I stare at the ceiling, watching the lazy rotation of shadows cast by the ceiling fan. My mind races with all the reasons this was a mistake. Logan's appearance changes everything—makes this infinitely more dangerous than I'd calculated.
Logan. The most sadistic member of our team. The man who burned women and children alive without blinking. And now he's hunting us.
I shouldn't have touched her. I shouldn't have kissed her. Idefinitely shouldn't have made love to her. I've painted a target on her back even bigger than the one she already had.
"Sleep here. With me," Naomi says, her voice barely above a whisper.
I turn toward her. Her hand finds my cheek, warm and soft against the roughness of my beard. Her eyes are open, vulnerable in a way that makes my chest ache. There's no regret there, only a quiet plea.
"Please," she adds.
"Of course," I answer, though I shouldn't. I shouldn't have done any of this. But I can't deny her anything. Not her safety, not my protection, not my body. And not my heart, though I've tried to convince myself otherwise.
I gather her against me, tucking her head beneath my chin. Her naked body fits perfectly against mine, like she was made to be there. Her breath tickles my chest, and she relaxes into sleep almost immediately, spent from our lovemaking and our escape.
I stay awake, listening to the rhythm of her breathing and the near crash of waves. My fingers trace idle patterns on her skin, memorizing every curve, every dip. Cataloging her like I'm afraid she'll disappear.
Logan will never take her from me. I can promise that. But maybe… maybe, when this is all over, she'll look at me and see what I really am—a weapon, a killer, a monster wrapped in human skin—and she'll walk away on her own.
But for tonight, she's mine. And I'm hers.
Twenty-Three
Logan
Logan Black stands in the middle of the dusty street, his body rigid with barely contained rage. A semicircle of soldiers surrounds him; their assault rifles trained on his chest. His finger twitches against the trigger of his sidearm. These men don't understand who they're dealing with. Walker was right there. Right fucking there. After years of searching, the ghost had materialized before him, and now these idiots are preventing him from following.
Logan counts silently. Six soldiers. He could take them all out in seconds. Three headshots before they even register movement. The others would hesitate. They always do, giving him time to drop the remaining three. To most, violence was a moral problem. For Logan, it was math.
"You need to move out of my way," Logan says, his voice unnaturally calm despite his rage.
"Sir, we have orders not to let anyone through," the lead soldier responds, his voice betraying a slight tremor.
"Fuck your orders. I’m charged with finding her and bringing her back. That’s what I’m going to do." Logantakes a half-step forward, and all six weapons adjust their aim in unison.
The whirring of helicopter blades cuts through the tension. Logan doesn't need to look up to know who's arrived. The soldiers' postures subtly shift.
Seconds later, a sharp female voice slices through the standoff. "What's going on here?"
Isla Graves stalks toward them, her tailored suit somehow immaculate despite the swirling dust. Her eyes move between Logan and the soldiers, assessing the situation with cold detachment.
"Director Graves," the lead soldier acknowledges, not lowering his weapon.
Logan turns to face her, contempt written across his features, and the soldiers tighten their grips on their weapons. "These men are preventing me from completing my mission. I'm going to kill them if they don't move."
"That would be unfortunate," Isla says coolly. "Particularly since these men are under my direct orders not to let anyone through."
Logan's eyes narrow. "I do the job until it’s done."
"I gave you the job. You do it the way I say."
"They were right here," Logan snarls, gesturing toward the diner's smoking remains. "I had them. Walker was five feet from me before he triggered those explosives."
"Walker? Who’s Walker?”
Logan sighs. He’s given away too much. Graves’s eyes narrow, piecing it together. Logan doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to.
She turns to the soldiers. "Give us the room."
