THIRTEEN
Logan
The lounge was a blur of chatter and laughter, the air thick with the scent of cocktails and perfume. As Zarek filled me in on Kaylan’s recovery, I scanned the crowd, half expecting her to appear in one of those haunting dresses from Ravenrock Hall, the memory of red stilettos sharply etched in my mind.
But then she surprised me, and perhaps everyone else too. There she was at the lounge’s threshold, not in a dress but in a plain white shirt and gray pants. My eyes dipped to see the absence of heels, instead she wore black practical boots. Her presence seemed to still the room for a moment.
She was beautiful, starkly so, in her simplicity. Her face was free of makeup, a slight smile playing on her lips as she approached Delara and engaged in conversation. I couldn’t pull my gaze away. I knew how she looked in dresses, the memory vivid and unsettling, but this attire, this Kaylan, had my heart racing in a way that was new and wholly unexpected.
Guilt. It’s just guilt, Logan.
“–are you listening?” Zarek pulled my attention back to him.
“Sorry, I was…what did you say?”
“I said Dr. Gabriella Mendoza is excellent with PTSD. Ronan saw her briefly after his assignment last year. I think you should go see her.”
I shook my head swiftly, “I don’t…it’s not something I…” My voice trailed off, unable to articulate the jumble of thoughts.
“You can’t even make a complete sentence, brother. You need support. We’re here but there’s only so much we can do,” Dylan chimed in, his concern evident.
I sighed heavily, “Ever play tic tac toe?”
Both their eyebrows shot up and they exchanged puzzled glances.
“Well, I’ve got lots of practice. The evidence is right here on my back,” I looked at them, my brain barely registering their faces anymore, “It was fun, not for me, though. They played tic tac toe on my back. But silly them, they forgot pens! Who forgets pens?!” I continued, a hollow laugh escaping me. “But they had knives, though. Worked great. But then my back only had so much space, so they got bored and they thought a bucket of water might be amusing.”
I paused, looking at them, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace. “There’s your complete sentence. A whole bunch, actually.”
I finished the beer in my hand in one long gulp and slammed the glass down harder than intended. I met their gaze, seeing the sadness and worry reflected back at me. My breaths became shorter, tighter, as if the room was closing in on me.
Fuck, am I hyperventilating?
Zarek reached out, placing a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it as if trying to anchor me back to reality.
I shook his hand off, suddenly feeling the walls of the lounge closing in around me. “I need air,” I muttered, standing up abruptly. The room seemed to tilt slightly as I made my way towards the balcony, the murmurs of the party fading behind me.
Once outside, the cool night air hit my face, and I breathed deeply, trying to calm the storm inside. I leaned against the cool railing.
I knew they were right, both Zarek and Dylan. I needed help, more than what a squad could offer. The laughter, the hysteria—it wasn’t just exhaustion or relief. It was something deeper, a dark echo of the pain and fear I’d endured. But admitting that felt like giving in, like letting those who had tormented me win.
I closed my eyes, the sounds of the city a distant buzz. The thought of sitting down with Dr. Mendoza, of unpacking everything that had happened, was daunting.
When my breathing steadied, I headed back inside, but my eyes immediately found her.
Garret’s whore.
I shook my head to clear it.
No, this is Kaylan. Kaylan Bennett.
Yet my breathing became erratic again. Her face seemed to twist into a cruel smirk, and suddenly she wasn’t in her shirt and pants anymore. Instead, she was clad in a red dress with matching crimson stilettos, looming over me, choking the air out of my lungs.
She was Garret’s whore in that moment. Driven by some dark impulse, I moved toward her, my steps involuntary, my gaze fixed.
“You,” I growled, closing the distance as she backed away. “You let it happen.”
“Logan,” came a cautionary tone from someone nearby.
But I couldn’t stop. The words spilled out uncontrollably. “You…you saw it all. And you let it happen. For weeks! You whore!”
My voice rose with each accusation. The room began to spin, dotted with black. I didn’t realize I was kneeling until the hard floor jarred my knees.
It wasn’t Kaylan before me now; it was Leora, her hands cradling my face, her eyes wide with fear.
“Lo, come back,” she urged, her voice a lifeline pulling me from the abyss.
I clutched at her hands, grounding myself in the moment. Her familiar presence slowly reeled me back from the edge of a precipice I hadn’t known I was teetering on.
Looking at my hands, I saw they were white-knuckled, drained of all color. Flashes of what had just transpired played back in my mind like a nightmare. Kaylan’s face, twisted in fear; my hands at her throat, squeezing with a ferocity that scared me.
“I did,” she had managed to choke out, her voice desperate.
“You’re my fucking nightmare,” I had snarled at her.
She had signaled for no one to intervene, and I had released her.
But the horror didn’t end there. She had touched my face gently, her gesture starkly different from the violence of moments before, and whispered, “First and last, Logan,” before her lips brushed mine in a soft kiss that lingered even now. Her tears still coated my cheeks.
“Logan?” Leora’s voice snapped me back to reality.
Had I actually choked her? The room was quiet, heavy with the weight of my actions.
Unable to look at Leora, I muttered, “Did I just…?”
Her silence confirmed my fears. I had indeed strangled Kaylan Bennett in front of everyone.
“Is she okay?” I forced the words out, dreading the answer.
Leora’s eyes were glossy with unshed tears as she struggled for composure. “I don’t know. She left.”
The air left my lungs completely, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe at all.
What the fuck have I done?