a few seconds for my brain to connect all the dots and for the memories to come flooding back in. Victoria and the gun range.

"Yeah, I think so." I nod, taking the gun.

I wrap my right hand around the grip, just like Victoria showed me. Then cradle the butt with my left.

"Good. Exactly like that."

The gun is heavy, the metal is cold. My hands start shaking. Fuck. Fuck, no. Learning how to shoot in a gun range is one thing. There are lanes and a clear target, safety glasses, and sound-dampening earmuffs. It's controlled and orderly. And even then, I could barely shoot straight.

How the hell am I supposed to shoot anything out here? Hiding under a table while the cabin is being riddled with gunfire. What the fuck am I supposed to shoot at? How the fuck do I aim?

Suddenly, hands grab my face and Jared smashes his lips against mine. The kiss cuts through the panic and fear that have seized me, giving me something real and solid to focus on, to cling to. Jared. He's here. He knows what to do.

I melt into the kiss a little, my lips moving against his. I can't help the whimper that escapes me when he breaks it off.

Jared stares down at me, brows furrowed in determination, eyes blazing with purpose. He's tough, battle-tested, courageous—and he's "the one". I have to believe that's enough. Love will save the day. Love always wins.

"Stay under the table. Stay quiet. Only shoot if someone comes at you."

I nod frantically, scooting backward so I'm closer to the wall. "What about you?"

Jared swivels around, looking out at the rest of the destroyed cabin. His sister is going to be so pissed at him when this is all over. How do you even repair that many bullet holes?

Jared looks over his shoulder at me. "Stay here," he orders one more time, as if I'm fucking going anywhere.

Then he darts out from under the table. I almost shout, "No!" before his instructions about staying quiet have me biting my lips shut.

He dives behind the couch, grabbing the duffle bag full of guns and ammo along the way. He rips it open and pulls out a bulletproof vest with the letters FBI emblazoned across the chest. He slips it over his head and tightens the straps around his side.

Good. That's good. That will keep him alive if he gets shot.

Then he pulls out a second one and looks at me. "Catch!" The vest comes sliding across the floor in my direction before getting caught in a chair leg. "Put it on!"

I brace myself, count to three, then scramble forward to grab the vest and yank it back. My hands shake as I try to get it on, and my head goes into one of the arm holes twice before I manage to position it correctly. By the time it's on and I'm huddled back against the wall again, Jared's extracted a giant ass gun from the duffle.

It's the type they use in the military, or on SWAT teams. An assault rifle or something. I had no idea we were packing anything like that. It makes me a little sick to think that the thing was in the car with me. It was sitting on the floor in the middle of the cabin, like it wasn't a weapon used to kill as many people as quickly as possible.

Jared handles the gun with a calm collectedness that's entirely inconsistent with the fact that we're under siege. He checks the gun or puts bullets in it, or whatever, and the sound of metal sliding against metal fills my ears. Then he sets the butt of the gun against his shoulder.

With his back against the couch, he glances toward me again. This is it. This is when we fight back. Alonzo has somehow gotten the jump on us, but that won't stop Jared from taking the asshole down. And he'll do it single-handedly if he has to.

I give him a nod, hoping it looks more reassuring and encouraging than I feel. He gives me a nod back. Firm. Decisive. Focused.

The next time there's a lull in gunfire, he pops out from behind the couch and fires out the giant hole where the window used to be.

Shouts sound from outside. Someone cries out in pain. Curses.

Then he ducks back down as more bullets come our way. One of them hits the floor lamp, ripping right through the lampshade. The light bulb shatters with a loud pop and the fizzing crackle of electricity. We're plunged into semi-darkness with only the flickering firelight from the wood-burning stove and the headlights from the cars outside. Cars we never heard approaching.

I blink a few times as my eyes adjust to the darkness. I can see Jared's shadow as he emerges from behind the couch to return fire. I really fucking hope he hits at least a few of the bastards out there. They'd deserve it. Every single fucking one of them.

Jared ducks for cover and moves along the length of the couch. At the far end, he drops down onto his stomach and belly crawls toward the front of the cabin. As he passes the stove, the fire light illuminates his face. Fierce. Dangerous. Intense.

He flattens himself against the front wall, the top of his head just barely covered by the window ledge. Then the world slows.

I can't watch. But I can't look away.

There's another lull in gunfire and he pops up like before. The business end of his gun flashes as bullets catapult out of it and Jared's body jerks as he absorbs the impact of the recoil. He ducks down under the window again, but he doesn't move fast enough.

A bullet makes contact with his shoulder, just missing the edge of his vest. I swear I can see it disappear into his body right before he's thrown backward. The momentum of the bullet makes him twist in midair. The gun flies out of his hands, sliding across the floor and lodging itself under the couch. Jared lands with a resounding thump that shakes the entire cabin.

No. No, this isn't right. This isn't what's supposed to happen. He's supposed to be invincible, bulletproof. He is supposed to charge out of the cabin and take down all the bad guys. He isn't supposed to get shot and bleed out on the floor.

I want to run across the cabin to Jared. He needs to put pressure on the wound. We need an ambulance and the hospital. But I can't move. All I can do is shrink back against the wall as sheer terror paralyzes me.

The racket of gunfire dies, leaving my ears ringing. The eerie and suffocating silence is broken only by the light crunch of boots on snow.

Someone's coming.

I bite my lips to keep myself from making a sound. I bite so hard that I taste a bit of copper on my tongue.

The front porch creaks under the weight of a single footstep. Then another.

Jared groans and I watch with fear and hope as he tries to push himself off the floor. Yes, yes, he can do it. He can still grab the gun and fight off whoever is coming for us.

He turns toward me and the light from the fire makes his golden brown eyes glow amber. He brings his hand toward his mouth, a finger on his lips. He doesn't want the bad guys to know where I am. It's dark enough that they might not be able to find me.

He pulls himself toward the gun just as a crash sounds. Something rams against the front door, and it flies off its fucking hinges. It lands between Jared and the gun. It's too late. They're here.

A boot appears. That's all I can see from under the table. A gunman cautiously enters the cabin. He approaches Jared and uses his foot to knock Jared onto his back.

Another set of boots comes through the doorway. They stop just inside the threshold before pivoting toward Jared.

"Well, well, well, look what we have here." That greasy lilting voice sounds like fingernails on a chalkboard.

I suppress a shudder as a fresh thread of fear winds its way through me. Alonzo Adams has found us. He took the bait. But rather than snare him, he's managed to bite the worm off the hook and swim free. Where are all those backup FBI agents? They were supposed to form a perimeter. They were supposed to be watching the road. Where did they all go? Has Alonzo killed them all?

"Fuck you," Jared spits at Alonzo.

His responding chuckle grates at my very soul. "Oh, I don't believe I'm the one you like fucking, my dear Agent Sable. You appeared to be having quite a good time when I first arrived. In fact, you should be thanking me for allowing you to… finish… before I made my presence known."

My stomach twists when I realize what Alonzo is saying. He saw us. He watched us. That was a private moment, an intimate exchange only for me and Jared. And now Alonzo fucking Adams has violated something so tender and precious. Bile rises in my throat. I'm going to be sick.

"Ahhh!" Jared launches himself at Alonzo. Or at least he tries to. He doesn't get far before the overly large buffoon swings his foot and his heavy boot sinks into Jared's stomach.

I almost cry out, but instead more copper explodes on my tongue.

"Hmm, speaking of which, where is that lovely little firecracker of yours? Search the place."

I shrink back even more, wishing there was some way I could disappear into the wall. That or have the courage to go charging out there to save Jared. Instead, I'm stuck in this corner, curled up in the fetal position, hoping the bad guys don't find me.

It doesn't work.

The goon circles the cabin, checking under the bed, then the bathroom. His boots meander along the kitchen cabinets, drawing closer and closer. They stop right at the edge of the table, and for a second, I think I might actually escape his notice.

No such luck.

He squats down, face ducking under the table, and he immediately pins me with his dead eyes. We stare at each other as the seconds tick by. If he's waiting for me to crawl out from my hiding place, he's stupider than he looks. If he wants me, he's got to come get me.

His eyes narrow. "He's got a gun."

At first, I'm not sure who he's talking about. Himself? Alonzo? Yeah, I know they fucking have guns. Then I realize he's talking about me. I have a gun. The heavy piece of metal I've been clutching for dear life. It's a gun and I supposedly know how to use it.

"Then take it from him," Alonzo says, voice laced with derision. He doesn't think I'll fire. He doesn't think I have the guts to pull the trigger.

The goon's gaze darts down to the gun, then back to my face, clearly trying to assess whether I'll do it. I know the instant he decides I won't. His lips quirk like I'm some kid, playing at being tough. Then he reaches one long, beefy arm toward me.

There's a flash of light. Then a bang goes off. I'm jolted backward and the acrid scent of gunpowder fills my nose.

In front of me, the bad guy's mouth hangs open. His eyes are wide as he turns to look down at his chest. There's a small hole in the front of his winter coat with fluffy down feathers sticking out of it. He slaps his hand on top of the hole as he collapses onto his side. His next breath is ragged, wheezing, then it stops. Nothing. He topples onto his back, limbs limp, mouth still open, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.