TWENTY
Logan
It was an unnerving moment of clarity. The weight of what I’d learned pressed down on me like a mountain. Remorse, rage, fear, a deadly cocktail for my personal hell.
I couldn’t even begin to understand how she’d been through so much and was still standing. I had been in Ravenrock for a little over a month, while she’d been enduring hell for three months, all the while treating beasts who tormented her.
Whore .
That word echoed in my mind—a cruel label I had thrown at her in my spite. Multiple times. My heart squeezed with regret as I remembered.
‘Do you want me to fuck you? Fuck him out of your system?’
How had I let myself hurt her so deeply? In those moments that should have been just ours, I dragged her through her worst memories.
‘You sewed me up, yet you went back and fucked him .’
I was yanked from these tormenting thoughts by a gentle touch on my shoulder. “Mr. Blackthorn, she’s awake now,” a voice whispered. I followed numbly.
Peering through the small window of her door, I saw her lying there, her arm across her chest, her gaze empty. She looked so fragile, so breakable.
You broke her, Logan.
The realization stung. I had shattered her with my cruel words, with my actions.
This was unforgivable, wasn’t it?
Opening the door, Kaylan’s head turned slowly to face me. Her eyes were red, her whole body shaking as she caught sight of me.
What have I done?
“Kaylan—”
“No,” she yelped, using as much strength she could muster.
“Baby, please—”
“Leave,” her face crumpled before me.
I clenched my jaw, and bit my trembling lip. This was about her, her pain, not mine.
“I’m here for you,” I said, moving towards her slowly, each step deliberate.
“Please leave,” she sobbed again, her voice breaking into a sharp, painful cry that splintered my heart. She needed space, not the source of her pain looming over her.
I let out a heavy sigh and turned to leave. Just as I was about to head out, I swore I heard her whisper something that may as well have been a death sentence to me.
“You’re my nightmare.”
???
When I made it back to the Blackthorn building, I was on autopilot. Somehow, I managed to drive back, park the car, and find my way to my room, but the details were hazy at best. My mind was tangled up with thoughts of Kaylan, and before I knew it, I was sitting alone, skipping dinner without realizing it.
A knock at my door snapped me back to reality. It was slightly ajar—I hadn’t even bothered to lock it.
“Lo?” Leora’s voice was soft but filled with concern.
I didn’t move from my chair by the window, my head heavy on my chest, lost in utter defeat. I heard her footsteps approach and then the soft sound of her settling into the chair opposite me.
“Logan?” she prompted gently. I looked up slowly, meeting her eyes. She flinched slightly at my appearance; my distress must have been visible.
“Talk to me?” she implored, moving to kneel before me, reaching for eye contact as I looked away, ashamed.
She took my hands in hers; they were warm, almost too warm against my cold skin, a reminder of how numbed I felt.
“Is Ronan Hayden around?” I asked, my voice raspy with a heavy fatigue.
She nodded, though confusion flickered in her eyes. Ronan Hayden, a towering figure whose sister, Riley, had died three months ago—the same time Kaylan was presumed dead.
“Where is he?” My voice was weary.
“I’m not sure, but I can find out,” she offered. “What do you need from Ronan, Lo?”
“Just wanted to see him,” I replied, forcing a small smile that didn’t reach my eyes. Inside, a storm of anticipation and hope swirled, banking on the chance to meet Ronan for what I really needed.
After Leora reluctantly left, sensing the impenetrable ice around me, I changed into gym clothes and headed out. Zane’s tip led me towards the armory on the command center floor.
I caught Ronan just as he was leaving the armory, a new handgun case in hand. “Ronan, right?” I called out, raising my hand.
Surprised, he acknowledged me, “You’re Logan. Back from the dead.”
My laugh lacked any real humor. “Zarek speaks highly of you. Shame we weren’t in the same troop at the CIA.”
We shook hands, his grip firm. “Shame, indeed.”
I took a breath before making my next move. “Interested in a spar? All disciplines included.”
Ronan sized me up, skepticism written all over his face. He was large, not quite as massive as Dylan but enough for what I had planned. He was perfect—an emotionally detached party and someone whose nerve I needed to test. His sister had fallen at the hands of Garret while I had survived. That was the leverage I planned to use if needed to provoke him into really giving me what I sought: a physical release from the emotional chaos entangling me.
“Sure,” Ronan agreed, though his eyes held a hint of suspicion. “Right now?”
I nodded. He motioned for me to follow him, leaving his new handgun case behind in the command center to pick up later. He exchanged brief greetings with a few colleagues before grabbing his gym bag from his office. Together, we headed to the gym. He disappeared into the changing room while I stood by, my nerves tingling with a mix of anxiety and resolve. This was necessary.
I wrapped my hands tightly and initially popped a mouthguard in place. After a moment’s thought, I scoffed at my own caution and pulled the mouthguard out.
Who cares if I lose a few teeth?
I tossed it aside and started shadow boxing to loosen up.
Ronan reemerged just as I heard the door click open again. I turned to see Leora entering, her smile warm but tentative. She wore the same dress she had on earlier, clearly not intending to participate but to observe. Poor Leora, she might not appreciate what was about to unfold.
The gym’s atmosphere was thick with tension, the dim lights casting long shadows across the mat where Ronan and I faced off. He was poised, muscles taut, a picture of focus and readiness.
“Ready?” he asked, his tone a low rumble. I nodded, assuming a defensive posture with my hands raised, yet inwardly I steeled myself not to strike, not even once.
Ronan started with a series of measured jabs, testing my defenses. I parried each attack effortlessly, keeping my movements fluid, my gaze never leaving his. As the initial silence of our bout gave way to the soft thuds of our sparring, I found the moment to begin the real fight—the one against myself.
“You’re good at this,” I commented casually as I blocked a swift left hook. “Must have been all that training while I was gone, huh?”
Ronan grunted, not taking the bait just yet, focusing instead on a combination that I deflected with ease. “It’s nothing personal, Logan. Just keeping sharp,” he replied, circling me with cautious steps.
I dodged another jab, feeling the rush of air close to my face. “I imagine it’s tough, carrying on after—well, after everything. After losing Riley,” I pushed, watching his reaction closely.
His punches hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he shot back, a defensive edge creeping into his voice.
“You know, wondering if it could’ve been different. If we all came back instead of just some of us.” My words were deliberate, heavier, designed to dig deeper.
The change in Ronan was palpable. His movements grew sharper, his strikes harder. “Don’t talk about my sister,” he warned, his voice thick with a barely restrained emotion.
I absorbed a particularly aggressive punch, letting it land against my ribs. The pain was sharp, grounding. “Why? Does it make you angry, Ronan? Angry that we survived and she didn’t?”
His response was a fierce hook that I barely blocked in time. “Shut up,” he growled, his eyes flashing with anger now fully kindled.
“I mean, isn’t that why you’re hitting so hard? Trying to punch the regret away?” I continued, each word more provocatively than the last, stripping away my own defenses verbally rather than physically.
“Fucking fight back!” Ronan exploded, throwing a barrage of punches, each harder than the last, driven by a raw, unfiltered fury.
“Logan, fight!” Leora yelled, her shriek almost deafening.
But I didn’t. I let my hands drop, exposing my chest, absorbing the impacts. “Hit me,” I pressed, my voice a low challenge. “Isn’t this what you need? To feel like you’re avenging her somehow?”
He hesitated, then delivered a punch that cut through the air with a speed that left no room for blocking, even if I had tried. The force of it knocked the wind out of me, sending me staggering back.
“Fight, Logan! Fucking fight, dammit!” His voice was a ragged shout, filled with pain and accusation.
Yet I stood there, bleeding, baiting him further with each pained breath. Then I smiled through the bloodied teeth. His next hit came without warning, a clean shot that sent me to the floor, the gym spinning around me. Above me, Ronan stood, breathing heavily, a mix of victory and defeat etched across his face.
“Get up,” he commanded, his voice echoing in the gym. But I lay there, my body a map of bruises and the dull throb of aching muscles, thinking only of the pain I believed I deserved.
Ronan exhaled deeply and left without another word. I barely had time to process his departure before Leora was at my side, her phone pressed to her ear, likely summoning help. Moments later, Zarek and Dylan crowded around me, their faces etched with concern.
I couldn’t help but let out a wild laugh, mixing with coughs and then more laughter. “I didn’t lose any teeth, did I?” I joked, trying to lighten the mood as I pushed myself to a sitting position.
Their worried glances didn’t waver as they helped me to my feet.
“Logan, man! What the fuck?” Someone said from behind me, but I didn’t care.
I trudged towards my room, insistently waving off their attempts to accompany me, needing the solitude to gather my thoughts.
Once inside, I faced my reflection in the bathroom mirror. The bruises and scrapes were evident, but nothing serious. A low chuckle escaped me again. I showered off the sweat and grime, letting the hot water wash away the remnants of the gym floor.
Crawling into bed, the exhaustion from the physical exertion finally caught up with me, and sleep enveloped me quickly.