Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
HELLBOUND - Autumn Kings
Despite every good intention to wake Logan up every thirty minutes, I also pass out. But not before I bitch and moan about Buffalo enough for Logan to go get him for me. When I wake up, the room is bright, and I can’t hear Logan’s soft breaths anymore.
Fuck. I clench my eyes shut. I absolutely can’t feel my arms anymore, and my whole body hurts. The places that aren’t numb are on fire. Especially my chest. It’s like my skin is splitting apart all over again.
Memories from the last few hours roll through me, and I groan. Some of the memories are foggy, and I’m not exactly sure what happened, but I do know I embarrassed myself. Drunk and hungover Ronan are unbearable, even to my own standards.
So, how in the fuck am I still alive? Cuffed to my rival’s bed on the floor?
I do remember I was ready to die. I had accepted it, but I’m still very much alive. Very much alive and very much pissed off.
Logan doesn’t get to kill me. This is not how everything ends.
I hear faint sounds close by. It sounds like a bathroom.
I have to figure out my game plan. Drunk Ronan is killable, but drunk Ronan stayed alive. So what the fuck did he do?
The door opens, and I see bare feet from under the bed. Faintly, the smell of sandalwood body wash rolls over me. Logan rounds the bed, coming to stand in front of me. He’s shirtless, in only a towel, his chest and abs on display.
Suddenly, my mouth goes dry. Logan is not only jacked, he’s covered in tattoos. They’re all over his body, curling in dark ink over his muscles and making them stand out. Little drops of water trace down his skin, and I can’t help but watch their path.
Logan catches me looking and smirks. “Morning, fag.”
I snarl at him.
He just shakes his head and chuckles. A deep chuckle that somehow makes it into my chest and bounces around like electricity.
Logan turns to the closet and drops the towel, and suddenly, I’m graced with his back, packed with muscles that ripple as he moves. And his ass. Two nicely packed globes that are perfectly round. Against my will, my gaze drops lower, and for the love of god , I can see his dick hanging between his legs. It’s that big. I jerk my eyes closed.
Do not look at his dick.
“I’m hungry,” I grind out. Anything to distract from looking at him. Also, the more I can get Logan to do for me, the more wiggle room I’ll get to find a way out of this.
“I bet you are,” Logan laughs, and I hear the rustle of fabric. When I peek my eyes open, he’s pulled on jeans. Then he throws a shirt on and slams that ball cap on backwards. “If you want to eat, you’ll do everything I say.” His gaze is suggestive.
The sudden thought that he’s going to ask me to suck his dick fills my head.
Could I? Would I? This is survival, Ronan. If it’s suck a dick or die, you’ll suck the goddamn dick.
I wonder if it’s big? My throat closes, and I can barely swallow. My own dick seems to have something wrong with it cause it’s hard, pressing into the shorts I still somehow have on.
“Ronan.” Logan’s staring at me. I snap out of it.
“I’ll uncuff your hands so you can eat. Don’t get any ideas, though. I think I’ve shown you that you can’t beat me in a fight.”
I stare at him. He’ll undo my hands? What a dumbass. But I’ll accept. Sure as fuck I’ll accept.
Logan looks like he can read every expression on my face. But he still leans down and messes with my feet. I expect him to untie them, but he doesn’t. He just removes the ropes from the bed and ties my feet off, giving only about an inch of wiggle room.
When he gets to my hands, I realize why he’s giving them back to me. I can barely feel them, which, when it comes to keeping body parts alive, blood is kinda important.
“There you go. Sit up.”
When I try, fiery pain laces through my chest, and I groan.
Logan helps, which makes me hate him even more. I don’t fucking need help.
Only I do. Sitting up on the bed makes me dizzy, so I hang my head.
“Don’t you dare puke.” Logan grabs Buff and puts him on the bed beside me.
This fucker. I hate that he’s paying attention to Buff. I hate it. I also hate that he’s trying to tell me to control something I can’t control. If I’m gonna puke, I’m gonna puke, and I’ll make sure it’s all over his feet.
But the nausea passes quickly this time. When I lift my head, Logan straightens. “Follow me.”
I have no other choice but to obey. At least, I try. There is no fucking give on the ropes, and they burn my skin every time I shuffle. Logan doesn’t leave. He just watches me struggle. The rage that fills me burns a hole in my chest. He doesn’t get to take this power from me.
It takes an embarrassingly long time for me to shuffle to the kitchen. Once there, Logan pulls out a stool at the bar and motions at it. “Sit.”
I glare at him, but I do. I’m starting to feel my arms again. They feel thick and so much bigger than normal, although they look okay. I notice I still have that ring on.
Logan leaves, then comes back with Buffalo, putting him on the counter beside me. Then, he moves to the kitchen, shuffling around, opening the fridge, and getting pots and pans out. The banging hurts my head and makes me close my eyes.
‘Did you guys fuck?’ Buffalo pipes up. ‘Last night, before I got there.’
Jesus Christ. I can’t even snap at Buffalo to shut up with Logan here. So, I telegraph it with an evil look. Soon, the banging stops, and I glance around the kitchen, looking for something to help me escape. There’s a knife block right by the stove, right where Logan is cooking.
“I’ll make breakfast,” I offer. Even though I can barely move my fingers.
“Fuck no.” Logan is mixing something in a bowl. “I’ve seen the state of your kitchen. All you know how to make is flat scrambled eggs with no milk, huh?”
I frown, the insult running through me. My eggs aren’t that bad. “Okay, Mr. Peanut Butter and Jelly Culinary Genius.”
The pan hisses as Logan pours something into it. Eggs.
I wiggle my fingers, pleased that some feeling is coming back. There are deep grooves where the cuffs dug into them, and I know once I get feeling back, some shit is gonna start hurting really bad.
But pain means I’m alive, so I embrace it reluctantly. I’m not so sure this is a situation I want to be alive for.
When Logan isn’t looking, I wiggle the ring off and push it to the edge of the counter.
Logan gets three plates out, serving up what looks like fluffy, perfect scrambled eggs. Fuck him for that.
I glance around. Three plates? Who the hell else is here?
Logan just calmly slides me a plate.
“Eat.”
I stare at him as he slides Buffalo his own plate. “What the fuck?”
Logan starts eating. “I made him one. You have a problem with that?”
“No, I…” I frown.
‘If you don’t marry this man, then I will.’ Buffalo sounds awfully pleased.
I clear my throat. “It’s a stuffed animal.”
Logan shrugs. “Eat.”
I glance down at the eggs and my mouth waters. I can tell they’re seasoned well, and they look like little clouds. But what if he drugged these too?
Logan just rolls his eyes, reaching across the counter and grabbing some of my eggs with his fingers. He brings them to his lips, and I watch as he eats them, his jaw clenching. Then I watch as he swallows, the muscles moving slightly.
Logan lifts an eyebrow. “See? Eat.”
I narrow my eyes. “You put your fingers in my food.”
Logan just looks at me for a second, then he smirks. “Did you want them somewhere else?”
Despite myself, heat runs to my face. I make a show of yanking the eggs closer to me and shoving away the ones closest to where he ate from. Do I care? No. Am I mad he’s humiliated me, and now this? Yes.
“You have, like, two forks at your place.” Logan lifts an eyebrow. “I’m surprised that bothers you.”
“I’m surprised it doesn’t bother you .” I dig in, and good heavens almighty, the food is good as fuck. Around a mouthful, I mutter and wave at the house, “You’re an anal, clean fucker.”
“I’m not anal. Just tidy. There’s a difference.”
“Anal,” I mutter. Every bite is heavenly, which just makes me more and more mad. I reach for Buffalo’s plate, and Logan smacks me away. “Let it sit, or you’ll puke again.”
“You have something against puke?” I consider snatching the plate anyway. I’m fucking starving.
Logan’s face shutters. “Just wait.”
I glare at him, but I do. I can feel my hands again, mostly. My right wrist tingles.
After I shift back and forth, testing the ropes on my legs, I grab the food again. This time, Logan doesn’t stop me. He just watches as I clean that plate, too.
The way he’s watching me makes me uncomfortable. It’s like he can see everything about me. Which is bullshit. He doesn’t know anything about me. Nothing at all.
When we’re done, Logan takes our plates and puts them in the dishwasher, which is mildly disappointing because I wanted to smash him over the head with at least one of them. His handsome face would look even better with ceramics raining down around it.
But alas. We can’t all get what we want.
“Couch.” Logan dries his hand on a towel and jerks his head to it. “Lay on your back.”
“What?” I narrow my eyes at him, but Logan turns around and digs into a cabinet. And I can see his ass again. It really is a nice ass.
Fuck. Maybe he did drug the eggs.
“Now, Ronan.”
I roll my eyes but hop off the stool. If it’s die in my shorts with my legs wrapped in a bow or lay on the couch with my legs wrapped in a bow…imma choose the couch.
There’s a decorative throw rug on the floor that almost trips me up, but I make it, sinking back onto the couch. I love that I have my hands free. It makes me feel less helpless.
Logan comes around and sets a bunch of things on the glass coffee table. He motions at me. “Lay back.”
I don’t want to. I don’t like the power it gives him. Although, I suppose that is the point. Whatever Logan wants to do, he doesn’t want me to be able to fight him on it.
“No.” I look over the things he’s brought over. They look like…medical supplies?
Logan rolls his eyes. “I wouldn’t kill you on my couch. Too much cleanup. Lay back.”
I lock eyes with him. He lifts an eyebrow as if he knows he can make me if he wants to. But he wants me to do it. He wants me to obey.
Instead, I ask, “What are you going to do?”
Logan reaches out and shoves me hard, right against the cuts.
I cry out, landing on my back, my body racked with pain.
“Fucker!” I try to get back up, but Logan just plants his hand in my chest, shooting even more pain through me. “Down. Eyes on me.”
I glare at him. With every breath, my chest moves up into his hand, hurting more.
Logan looks at me. “You didn’t listen, so I hurt you. This is how it goes, Ronan.”
I want to fight him, but my feet are tied, and his hand is in my wounds.
“Now that I have your attention, the rules are simple. I’m gonna clean your cuts. You’re gonna lay there like a good boy and let me. Got it?”
I blink, both to clear the water from my eyes and to try and unscramble my brain. He’s going to…what?
“Good.” Logan removes his hand. “Obey. It’s a simple concept, really.”
“I’m not a child.”
“No, but you should have learned this while you were one. It’s okay, I’ll teach you again. I can’t wait to watch it make you squirm.”
What? Then, he’s putting peroxide on a swab and dabbing it on my chest. Instant, white-hot pain racks my body, and I stiffen.
Logan doesn’t stop. He continues to clean my chest, wiping away the fresh blood that comes up, and fuck, if the pain doesn’t make me want to punch him in the face.
Logan must know it too ‘cause he smirks, watching me closely with those blue eyes. It’s like he’s daring me to do it. Daring me to fail so he can hurt me more.
So I just clench my teeth and bear it. Bear his long fingers brushing over my skin. Bear the hand that pulls my skin down so he can get into the crevices. The heat of his palm. The heat of his stare.
By the time he’s done, I’m clenching the couch cushion in my fist and sweating my nuts off.
Logan smiles, giving me a little pat on the cheek. “Good boy.”
And now, I’m suddenly hard.