He flinches, looking taken aback, then shakes his head. “I should get to bed.” He wiggles his wrists to indicate I should release him, as I’ve done every night since I killed Wilmore.
I start to loosen the knot but stop myself, my wicked gaze trailing over his body.
“I said let me go, Kill.”
An honorable man would obey. But I’m not an honorable man.
“Tell me what you’re thinking about.” I caress his chin with my fingertips, and he jerks it away.
“Just let me go. I want to shower and get to bed. I need to be out of here early.”
“Where are you going? You didn’t tell me you had plans.”
“I don’t need to tell you when I have plans.”
He’s so disobedient, but this time like he’s purposefully trying to grate on my nerves, and he knows how to do it so well.
“My little falcon trying to fly again.” I imagine him flapping his wings to gain some height, only to tumble back to earth. And I derive even more satisfaction from seeing him trapped right here beneath me.
“I really do need to get to sleep,” he insists.
“If you won’t tell me where you’re going, you’ll have to sleep here in my bed, covered in yourself and filled with my seed.”
He grits his teeth. “I guess you haven’t been listening in on my conversations, otherwise you’d know I was going to see Mom.”
Two thoughts come to me in quick succession: The first is that maybe I do need to bug more rooms now that he’s staying with me, and hire someone to go through the audio and tell me what he said and when. But more importantly… “Mom?”
To most of the world, Clara Wilde killed herself when Logan and his brothers were children. The underground, however, knows she’s locked away in a facility where those like the Wildes and the Lordes tuck away their darkest secrets.
“She’s locked away at—”
“I know where she is,” I clarify. “But why do you need to visit her?”
“She’s the only living parent I have, so I want to tell her about the wedding.”
“Get her blessing?”
He smirks wryly. “I doubt she’ll give me that, but I want to tell her before some other fuck has a chance to.”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“Maybe a year ago. Wrath visits her more regularly, every few months, but he’s the only one with some fucked-up connection to her.”
“Is it fucked up?”
He chews his bottom lip. He’s resisting telling me something else, and I find myself pissed about it.
“Tell me what you’re hiding,” I demand. I don’t mean for it to come out so angrily, but I can’t help myself. Just as I want him to submit to me, I want to know all his secrets. I want to download every thought he’s ever had into my brain, even the most painful parts.
“Tell me,” I say, gentler. “You are mine, which means your secrets are too.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. His stoic expression and the tension I detect in his arms suggest the secret he carries isn’t anything to joke about.
I’m expecting defiance, but he says, “When we were kids, Mom snapped. I was a freshman in high school, and one day, when I got home, I saw blood everywhere, all our security murdered… I was so worried, thinking someone had come for our family, but then I found Wrath and Masters, who’d been tied up, and they revealed she was running a bath and intended to drown Malaki and Rory. When I tried to free them, she tased me and tried to drown me in the tub.” He speaks the words unemotionally, like someone who’s either dissociated from the experience or had so much time to dwell on the nightmare that it doesn’t faze him anymore.
Rage sears within me, not from sympathy, but from selfishness, knowing what being deprived of Logan would do to my body right now. “That’s horrible, Logan.”
He swallows again. “I managed to break free, fight her off, and render her unconscious. Dad figured out the rest to get rid of her.”
