19. Logan

CHAPTER 19

LOGAN

I jolt awake, gulping down the night air like I've never breathed before. My heart is a drumline in my chest, hard and fast, echoing the throbbing pulse elsewhere. The sheets are twisted around me, damp with sweat or something else, and for a moment, I'm still caught in the vivid haze where Sasha's mouth was...

"Fuck," I curse under my breath, sitting up and shoving the traitorous images away. It's dark in my apartment, the kind of black that feels heavy, that swallows sound and sense. But it can't swallow the memory of his lips on mine, the heat of our bodies pressed together in the pool, the desperate cling of wet skin.

My jaw clenches, and the scar at my temple seems to pull tight, a physical reminder of past life when I was a cop. How easily one wrong move can bleed out into catastrophe. That's what this thing with Sasha is—an impending disaster, a wound waiting to open. Yet when he looked at me with those pleading eyes, something gnarled inside me unraveled, and I agreed to this insanity.

I don't know why.

I can't explain it.

The death of my mother is still possessing every corner of my mind and I blame this insanity on the grief, blame my lethal attraction to Vlad's younger brother on loss, loss that dulled my understanding of right and wrong entirely.

I swing my legs over the edge, feet hitting the cold floor as if to shock some sense back into my system. It's sorrow, yeah. No other explanation. Ma's gone, and there's no one to tell me to keep my head straight, to remind me who the hell I am—a guy who's supposed to protect, not get entangled with the very person I'm guarding.

But even as I rake a hand through my short hair, I can feel the trace of Sasha's fingers on my body, softer than any touch I've had in years. Desire rolls around my gut, slick and insidious, whispering seduction and sweetness and all the damn things that could ruin me.

I rise up and pace around my room for a bit, then grab my iPad from the dresser and flop into a chair in the corner. Minutes later, I find myself browsing through the online translators, looking up Russian words I have no business knowing, not when it comes to Sasha.

I spend a good amount of time, humoring myself with learning terms of endearment.

"Get your shit together, McKenna," I mutter into the emptiness of my room after a while. Setting the iPad aside, I stand up and move into the bathroom. The mirror there throws back a reflection that's all edges and ink, a map of mementos etched onto the skin. A man who should be made of steel, but flesh and blood have a way of betraying even the toughest facade.

The water runs cold over my hands, and I splash it onto my face, hoping to wash away the remnants of dreams better left unexplored. But water isn't enough to cleanse the stain of longing, of wanting something that's sure as hell going to burn me alive.

The drive to the mall is a blend of loud punk music clashing with my thoughts. It’s Sasha's favorite sound, the kind of noise that drowns out everything else. I let it wash over me, fill up the space where dangerous longing threatens to spill over. With every mile that disappears under the tires of my car, anticipation grows tighter in my chest, a silent countdown to the moment I'll see him.

But this time it’s on his terms, not on the terms of his brother. This time I’m not his shadow dressed in all black. This time I’m just a man in faded jeans and a T-shirt, a man who’s following the instructions he received in a late-night text yesterday when he got home from work.

At the mall, I park inside the lot and close to the entrance, then sit with my hands wrapped around the wheel, my mind battling with itself.

What if someone is watching me right now?

What if Vlad has people watching Sasha too?

My paranoia is so strong I can almost taste its bitterness on my tongue. But when I think about Sasha’s face and all the emotions his eyes held when he pleaded with me in the pool, my brain shuts off completely. My honor be damned.

When I finally arrive at the small clock tower where he’s supposed to be waiting for me, I spot him immediately despite the shades and fedora—the way he stands apart from the crowd, like he doesn't belong.

Frustration and worry flare within me, sharp and bitter. He should've known better than to come alone. Even if coming alone was the only way.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I whisper as I approach, struggling to keep my voice calm.

He smiles, but even behind the disguise, I can feel the weight of his gaze. "I'm hardly recognizable, am I? Besides, I needed some fresh air."

"Fresh air my ass," I snap back, acutely aware of the people milling around us, oblivious to the danger one person among them could potentially carry. But my instincts are good even today. "There are protocols for a reason. Your safety isn't a game. Why didn’t you bring someone?"

"Well, I couldn’t take Ivan for an obvious reason," Sasha retorts, and there's an edge to his voice that wasn't there before. "He’s not supposed to know I’m meeting you when you’re off."

"What about one of the guys your brother employs?" I’m furious that meeting me alone has made him a target, but I also understand how this would look. "You could have lied."

"Listen, I’m aware of the risks. But we both know no one, not even Vlad’s hired, gun needs to see me and you hanging out when you’re not on the clock. Plus, I was careful. I used staff entry. Topic closed."

I want to argue, to tell him leaving his brother’s place on his own was stupid. Instead, I grit my teeth and nod toward the exit sign. "Let's get out of here before someone takes note of the young lord slumming it with the commoner."

Sasha offers up a crooked grin. "Haha. Very funny." Then he falls into step beside me, and for a moment, we're just two people in a crowd, moving through the current of bodies toward the promise of something new, something forbidden.

"Where are you taking me?" Sasha asks, his voice lighter now as we reach the relative safety of the parking lot.

"Somewhere less public," I reply, keeping the destination close to my chest like a poker player with a royal flush.

"Should I be worried you’ll kidnap me?"

"No, silly. It’s a surprise."

"Oh, I love surprises." He claps. The fedora sits askew on his head when I look at him. The disguise is an amateur attempt at normalcy. Ridiculous. Yet inexplicably endearing.

Forty minutes later, the heat of Nevada greets us as we step out of the car at Lake Mead where waves of warmth rolls over the parched earth like an exhalation from the desert itself. The sun is a relentless eye in the sky, and the vast expanse of water is a mirror reflecting a world turned upside-down.

Fedora deserted, Sasha inhales sharply, taking in the sprawling lake bordered by rugged terrain. "I didn't even know this place existed," he admits, a rare note of wonder threading through his statement.

"That's because you don't get out much," I say, my gaze following the contours of his profile—sharp, yet somehow softened by the awe etched into his features. "So, you’re forgiven."

"Clearly, I've been missing out." There's a flicker of something in his eyes—a yearning for freedom, perhaps, or just the simple pleasure of discovering something new.

"Come on," I beckon, leading him toward the shoreline where the water laps gently at the banks, the sound a hushed whisper promising secrets beneath the surface. There's an air of desolation here, of beauty untouched but also unclaimed—a reflection of the distance that still lies between us, a hole filled with the presence of violent pasts. Both his and mine.

The boat rental shack is a rickety structure that seems to lean wearily against the backdrop of Lake Mead's expansive waters. I exchange terse words and sign a form with a disinterested attendant before we're handed life vests that smell like they've seen more summers than the lake itself.

"This lake was formed by the Hoover Dam." I toss the piece of information into the air as we settle into the modest boat, creaking beneath our weight. "It's the largest reservoir in the States when it's full."

"Really?" Sasha responds, his voice tinged with genuine interest. He fiddles with the vest, tugging at the straps.

"You know about Hoover Dam, right?" I ask with a smile.

"I mean I’ve heard of it. If you’re wanting to know if I know its history and all that shit you can find on Wiki, then you’re talking to the wrong guy."

For some reason, that makes me laugh a little. Even his damn arrogance and ignorance are at times cute.

"Well, don’t let me bore you with the uninteresting details then," I say.

"You’re weird," Sasha replies.

"How so?"

"Just weird, mate," he whispers, his green gaze locked on mine.

"Is that good or bad?"

"I don’t know… I guess we’ll find out." He bites his lower lip slightly, dragging his teeth over it until his mouth is set into a semi-pout. And I realize I’ve forgotten what I wanted to tell him. He made me malfunction again.

So I just sit there, a thirty-three-year-old man, speechless and confused, before a boy, whose life has barely begun. A boy who probably knows more about always being in danger than I ever will.

For a while, we simply drift on the placid surface, the water around us murmuring mysteries only the deep might know. Then Sasha finally breaks the awkward silence.

"So, do you miss being a copper?" he asks tentatively.

It’s a topic I don’t like to discuss, but with him, I don’t feel the need to deflect anymore. "I miss some of it," I admit. "Being on the right side of the fight, helping people."

"Does that mean you hate what you do now?"

"Yes and no."

"What falls under the 'yes' category then?"

I pause to think about my answer. Being honest, considering whom I’m protecting, seems almost unkind. "I suppose it’s the fact that I failed. I failed being what my father was. Failed being a cop."

"I’m sorry," Sasha says quietly, his voice barely there, mixed with the rumble of the boat. "For what it’s worth, you’re good at what you do."

I offer him a bitter smile, wondering why I’m here with him, breaking the rules of professional conduct. But this moment of hesitation passes and I then remember the reason. No, I feel it. With every fiber of my being. I’m here because Sasha Solovey isn’t just another money bag to protect anymore.

He’s someone more.

We’ve been dancing around this tension for a while now. Who am I to say no to him when he’s begging me to give him what he and I both want?

"Thanks," I whisper a bitter reply to his compliment.

"Besides, you said you miss protecting people," he murmurs. "Aren’t you protecting me now?"

"True."

The conversation lulls between us, simple words brimming with undeclared meanings until we both find ourselves standing by the railing staring at the water as the boat drifts on its own course through the lake.

"Can I ask you something?" I’ve finally worked up the courage to pose the question I’ve been wanting to ask ever since the rooftop kiss.

"Sure."

"Back on the rooftop," I venture, my gaze set on the horizon where the sun threatens to bleed into the mountain peaks, "why did you really ask me to keep that kiss a secret?"

There’s a long stretch of silence before Sasha finally supplies an answer. "You know why." He’s not looking at me. His eyes are on the water lapping against the hull. "If Vlad finds out, you’ll get fired."

"And you’ll be dead… That’s what you said… So why?"

He hesitates, as though weighing the cost of truth against the value of safety. "In my family... being who I am...the way I am…" His voice trails off, and he looks down at his hands, clenching the railing.

"Queer?" I say, not quite a question, but a clarification—a light shone into shadowy corners.

He nods, just once, a movement so slight it could be mistaken for surrender.

"Back in my home country men are expected to be strong and unyielding." His laugh is bitter, a sharp twist of lips without humor. "Being gay—it's seen as a weakness, a flaw to be eradicated."

The words are like an indictment of a world too cold for the warmth of difference. "What about your family?"

He turns, and I catch the glint of pain in his eyes, green depths clouded by memories best forgotten. "They're no different. If anything, worse."

"Because of the reputation?" I guess, already knowing the answer.

"Exactly." His tone is flat, resigned. "To them, image is everything. My father... He'd rather exile me than have a son that tainted his precious name."

"Exile?"

Sasha nods again. "Do you know why I was the only one in our family to study overseas?"

"Why?"

"When I was caught with another boy, my father beat me within an inch of my life. Then he sent me away, to London. Not for education, but because I was a disgrace and he didn’t want for the rumors to spread."

I watch as he wraps his arms around himself, a futile attempt to shield from the chill of the past. "I was an embarrassment to the Solovey name," he whispers, and the hurt reverberates through the quiet, echoing against the vast expanse of the lake. "My father feared that if anyone found out, it would reflect poorly on him. That it would make him less of a man because he couldn't raise his son right."

His words are measured, but they cut through the air, leaving a void where empathy should reside. I reach out, resting a hand on his shoulder, feeling the tremor that runs beneath his skin. It's a gesture meant to comfort, but what solace can be found in the touch of another when your very existence feels like a crime?

"Sorry," I mutter. I understand now why he’s the way he is.

Sasha shakes his head with a dismissive tilt. "Don't. The arsehole is dead," he says flatly, his green eyes dull like the muted end of day. "It's Vlad who frightens me. My secret... it’s all I have left."

"Your secret's safe with me," I assure him, my words more than a promise—they're an oath etched in the marrow of my bones.

Sasha's response is not in words. He steps forward, closing the space between us, and presses his lips to mine—a collision of fear and longing. His hands cradle my face with a tenderness that doesn’t match the chaos that’s our lives. The kiss is a conversation, a shared confession of desperate hunger.

I taste the bittersweet tang of his reality, feel the shiver of his hands as they hold onto something forbidden yet undeniably real. With every beat of our entwined pulse, the world shrinks until there's nothing but the heat of his mouth on mine, the urgency of his breath mingling with my own.

Eventually, he pulls away. His eyes search mine, as vulnerable as he is fierce. "I've never let myself have anything," Sasha admits. "Don't know why it needs to be you, but I can't help it. You can't help it either, can you?"

I shake my head, no lies between us, only the raw truth. "No," I rasp, my voice thick with emotions.

I’m in over my head. I don’t know why I’m not able to stop myself. Why does it have to be him? Is it his vulnerability that attracts me so much? Or is it his attitude that’s a challenge? Or is it something else?

God, I need to stop it before it’s too late but my heart refuses to cooperate.

"Sasha, being with me..." I warn, trailing off. A myriad of reasons scream inside me, telling me this is a mistake, but they fall silent under his penetrating gaze. "You have no idea what you’re getting into. First of all, I'm older than you."

"Good," he counters with a defiant lift of his chin. "Then you'll know what to do. I could use a few lessons, luv."

Fuck.

My brain all but shuts down.

Twenty-two years old and he’s better at seduction than any of the men and women I’ve been with in the past ten years.

"Okay," I choke out, trying to tell my cock not to get too happy about this. Because this could be the end of us both if we’re not careful.