Sharing a look with Priest, it finally clicks why she showed up when she did. Waited until she turned eighteen so she couldn’t be reported as a missing minor. Sought out a sister who she thought would welcome her and was rejected.
Fucking Trista.
“We met her last week. She’s the sister of one of the girls that hangs around. She never said a word about what’s happened to her.”
There’s a beat of silence before Priest asks, “Can we see her?”
“You aren’t family,” she replies, getting to her feet.
“So what?” I follow suit, towering over the woman, but she gives zero fucks as she glares at me.
“Until she wakes up and tells me who hurt her, and that it’s not the two of you, I can’t let you back. Bring her sister, she can see her.”
Scoffing, I say, “That’s not happening. Until Logan showed up, her sister thought she was dead.” The woman scowls again. “Different mothers. Dad died when they were young; mothers told a shitload of lies.”
Sympathy softens her eyes, but the old broad doesn’t give a fucking inch. “I’ll let you know once she’s awake and asks for you.”
Whoever said silence is deafening was right as hell because the late-night waiting room could house crickets for all the noise there is.
“We need to talk about what the fuck we’re doing here,” Priest comments as he comes back over with a couple of bottles of water from the vending machine. “We can’t protect that girl and lead her on unless we’re crystal clear about what we want from her.”
Not where I imagined having this conversation, but better here than not at all. “What about her?” I ask, dropping into a chair, leaning back, and resting my head against the wall, waiting on Priest to speak.
“Well, I don’t fucking know either.”
I smirk as he drops down next to me. My head lolls to the side, and I see that he’s just as unsure. Not something either of us has experienced before.
“She’s fucking young,” is the first thing that comes to mind. “Too young,” I mutter again, unsure who I’m trying to sway into believing that matters.
“Yeah, yet she’s lived a lifetime,” Priest counters with exactly what I’ve been telling myself.
He’s right. Age matters with some women, and with others, it’s only a number. With Logan, her age is only a number. And now that we know she’s been abused for several years, the exhaustion in her eyes shines her in a new light. Life has made her tired, and that is something we can both relate to.
“Trista won’t like it,” I say. The other woman has had her sights set on a member claiming her for years. It was never going to happen with us; she doesn’t have what it takes to put up with our lifestyle as a partner. She’s too emotional, too territorial, and too clingy.
“Who fucking cares?” Priest growls. He was more pissed than I was the night Logan showed up at the club. “That bitch needs to be put in her place, and if claiming her sister is what does it, then so be it.”
“Logan finds out, and she’ll be pissed as hell.” I don’t understand how I know that; I just get the feeling she’s been used enough in her lifetime.
“We’ll deal with it,” he grouses. His gaze spears me as he asks, “You want her the way I do?”
“You know I do.”
It’s hard for me to share what I’m feeling, but Priest seems to read my mind.
“Yeah, me too.”
A whooshing sound stops further conversation as the nurse returns and waves us over. “She’s assured me it wasn’t the two of you who beat her up, so you can come on back now.”
We follow her, unprepared for the sight of Logan.
Chapter 6
Logan
Groaning as my head tries to roll to the side, I’m stopped by a kind voice saying, “Hold still.” Opening my eyes is unsuccessful as well. “Your eyes are covered by a cloth. I’m just finishing the last couple of stitches. Hang tight a couple more minutes, Logan.”
“Mmkay.” I’m groggy and confused as I discern what’s happened and where I am. “Can I have water?” My mouth and throat are so dry they hurt.
