“Has anyone ever taken advantage of you in that way?” Logan asks suddenly, his eyes fixed on me like he’s been studying my reaction.
I frown at him in confusion. Did he really drug, kidnap, and tie me up in his living room… just for a chat? What the hell is this all about?
“What do you want from me?” I ask sullenly.
He sighs, leaning back, his hand running through his curly brown hair. “It’s not whatIwant. It’s whathewants.”
“Damien Wells,” I guess.
He flattens his lips into a small smile. “Good for you. Been out sleuthing, huh?”
I grit my teeth. “I don’t know why you’ve brought me here, but if you think you can break me by making fun of me…” I let out a loud, shuddering sigh. “I’m used to it. I don’t give a fuck.”
“Language,” he scowls, reminding me of the person Iwishwere here instead of him, because I’m a fucking masochist who’d cheerfully trade one killer for another.
But who else is there to wish for? The only other person in my life at this point is Josh, and he’s no match for either Quill or Logan.
“You’re going to have to tell me more about who’s been giving you shit,” adds Logan, his scowl deepening into a frown.
I stare at him in utter confusion. “Do you often avenge your victims?”
“What?”
It’s his turn to stare at me in apparent confusion.
I shrug, unwilling to continue down this path. I’m tired, my head hurts, my heart is sore, and I just want to get this over with. Whateverthisis.
My death, I guess.
“So, what does Damien Wells want?” I ask, going back to his earlier comment.
“Oh. Right.” He sighs. “Well, he wants you dead.”
Figures. “I’d gleaned that much,” I say, trying and failing to repress a yawn. The truth is, I’m still completely wiped out from whatever drug he put in my system, and it has to be the middle of the night by now. Or even early morning, judging from the pink streaks across the sky.
But the timing of my yawn has Logan staring at me like I’m unhinged. I guess it must look pretty weird to yawn while referencing your own impending fate. But I could really use a nap.
I’m startled awake by the sudden banging open of the door. A monster walks in, his face covered by a white, featureless mask. He’s wearing camo pants, combat boots, a leather jacket from which peaks out a hoodie, its hood completely covering his hair.
It’s Quill. Quill has found me.
He may be a monster, but he’smymonster. All my doubts, allmy pain, vanish under his overwhelming, reassuring presence.
He’s here. Everything’s going to be fine.
He’s got a gun out, but he’s not pointing it at anything. Logan rises from his chair, eyeing him calmly.
“Stand down, soldier,” he warns. “I’m handling this one directly.”
Quill doesn’t budge.
“Stand down,” repeats Logan, his voice louder. “I see you got the contract, but as I said, I’m handling this. I’ll make it right with Tragen.”
Instead of standing down, Quill slowly raises his arm so that his gun is pointed straight at Logan.
But the latter doesn’t seem the least bit nervous. In fact, if anything, he looks… relieved.
“Ah,” he says. “It’s you. I’ve been expecting you, Quill Nelson.”
