9. Logan

CHAPTER 9

LOGAN

The memory of Sasha licking the grease and salsa from his long, slender fingers flashes through my mind as I drive us back to Vlad's estate. Watching him devour those messy tacos with boyish zeal, chatting between mouthfuls, I almost forgot that he was a Solovey, mafia royalty. In that taco truck lot, he seemed like any other guy in his early twenties, carefree and ready for the next adventure.

But reality has a way of rearing its ugly head when you least expect it. The more I learn about Alexander Solovey, the more I realize his life is anything but carefree. It's a constant struggle to survive, and nowhere is safe, probably not even in his own home.

And a piercing realization penetrates my mind—some parts of me yearn to guard him from this storm.

I shake my head slightly, hands tightening on the wheel.

Can't let my guard down.

No matter how cute Sasha was twenty minutes ago, how human, he’s still Solovey.

"Hey, Logan! You mind pulling over at the retail park." Sasha's voice cuts into my thoughts, his accent crisp with urgency. He points to a shopping center coming up on the right.

I scoff. "What, so you can try and run again? Think I'm dumb, do you?"

"No, I promise I won't run off this time. Cross my heart." He makes an exaggerated crossing motion over his chest. "I only need to pop in and grab one thing. I'll be quick as a bunny, in and out. Pretty please?"

I let out a long sigh through my nose. Damn, this kid and his wheedling. How come I let it get to me? Plus those imploring green eyes and his bottom lip jutting out in an absurd pout.

"Fine," I grumble, flicking on the turn signal. "But any funny business and I'll cuff you to the steering wheel, capiche?"

"Sounds kinky." Sasha winks cheekily.

I can't believe what I just heard. Did he really say that to me? As someone who’s been single for far too long, I try not to overanalyze things like this. But it's hard not to be reminded of my dry spell when a young guy as handsome as Sasha makes a sexual joke. It just adds insult to injury.

"It’s a joke, you old fool," he supplies all of a sudden, perhaps not seeing a reaction he expected.

I can't fully suppress the twitch at the corner of my mouth. Little shit. "Who are you calling old?"

"You."

"Thirty-three is not old. Get that into your head. It’s the best age ever." Now I’m bullshitting.

"I’ll believe it when I see it."

I pull into the parking, as close to the entrance as I can. A twinge of unease prickles the base of my skull while I sweep the area, cataloging every car, pillar, and pedestrian. Can never be too careful in this line of work. Especially with precious cargo like a Solovey in tow.

"I’ll be right back," Sasha says climbing out of the vehicle. "You don’t need to tag along."

"I don’t think it’s a good idea," I try to argue.

"I literally need to buy some bloody underwear," he hisses out. "Don’t want you to breathe down my neck while I’m picking my knickers."

My instincts bristle with warning. I debate insisting on accompanying Sasha inside. But as I glance over at his eager, trusting face, I swallow the command. He seems lighter than I've ever seen him, an almost giddy energy thrumming through his limbs. How can I snatch away this small joy? Besides, he's been behaving lately. Mostly . With a terse nod, I motion for him to go. "Okay. But make it quick and keep your phone on you at all times."

He runs off without saying anything. And as a lithe figure disappears through the sliding doors, I send up a silent prayer I won't regret this momentary softness. In my world, it's the small mistakes that often cut deepest. And I’ve been making a whole lot of them with Sasha lately.

The digital clock on the dash ticks over another minute, each second ratcheting my anxiety higher. It's been too long.

No one takes thirty minutes to buy some boxers. Right?

Scenarios flash through my mind—Sasha slipping out a back exit, Sasha held at gunpoint by an unknown assailant, Sasha bleeding out on the expensive marbled floor of some dressing room...

Get it together, McKenna.

No, fuck this.

For the third time ever since Sasha left, I open the tracking app. Jaw clenched, I watch the blinking dot that represents Sasha hold steady inside the building. Just like it did minutes ago.

He hasn't fled. But something still feels off, a persistent itch between my shoulder blades I can't quite scratch.

Enough of this bullshit.

I grab my Glock from the center console, hide it under the waistband of my pants, and exit the SUV.

My strides are long and determined, eating up the distance to the entrance. The usual din of a busy shopping center envelops me as I enter. I tune it out, zeroing in on the signal from Sasha's tracker I’m watching on the screen of my phone.

My heart pounds in time with my footsteps while I navigate the crowded building. The bitter bite of adrenaline is sharp on my tongue. I shouldn’t have let him go by himself.

The path leads me to a secluded corner of the mall, a small seating area tucked away from the main thoroughfare.

And there, bathed in the muted glow of the skylight, I finally spot him. Perched on a piano bench, slender fingers caressing the keys, lost to the world. Lost to me.

I halt to a stop next to the column and for a moment I simply stare, drinking in this rare unguarded version of Sasha. He looks younger, transformed. The hard lines of anger and tension smoothed away by the music pouring from beneath his fingers.

Something tightens in my chest, a sensation I haven't felt in years, one I thought long scabbed over. One I'm terrified to examine too closely. Because in this life, in my reality, there's no room for such fragile, tender things.

So I simply watch, like a trespasser, along with a few strangers, whom he doesn’t seem to mind.

But the spell shatters as Sasha's eyes meet mine in the reflection of a large mirror on the wall. His fingers slam down on the keys in a discordant clash, his body going rigid with terror.

He's on his feet in seconds, snatching up his shopping bag and hurrying toward me, eyes wide and filled with fear. The silence stretches taut between us as he approaches.

"That was... pretty good," I finally manage, the words feeling clumsy and inadequate on my tongue.

"Thanks," Sasha mumbles, gaze downcast. He takes a shaky breath and starts walking. "Don't tell Vlad about this."

I frown, puzzled. "Vlad doesn't know you play piano?"

Sasha shakes his head, and I swear a shudder ripples through his lean frame. "Piano was never... welcomed by our father."

Understanding dawns, cold and harsh. "Your secret's safe with me," I reassure him as we march through the shopping center and toward the exit.

The relief that washes over Sasha's face is palpable, his shoulders sagging as if a great weight has been lifted. "Thank you, Logan. I mean it," he says, glancing at me over his shoulder.

I nod. The air between us feels charged, the boundaries of our relationship shifting in ways I'm not ready to acknowledge. I like this asshole. Well some parts of him. I want to do a good job, to keep him out of harm’s way.

"We should really head back," I say gruffly. "It's not safe for you to be driving around the city all day."

Sasha’s clutching a Hugo Boss shopping bag. He didn’t lie to me after all, and I can't shake the feeling that something fundamental has changed between us today. He’s not trying to get rid of me and I’m starting to enjoy this gig a bit more.

As we approach the exit, the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Instinct, honed by years of training and experience, whispers a warning. We're being watched.

We continue on while my eyes scan the crowd, searching for the source of the prickling unease. When they land on the glass doors ahead of us, a reflection materializes behind us. A male figure in a dark hoodie. I can’t tell his age but he was lurking by the piano too, observing Sasha play. At first, I took him for a regular guy.

"Logan?" Sasha asks, as if sensing my concern. "What's wrong?"

I keep my voice low. "Someone’s following us. We need to leave. Now."

Without waiting for a response, I grab Sasha's arm, guiding him through the exit. My grip is firm, unyielding, a physical manifestation of my determination to keep him safe. It’s the first time I’m holding him this close after that balcony incident at Vlad’s place.

Sasha stumbles slightly, struggling to keep pace with my longer strides. "Who? Who's watching us?"

"No idea," I growl. "But I don't like it. So just let me do my job until I’m sure you’re secure."

We burst out of the building and I steer Sasha toward the Navigator, every sense on high alert. Moments later, we are speeding away from the parking lot.