Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
Voodoo - VOILA
It feels like the air around me is full of hugs. I feel light. Happy. Tired, but not. But, if this is how I go, it’s a lot more peaceful than I expected it to be. Peaceful with a slight burning in my chest—like I laid on the toaster. What the fuck? When did I do that?
There’s the sound of banging, and I peek my eyes open. Logan messes around in the kitchen, and I squeeze my eyes shut to block out the noise. My hands are buzzing. I can feel them, but I’m not sure where they are. Are they behind me? Do I still have them? Whatever. It doesn’t matter.
“Eat.” Logan’s voice is right in front of me. I crack my eyes open. His crotch is right there, and I stare at it for a second. There’s a bulge in his jeans, looking me right in the eyes.
I force myself to look up. Logan looks pissed. He always looks pissed. It’s a hot look.
“I don’t eat dick,” I mutter. “Or ass.” Although, maybe I would. In another life, of course. It would have to be clean. A clean asshole. Squeaky clean. My tongue would have to make squeaks on it.
I giggle.
Something smacks on my cheek, and I didn’t realize I closed my eyes until they’re open again. Logan smacks my cheek again. “Wake up.” I notice he’s holding a sandwich.
I frown. “Not hungry.”
“Too bad.” Suddenly, Logan’s weight drops on my lap, and I try to keep my eyes open. Logan is sitting on my lap.
‘What the fuck?’ Buffalo has perked all the way up. ‘Lap dance before we die?’
I laugh at Buffalo, and then blue eyes are in my face. “Open.”
I focus on those eyes. They’re light blue, with streaks of gray running through them. They’re pretty. So fucking pretty.
Something brushes my mouth, and I open it while watching those commanding eyes.
“Good boy.”
Something is pressed in my mouth, and I look down. It’s the sandwich.
Some odd part of me is disappointed, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why.
I don’t want the food, but he’s pressing it into my mouth. I take a bite just to get rid of it, chew, then swallow.
“What is that?” I mutter.
“Peanut butter and jelly. You need to wake up.”
“I’m fine.” But that’s a lie. The hugs are in the air, everything feels happy, and I’m thinking some things about Logan on my lap. Things that are making my dick hard.
“Open.” Logan’s voice has become croony. Or maybe that’s just me. Or maybe it’s just Buffalo. Either way, I like it. It wraps around me and warms me.
So, I open for Logan and take another bite. He’s sitting on me, all solid and heavy and smelling like aftershave and peanut butter, and it makes my dick throb. I shift, trying to get comfortable, but the ache in my groin doesn’t go away.
“Stop.” Logan’s looking down at me. He looks pissed, but there’s a hint of amusement there too. “Just eat.”
I smile at him. I’m not sure why, but I like that tiny glimpse I caught of him. Maybe we could have been friends in another life.
Logan feeds me the rest of the sandwich, and I close my eyes again. The world is spinning round and round, the water circling the drain, and I’m the turd caught up in it.
The room is dimmer when I open my eyes again, and I’m less stoned. Immediately, I feel how stiff my arms are, and I groan, trying to get some feeling back into them. Pins and needles shoot through me, and I realize I have bread still stuck in my teeth. I’m also slammed with pain lancing through my chest.
“You’re up.”
I jump at the deep voice. It runs across my skin like a command, giving me goosebumps. I see Logan then. He’s on the other side of the L-shaped couch, watching me.
I groan, shifting my arms again. “My wrists. They hurt.” And my chest. Could be from the fucking knife wounds, but I’m no doctor.
“That’s what happens when they’re cuffed. You were a cop; I thought you knew that.”
I stare over at him. Logan is leaning back, looking relaxed but alert. He looks like a big cat, ready to spring at any time.
“Fuck, man.” I shake my head, looking around again. This place is nice. It’s clean. It also looks like someone shook a home decor magazine, and all the little pieces fell into place on his walls.
“What’s with the Buffalo?” Logan jerks his head at the stuffie, which is still beside me on the couch.
I shake my head. “He’s a highland cow.”
There’s no response. I glance up to see Logan looking at me with an eyebrow raised. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “What’s up with that?”
I groan, wanting to rub my hands over my face. I feel sweaty. Sweaty and dirty and not quite right in the head. And fuck you, before you say anything, I know I’m not right in the head. But right now, my head feels like a jar of jelly. And the jar of jelly feels like it’s stuffed with faintly buzzing bees. Nothing is hurting, nothing is anything . Just faint humming caught behind a buffer.
I close my eyes and sigh. “I don’t know, man. I woke up one day, and the thing was talking to me.”
More silence.
‘Tell him I want to see his dick.’
I jerk my eyes open and glare at Buffalo. That doesn’t dissuade him, though. He just huffs, ‘I bet it’s big.’
“What did he say?”
I jump, looking at Logan again. He’s looking like he’s waiting for an answer.
“Uh, he’s a stuffed animal. He didn’t say anything.” I narrow my eyes at Logan.
Logan just shakes his head, taking his ball cap off to readjust it. He mutters in a low voice, “What am I doing?”
I look around for who he might be talking to. Do we both have imaginary friends?
Suddenly, Logan’s head snaps up, fixing me with a hard stare. “Why weren’t you going to make it past the next month?”
I blink at him. I said that? Logan continues staring. I remember thinking it but not saying it. Whatever.
I sigh and lean forward to relieve the ache in my wrists. “I don’t know, man. You know the…hobbies I have. I don’t exactly have a long shelf life.”
Logan fires back, “That’s bullshit.”
I raise my eyebrows. It’s bullshit? No, it's practical. I figured, at some point, someone would get the best of me. That or the cops would try to take me to prison, and I’d just off myself then.
Fuck that. My heart rate picks up, and I feel the panic racing through my veins. The cops were at my house. They’re going to try and stop me! They can’t stop me. No one else will mop up pedo brains.
Fuck, I feel the panic sinking in. I try and suck in deep breaths, looking around at Logan’s house. At least, I presume this is his home. It doesn’t look like a killing shack. Too clean.
When I look back at Logan, he’s back to the angry version of himself, like somehow I fucked something up.
I am pretty good at that. This time though, I’m really not sure how. Add to the list of things I never want to do again: piss off some hot, grumpy serial killer. Expedite my shelf life from a can of beans to an opened jar of mayo.
I need to write that one down. I glance around, looking for my phone. Then, I remember I don’t have my phone.
Fuck. The buzzing. I can’t think straight.
“I’m tired.” Logan stands up, tracing his hands down his thighs as he does so. “Get up.”
I try to shake my head clear. Is this where he kills me? The air still feels happy and bubbly.
Suddenly, Logan’s hot hand is on my arm, and he is yanking me up.
“Don’t.” I fight, but I can’t feel my arms. My body feels like lead, and my head throbs.
“Don’t fight me. It just turns me on.” Logan drags me past the kitchen and down the hall. We turn into a bedroom that looks just as put together as the rest of the house. There’s a large king-size bed that takes up almost the whole room.
“No.” I try to yank away, but Logan just shoves me onto the bed so I’m on my stomach. His voice comes hot in my ear, “As much as you want to be in bed with me, you’re going on the floor. I’m going to uncuff your hands and put them around the bedpost. And you’re gonna let me do that, or I’ll hurt you. Got it?”
A million thoughts run through my head. Logan isn’t killing me right now. He isn’t killing me? That’s good. That’s fucking good. Right?
“Ronan,” there’s a warning in his voice.
“Uh…”
Suddenly, Logan’s hand is in my hair, and he’s yanking my head back and exposing my neck to him. “All you need to do is say okay and relax.”
I didn’t even realize my whole body was tense. For a second, I stay that way. But really, I have no control in this situation until I can get part of my body back. Forcefully, I make myself relax.
“Good boy.” Logan’s voice goes back to that croony tone, only Buffalo isn’t here to say it, so it’s definitely coming from him. Or it’s in my head. Oddly, it does something for me.
I scowl as the cuffs are unlocked.
“No,” the warning is back. “Why’d you tense? Relax.”
Logan still has control of both my arms. So I do. And as soon as I do, my world is suddenly flipped. In the next second, I’m on my back on the floor with the wind knocked out of me. I try to suck in a breath as Logan drops on top of my chest and yanks my arms up.
“Wait.” I try to pull away, but my arms explode in pins and needles. I groan at the pain.
“There.” Logan gets off me, and I realize he’s cuffed both hands to the place where the bedpost meets the floor.
“Logan…” I try to pull away, but he’s going to the small closet and pulling something out. Rope. He ignores me and starts tying my ankles to each other and then to the bed.
“I can’t feel my wrists.” I try to move my arms to get some feeling back.
“Suck it up, princess.” Logan finishes with my ankles, then moves up my body and looks at my wrists. “They’re fine.”
“I can’t feel them.” Correction, I can feel them—barely. But they fucking hurt. They’re on fire like someone has stuck a hundred burning hot toothpicks into the bones.
Logan just grunts and jumps into the bed. “I’m sleeping, you annoying fuck. Keep it down, and I won’t drug you again.”
I frown. “You can’t just keep me here! You can’t drug me!” I shake my body, testing the ties.
Silence.
“Fuck you, Logan.”
“Fuck you too, Ronan.”
I hate this fucker. Because he can keep me here. He can drug me. Because I let him get control.
Somehow, I can never keep myself safe. How is it that I am never safe? My chest hurts.
No one is ever safe. Not even the ones I try to protect.
I want Buff.