Chapter Twenty-Five
Mac
But you won't break me
You'll just make me stronger than I was
Before I met you, I bet you I'll be just fine without you
And if I stumble, I won't crumble
I'll get back up
’Stronger Than I Was’ - Eminem
It takes a second, maybe longer, for my brain to understand that it’s over.
That Anthony’s not on top of me.
That the pressure on my wrists is gone.
That the screaming has stopped.
For a moment, the room is too quiet. My ears are still ringing, the sound like a swarm of bees trapped inside my skull.
My body refuses to believe what my eyes and skin are telling me.
I’m still on the bed, curled so tight against the headboard that my knees are digging into my chest, my breath coming in short, frantic gasps.
It feels like I’m still fighting him off, like if I loosen a single muscle he’ll be there again, his weight crushing me, his voice in my ear.
But I’m not.
I’m not.
Somewhere past the ringing, I hear Logan’s voice again low now, raw and ragged, like it’s been torn from somewhere deep inside him.
“Mac. Baby, it’s me. I’m here.”
The sound of him cuts through the static in my head in a way nothing else could. But I can’t lift my head. I want to, I really do, but every part of me is frozen, locked in place. Like if I look at him, if I let him see me like this it’ll make it real. It’ll make me real, in this state.
There’s movement in the room. The sound of duct tape ripping, rough and sharp. Maybe rope being knotted. A groan. A dull thud. Then silence, heavy and thick.
Boots cross the carpet. Slow. Careful.
And then he’s there, kneeling beside me. Not touching. Not crowding. Just there, close enough for me to feel the weight of his presence like a wall between me and the rest of the world.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says gently, each word deliberate, each syllable steady. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”
That voice, it’s more than sound. It’s a lifeline. It’s the first breath after nearly drowning.
My body moves before I even think. I reach out, a blind, desperate motion, and he catches me instantly, pulling me into him like I’m something breakable. His arms fold around me so carefully, like I’m all sharp edges that could cut him open. And that is when I break all over again.
The sob rips out of me before I can stop it. I bury my face against his jacket, my fists clutching the front of it like if I let go, I’ll disappear into the dark that’s still clawing at the edges of my mind.
“I…I tried to fight,” I gasp, the words tumbling out between sobs. “I swear I did. He—he was going to…”
“You don’t have to explain,” Logan says. His voice is hoarse, cracked with something deeper than anger. There’s grief there. Guilt. Maybe both. “You don’t have to say a word. I’m just so damn glad I got to you in time.”
His arms tighten around me. Strong. Solid. Home.
I want to say something brave. Something strong. Something that tells him I’m okay, that I’ll be okay. But the truth is all I can do is cry, my chest shaking against his.
Because I thought I’d healed from the last time.
Because I thought I’d never feel this small again.
Because I never wanted Logan to see me like this broken again, wrecked again, stripped down to the rawest parts of myself.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, the words barely there. “I’m so sorry I didn’t call. I—I should’ve known—”
“No.” The word leaves him like a growl, sharp and immediate. “Don’t do that. You don’t owe me an apology. He did this. Not you.”
He leans back just enough to see my face. His hands cradle it like something precious, his palms warm and steady, his thumbs brushing against my skin to catch the tears I can’t seem to stop. His touch is light, reverent, like he’s afraid I might shatter if he presses too hard.
“You were trying to be brave,” he says, his voice low but fierce. “And you were. You fought him off once. You fought again today. You’re the strongest damn woman I’ve ever met.”
I shake my head, the tears coming harder. “I didn’t want to need anyone…”
“I need you,” he says, and his voice cracks open on the words. “I’ve needed you since the day you walked into my life. And needing someone isn’t weakness, Mac. Let me be strong for you now.”
The fight drains out of me, replaced by something heavy and aching but safe. I collapse against him again, pressing my face to his chest, breathing in the scent that has always meant I was okay. Leather. Sweat. Motor oil. Logan.
I don’t know how long we stay like that—wrapped in silence and pain and something fierce and tender underneath it all. Time feels slippery, like the clock in this room stopped when the door broke open.
Eventually, the world starts to bleed back in.
Cain’s voice somewhere behind me, low and clipped, speaking into a phone.
Dom’s quiet footsteps moving through the hall, the faint creak of the floorboards.
And Logan. Always Logan. His arms around me, his breath steady against my hair, holding me like the very idea of letting go is unthinkable.
Like I’m not broken.
Like I’m his.
***
The room is quiet except for the low hum of a fan in the corner. The steady, mechanical sound fills the space in a way that makes it feel too still, too fragile, like if it stopped, everything else might collapse. I’m awake before I open my eyes because I feel him.
Logan’s body is curled protectively around mine, his chest a solid wall against my back, his arm draped across my waist like a shield that could keep out the whole world if it tried to push its way in.
My body aches, inside and out. It’s not just the bruises blooming under my skin, or the soreness that lingers where his hands had been. It’s deeper than that, in my muscles, in my bones, in the places my mind can’t stop going. Every breath tugs at something tender. But I am safe.
I am safe.
I keep my eyes closed, holding onto that thought like it’s the only rope keeping me from being pulled under.
Because the second I open them, the weight of it all will come flooding in, the smell of that room, the sound of his voice, the way my wrists burned.
What Anthony did. What he almost did. And what I still have to face.
Logan shifts beside me, and I feel it, the subtle change in his breathing, the tension running through his chest and into his arm. He’s not sleeping either. His body is too alert, too aware, like a man ready to react to anything.
“You’re not breathing steady,” he murmurs, his voice rough with exhaustion. “You awake?”
I nod against the pillow.
He presses a kiss to my temple, his lips lingering just long enough for me to feel the warmth. “You don’t have to say anything.”
But I want to.
I need to.
My voice feels small when I ask, “Logan… why didn’t we call the police?”
There’s a pause. Not long. Not hesitant. Just long enough for me to know he was expecting this.
“Because men like Anthony don’t get justice in court,” he says quietly, the words careful but steady. “Not the kind they deserve.”
I turn my head so I can see his face. “So what did you do?”
His jaw tightens, the muscle there ticking once before his gaze shifts toward the door. “Nothing you have to worry about.”
That’s when it hits me. I never heard sirens. Never saw blue lights outside the hotel. Just Cain and Dom. Silent. Focused. And the van.
The memory unspools in pieces blurry at first, like film catching in a reel. Between the haze and the blood and the weight of Logan carrying me out of that room, I remember Dom pulling out his phone, speaking low into it. Then the van pulled up. Unmarked. Black.
I see it again in my mind. Anthony being dragged out, his hands zip-tied behind him, a bloody rag stuffed in his mouth. Cain’s eyes on him, sharp and cold. Not looking at him like a man. Looking at him like a problem that needed removing.
My stomach flips hard enough to make me feel dizzy.
I push myself up slowly, every movement deliberate. My voice is barely a whisper. “You’re saying… the club took him?”
Logan doesn’t lie to me. Not now. Not after what happened.
“We’re taking care of it. I can’t say any more than that.”
I stare at him. Searching. Wanting more.
He meets my gaze without flinching, like he knows what I’m thinking but refuses to give me the kind of truth I might regret hearing out loud.
“He hurt you. Twice. He hunted you. The law would call it attempted assault. Maybe throw a few years at him if we got lucky. But he’d be out.
Looking for the next woman to corner. You really want that? ”
I swallow hard and shake my head. “No.”
But it doesn’t stop the shaking inside me. Because this isn’t just about the pain or the bruises. It’s about what I know now, that there’s a shadow side to Logan’s world. A kind of justice that doesn’t come from judges and juries. And if I’m with him, if I stay, then it’s part of my world too.
Logan watches me like he can read every thought passing through my head. He reaches out and takes my hand, his fingers warm and firm as they lace through mine. His grip is grounding, anchoring me when I feel like I could drift away.
“I’ll never hide things from you, Mac,” he says, his voice even but heavy with meaning. “But I won’t apologize for protecting you, either.”
I glance down at our joined hands. My wrist still bears the red imprint of the cuffs, the skin tender to the touch, but his fingers are steady and alive, a quiet reminder that I made it out. That I am here.
Just like him.
I nod slowly, my voice so soft it almost disappears into the hum of the fan. “Okay.” I pause, then say it again, firmer this time. “Okay.”
And I mean it.
Because there is a difference between justice and revenge.
And sometimes, the system isn’t made for women like me.
But I am not broken.
I survived.
And someone like Anthony will never touch me, or anyone else again.