23. Logan

CHAPTER 23

LOGAN

The sun's hesitant rays stretch over the bright yellow umbrella and bathe Sasha in a transfusing gold. The morning light, gentle as it could be in the desert, casts his scratched-up cheek into a work of violently painted beauty–an abstract canvas I can't help but gaze at. He removed the bandage to let the scars heal faster before Vlad's return.

We sit at a small outdoor cafe somewhere in Vegas, our hands subtly brushing against each other as we wait for breakfast to arrive.

"Sasha," I say, my voice low with concern. "You know this is dangerous, right? You, being out of the house for so long, spending the night at my place, again?"

"Vlad's out of town for a while," he replies nonchalantly, although the tension in his body betrays his fear.

"Like last time?" I ask skeptically, remembering the chaos that Vlad’s sudden appearance prompted.

Sasha offers a weak grin, adding, "I've got my phone handy this time." He pats the pocket of his jacket.

I want to tell him that we need to be more careful, that every second spent together raises the stakes higher. Someone could be tailing us even now. He’s a target until his brother says otherwise. But I can’t. Secretly, I’m glad I was the first one he thought to call last night. I’m glad he crashed my apartment. Glad he let me clean up his face. Glad he pouted like the spoiled kid he is when I didn't let him pay me with a blow job. Glad we had that moment of intimacy on my couch. Glad we cuddled and watched reruns of X-Files until we both fell asleep.

I’m glad and I’m terrified that he's in my life and that he makes me forget all the dark shit that has been happening to me ever since the moment my father got shot.

But before I can articulate my thoughts, before I can tell him how I feel, the waitress arrives with our food.

"Here you go, guys," she chirps, placing plates piled high with eggs, bacon, and toast before us.

"Thank you." Sasha flashes her a dazzling grin despite his busted lip. His resilience leaves me in awe, and I'm reminded of how deep my emotions run for him.

"Dig in," I say, trying to shift the focus to the meal before us. As I begin eating, my mind wanders back to the attempt on Sasha’s life back in the casino and my instincts scream at me to protect him at all costs. Not as an employer but as someone else, someone closer.

"Logan," he whispers, drawing my attention back to the present. "I wanted to... thank you. For everything."

"Of course," I reply gruffly, not knowing what else to say. My heart swells with an emotion I can't quite name, and I watch him as he takes a bite of his omelet.

"Anytime you need me," I add, my voice barely audible. "I'll be there."

"Even on the moon?"

"Even on the moon."

Sasha spears a bit of omelet on his fork and brings it to his lips, but hesitates. After a single bite he sets the fork down and takes a deep breath. His brows are furrowed all of a sudden, his face tense.

"Is something wrong?" I ask. "Is the food okay? This place is supposed to be the best breakfast joint in town. Not up to your taste?"

He chuckles, though it lacks its usual snark. "No, the food is great. It's just..." His voice drops to a whisper, barely audible above the hum of conversation from nearby tables. He leans in, shrinking the distance between us a little. "I think Vlad had our father killed."

I feel my chest tighten. The former cop in me takes over, various questions already forming. So, it's not just word on the street. Sasha's somewhat aware of the possibility.

"Why do you believe that?" I ask quietly.

He shrugs. "It just seems like a very Vlad thing to do. Our father had enemies but they wouldn't be able to get to him. Vlad was the only one who knew how he operated. Plus Vlad and Yuri always had a strained relationship," he explains. "But Vlad knew how to manipulate Father into loving him. I could never do what Vlad does—to have people like me."

"I like you and you didn't have to do a damn thing to make me."

To that Sasha smiles softly.

"Is that why you went to Downers last night?" I ask. "Looking for answers?"

"Y-yes," he admits, swallowing hard. "There was this man with a golden tooth who told me about it on campus. It seemed like he had more information."

"Wait a second. That was on campus? Is that why you asked me to teach you how to shoot?"

"Yes."

"You need to tell me when someone approaches you. Immediately. Do you understand?"

He nods.

"Say it, Sasha."

"I understand."

I sit back in my chair and suck in a lungful of air, processing the weight of Sasha's confession. I'm disappointed he's kept this from me. His safety is paramount, and investigating his father's murder could only make things worse. Although, I don’t know how much worse it could get. It seems that we hit rock bottom a long time ago.

But as I look into those vulnerable eyes that belong to a young man sitting across from me, deep in my gut I know that I'll do whatever it takes to protect him—even if it means taking the biggest risks. After all, I don’t have anything left. Ma’s gone. And he's the only one left.

"Let's finish breakfast," I tell him, trying to change the topic.

Yet, my heart hammers in my chest, my concern growing. I worry about the danger that could come to both of us if we delve deeper into Yuri's murder.

"I need to know what happened to him," Sasha hisses out.

"Listen." I reach to gently grasp his hand resting on the table, my voice a mix of caution and protectiveness. "You can't get involved in Vlad's affairs. Please stop freelancing."

Sasha's gaze flickers between our joined hands and my face. "Okay. I'll stop. Under one condition."

"What's that?" My grip on his hand tightens instinctively.

"Help me find out what really happened to my father."

I take a moment to think, feeling the battle raging within me—my feelings for Sasha versus my duty to Vlad. With a heavy sigh, I reluctantly shake my head. "I'll do whatever I can to keep you safe. But investigating Yuri's death is too risky. Besides, Vlad's the one paying my salary. I just can't do that."

Sasha’s shoulders slump and with a sad face he pouts. "Being employed by Vlad didn't stop you from liking it when I sucked your dick, now did it?"

"Brat," I choke out. "Eat your eggs before they get cold."

He laughs softly and picks up his fork, resuming his breakfast as I watch him, still holding his hand. But on the inside all the unanswered questions surrounding Yuri Solovey's death are starting to smother my brain.