5. Logan

FIVE

My boyfriend is a lyingliar who lies. And I'm the idiot who never thought to question a single thing he told me. Why didn't I? Why didn't I think it was weird he never shared anything about himself? Where he grew up. Who his parents are. Whether he has siblings. What he does for work.

Everyone kept telling me I needed to, but did I listen? Nope. I blindly followed my gullible heart and tumbled head over heels in love with a complete fucking stranger.

I never thought those things were important because I thought I knew Jay's heart. I knew the way he looked at me, the way he touched me, the way he spoke to me. I saw love in how he treated me—but did I? Was any of it real? Was it all an act? Have I been living in la-la land this whole time?

I stomp my feet and tug the collar of my coat up a little higher. It's only seven in the evening, but it already feels like the middle of the night. We made plans to eat at this cute little restaurant I found online a few weeks ago. They're supposed to have really good lamb chops and Jay was excited to try it when I mentioned it to him.

But that was before I found out that he is lying, cheating scum. And now I've been standing outside the restaurant in the dead of winter for almost twenty minutes, waiting for him while I freeze my cute little ass off.

He wouldn't make a very good spy. Spies need to be on time, don't they? Or maybe he's a serial killer. They wouldn't necessarily work according to a predictable schedule. They'd want to catch people off guard. Unless that woman he met is his beautiful wife and he's already having dinner with his beautiful secret family.

God, I hope he's not some closet case, using me to scratch his dick-itch. I stomp my feet again as my stomach churns at the thought. Has he turned me into the other woman? Am I a homewrecker now?

Fuck.

Sawyer had swung by and picked us up after Jay and that woman drove off. The ride back to Brooklyn had been quiet, too quiet. I know Everest and Sawyer were trying to be considerate, but I almost wanted them to keep cracking their stupid jokes just so I'd have a distraction.

We ended up at the bar down the street from Mars Fitness and they helped me drown my sorrows with fruity martinis. Other Mars staff showed up after the gym closed, so now everyone and their mother knows what a naive moron I've been.

I woke up with one hell of a hangover today, alone in a bed that still smells a little like Jay. I might have hugged his pillow to my face for several minutes, just breathing him in, but I'll deny it if anyone ever asks.

I hate him.

No, wait, I don't hate him. I love him. I hate what he's done, hate that he's lied to me, hate that I was so eager for him to be Prince Charming that I let myself be duped. And despite having been made the fool, there's still a tiny part of me that's holding out hope. Maybe he does have a good explanation. Maybe this is only a big misunderstanding.

I remember the morning after we first hooked up. How the pillow still smelled like him, like us, like sex. It was the hottest sex I'd ever had. The dirty talk and the hard fucking. Yet his touch was so gentle. He made me feel so safe, so treasured. I thought it must have been a fluke.

When he came over the second time, he proved that it definitely, absolutely was not a fluke. We have chemistry that is not only off the charts, it would break the charts altogether.

The first time he spent the night and I woke up the next morning in his arms. That was the first time I suspected I might be in love with him.

The first time we went on a date. I stole some fries from his plate and he was outraged. It was so cute. The time we went to see Wicked and then couldn't stop singing Defying Gravity all weekend. The nights we spent at home, curled up on the couch with glasses of wine and a movie playing in the background.

Was none of it real? Was it all fake? Did I really fall in love with a fraud? With an illusion?

"Logan!"

I spin around and despite my anger, despite the hurt he's inflicted on me, my breath still catches and my heart still does that little somersault when I spot him.

Tall and wide, with dark hair and a day's worth of scruff. His breath fogs as he jogs up to me wearing a cheerful grin. It creates a cute little halo around him. All I need now is some extra snow on the ground and Christmas decorations on the storefronts, and we'll be smack dab in the middle of a Hallmark movie.

"Sorry, I'm late. You got my text, right?" He plants a kiss on my lips and pulls me into a hug. "Why are you waiting out here? They wouldn't give you a table?"

I savor the feeling of his arms around me. The delicious earthy scent that isn't his aftershave, his cologne, his soap, or any combination of the three—it's just the way he naturally smells. The scratch of his perpetual five o'clock shadow against my cheek reminds me of all the places he's given me beard burn—and how much I admired those marks the day after. He's a bit taller than me, not so much I need to crane my neck, but tall enough I can easily rest my head on his shoulder. His broad, muscled shoulder.

Damn him. How dare he be so perfect and irresistible when I need to break up with him? He's not a good person—I can't forget—he lied to me.

"Hey, you okay?" Jay holds me at arm's length, ducking his head an inch to study me. His wide smile holds a touch of concern. "What's wrong? Did something happen?"

My unconscious response is to shake my head, no, but then I remember that yes, there is something wrong. I end up turning my head in all sorts of directions that make no sense. "Damn it."

"Logan?"

I take a deep breath, suddenly nervous for some unknown reason. "Yes, there is something wrong."

Jay's smile drops away and his face transforms in a way I've never seen before. His eyes become super laser-focused and hard. His grip on my arms tightens painfully, even through the thick layers of my winter coat. His lips press into a firm, intimidating line.

He looks scary, and I take an involuntary step backward.

I don't get far.

A blur of black-on-black flies across my peripheral vision a second before I'm knocked off my feet. It feels like I'm flying through the air, and during those airborne moments, fabric is pulled over my ears and my arms are wrenched behind my back.

I land on something hard—not the ground because it bounces a little under my weight. My shoulder takes the brunt of the impact and pain explodes down my arm and up my neck. There's commotion around me, voices, jostling, then the characteristic sound of a van door being pulled shut and the screech of tires.

I'm thrown, hitting my shoulder again. My head snaps backward and connects with something solid and metal. It's hard to breathe with the rough fabric over my face. It's thick and dark, blocking out all light. The van drives fast, not slowing down for turns, and the momentum tosses me around like a rag doll. I can't use my hands to brace myself. Whatever's binding them behind my back digs sharply into my wrists.

It's only been seconds, and yet everything's moving in slow motion. There isn't enough time to react, but I feel every jolt, every knock, every bang. What's going on? Did I just get kidnapped? Where's Jay? Why is this happening?

"Logan? Logan!"

"Shut up! No talking!"

"J—Jay?" I call out tentatively, only to be rewarded with something blunt and hard making contact with my temple.

Then nothing.

Everything hurts. My head throbs. My shoulder aches. My hands are numb. My mouth feels like it's full of cotton. I groan and the sound of it echoes in my ears. The cloth bag over my face is gone now, but the way I'm lying on the floor, on my stomach with my hands tied behind my back, makes it hard to breathe.

I blink. Then blink again. I can't see anything. It's too dark in the room. I squeeze my eyes shut, then try one more time. I can't see anything. There's not one single stray ray of light anywhere, no windows or cracks under a door. Nothing.

I try to roll over, but it's so much more difficult when I can't use my hands. Pain shoots through my shoulder when I put weight on it, and the hammering in my head is so sharp, it steals my ability to breathe.

What the fuck is happening? Did I get abducted? Where's Jay?

The more alert I become, the more it dawns on me that things are not okay. This is not a dream. This is not my imagination run wild. Someone grabbed us off the street, threw us into a van, and now I'm tied up on the floor. Could this be a practical joke? A prank gone horribly wrong?

It must be. It has to be. My life is not an action-adventure movie. I'm not some strapping hero. I'm not John Wick or Jack Reacher or James Bond. I'm just a lowly juice bar barista.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Hello?"

The single word echoes through the room. It's probably big, with high ceilings. The floor is cold and feels like concrete. I'm pretty sure I'm alone in here. "Hello?"

A sliver of icy cold fear threads through me, slicing me down to the bone.

Jay wouldn't have anything to do with this, would he? Did he figure out that I was following him and had me abducted? Maybe he is a serial killer. Maybe he's worse.

Unbidden, tears stream down my face and my sinuses fill up with snot. This is my fault. If I hadn't agreed to the stalking. If I had just kept my ass in bed that morning. Then none of this would've happened. I wouldn't have found out that Jay's been lying to me. I wouldn't have been standing outside the restaurant, fuming at him. He wouldn't have had me kidnapped.

I let out a very undignified yelp at the first scrape of metal against metal. It's coming from behind me. I could turn my head to look, but fear has me paralyzed, lungs seize in terror. A dim light shines in, moving across the darkness as the heavy metal door creaks open. Footsteps click against the floor, the sound reverberating off the walls. They stop some distance away… and that's it.

They don't step around me. They don't speak. They're silent and invisible for so long that I almost wonder if I'm imagining them.

"Hello?" I try one more time, in barely a whisper.

The lights come on. Bright and glaring, stinging my eyes after I've been lying in the dark for god knows how long. I hiss and squint, white-yellow splotches dotting my vision before my eyes can adjust. More footsteps, then rough hands grab me by the arms and haul me upright like I'm nothing more than a doll.

The sudden change in position drains all the blood from my head. My skull throbs and the room spins and my stomach threatens to empty itself.

"Please, I haven't done anything. I don't know anything. Please, you have to let me go. I won't tell anyone this happened. I don't know what you look like, I promise."

The words spill from my mouth, a tumble of pleas that come from I don't know where. I sob. Everything hurts. Fear grips me so tight, I'm pretty sure I'm going to hurl.

A figure emerges from the shadows—just barely. It's a man, tall and skinny and still mostly shrouded in darkness.

"H—hello?"

"Hello." His voice is deep, with an accent I can't place. And even with just two syllables, it's unmistakably menacing. This man is dangerous. I know it in the depths of my soul.

I didn't think I could be more afraid—I was wrong. This man turns the very blood in my veins to ice. I'm frozen. I can't breathe. I think I might pee myself.

Two huge, muscle-bound men approach. Their boots are massive. Easily twice the size of my face. They grab me by the arms and suddenly I'm dumped into a chair. My body has decided to nope out of functioning and I almost nosedive onto the floor again. Rough hands catch me at the last moment and shove me back into place.

"Logan MacDonald. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

I can't answer. My brain doesn't work anymore. He knows my name. How does he know my name?

Argh, what kind of question is that? Of course he knows my name. He's a villain. Plus, he probably looked in my wallet, which was in my coat pocket, which I'm not wearing anymore.

"Hmm." The man chuckles and the sound is pure evil. "I must extend my apologies on behalf of my associates. It appears you've been caught up in something rather unpleasant. A bit of collateral damage, if you will. Although, now that you're here, you may prove to be quite useful. Yes, I do believe you will do quite well."

What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I really don't want to find out.