Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
We Did It!!! - grandson
In what universe are you happy that the people shooting at you are deranged psychos instead of the fucking cops?
Maybe I’m still dreaming. When Logan came into the room, I was trapped in a nightmare about an old case I had worked on. Maybe I’m still sleeping now?
I suck cool, fresh air into my throat and pinch myself. Fucking ow .
Shit. Reality is still a nightmare. I should have known.
I shake my head, looking over at Logan. He’s also trying to catch his breath, but he has bright red blood running down his right arm.
“Dude, what the fuck?” I snap, going immediately over to check out the injury. Logan yanks away from me. “It’s fine. It’s just a scratch.”
“The fuck it is.” I follow after him, ripping his shirt at the collar. He hisses, but it exposes his right bicep, which has a clean cutout in a ‘U’ shape. Looks like a bullet grazed him. Or like a turtle took a bite out of him. A turtle bullet.
“You’re gonna have to stop the bleeding.”
Logan gives me a look. “I’m fine.”
“I don’t usually count ‘fine’ as bleeding all over the front steps, but okay.” I throw my hands up. “Be like that.” Not my fucking problem. Don’t even know why I care.
Slowly, I spin in a circle, looking around. There’s always such a weird, manic space after combat. My body expects more fucking men with guns to pop out of the dirt. Plus, for some fucking irritating reason, I’m concerned about Logan.
”Who the fuck was that?” I look at Logan. He’s shaking his head, looking a little dazed. It makes a weird, buzzy feeling run through me. Definitely not a concerned feeling.
“First time?” I try to joke it off.
Logan waves me off.
Oh, it’s definitely his first time. How cute. “Well, we’re gonna need to get the gas out of the house..”
Logan just gives an absent nod while trying to look like he isn’t examining his arm.
I shake my head. “We’re gonna have to pack it down. Gonna hurt when we put spicy rain towels on it.”
He gives me a look like I’m crazy.
I shrug. “O.C. is spicy rain. Gets into everything. Most people don’t have access to a fucking O.C. launcher.” I eye Logan anew. Who the fuck was after him?
He just waves me off. “I need my tablet.”
“Not a good time to play Angry Birds—“ but he’s already going in the house.
I glance over my shoulder. The road is just as still as it was, and for a second, I realize I could run. I could run right now and find someone on the road. Hop into their car and then…
Fucking then what? My stomach sinks. I have nowhere to go. The cops are looking for me, and now some fucking psychos are here too? These people clearly weren’t cops, so I don’t know how they’re gonna act. Are they just gonna nurse their wounds and come back? Why in the hell did they bust in the door like that? The guy was practically begging to get shot. Regardless, we have the high ground inside.
Reluctantly, I move back into the trailer. Logan is on the couch, looking into something on his tablet and completely ignoring the blood dripping on his couch. Something about that rubs me the wrong way. He didn’t want to dirty his couch earlier, so why is he doing it now?
“For the love of satan,” I mutter and cough, striding to the kitchen. As I do, I notice my finger doesn’t feel right. I glance down and see a ring on it. It’s a thick one, sparkly and covered in gears.
Jesus Christ. But then, Logan grunts and I grab a wad of paper towels. I march back over to Logan. “Nurse your wounds, fucker.”
He barely notices me, still tapping away.
I frown, mad at the blood, mad that the air makes me want to rip my lungs out, and mad at him. Mad at the people who fucking shot at us, and while we’re at it, mad at the fucking world.
“Fucking fine.” I mash the paper towels on Logan’s arm. “Hold this.” Then, I stomp around the house. I seal off the room where the gas was shot and open up every window. It fucking hurts to see, but we need to be prepared for a second round.
Once fresh air is flowing in, I find Logan in the same spot, muttering.
This fucker. Not taking any of this seriously. Which is kinda like my brand. How dare he steal my brand? And poorly, if I may add. He’s just being stupid.
I grumble, finding the medical things he used on my chest on the counter. I march over to him. “Shove over.”
Logan barely looks at me but does as I say. He’s no longer holding the paper towels, and one is still hanging on by a blood-soaked thread.
Granted, the wound isn’t bad bad. But I kinda need this stupid fucker in working condition if there are gonna be two people coming after us.
“I need a gun.” I rip off the bloody towel, squirting hydrogen peroxide on the wound.
Finally, Logan hisses and whirls. “Jesus.”
“Hey, sunshine!” I beam at him. “Give me a fucking gun.”
“Apex.” Logan looks at me with those vibrant blue eyes.
“What?” I frown.
“It’s all connected!” He goes back to his tablet. “Those guys are connected.”
I glare at him. “As we were saying.” I pour more peroxide on him. “Gun. Fucker.”
Logan sucks in a breath but doesn’t even look at me. “I knew I’d seen that guy somewhere.”
“Who?” I wipe away the excess liquid. The bullet took a chunk of a tattoo out. It was some woman with sad eyes. Now she has one eye. He’s gonna have to stitch it up and tattoo an eyepatch over it.
Pirate eye! I snicker to myself.
“That guy is Callum Walker. The one who shot at us.”
Immediately, I’m focused again. “What?”
Logan shows me the tablet, and on it is a grainy image of the guy in the weird hoodie from earlier. It looks like a photo from a surveillance camera. Callum looks just as cocky in that picture as he did here.
“Who is he, and why the fuck is he trying to kill you?” I ask.
“He works for Apex.”
“Okaaay,” I drag the word out. I have no idea what the fuck that is.
“I saw him on one of my other kills. He was protecting a judge who let pedos off easy.” Logan leans back, disbelief on his face. “Fuck.”
I stare at Logan, narrowing my eyes. He’s talking about someone he killed. Did he piss off the wrong people?
“Hold this.” I mash gauze onto his arm, then grab the tape. Wrapping it around his arm—his stupidly thick arm—I tie it off.
“Thanks,” Logan says, and then the air goes quiet. Well, quiet and spicy. Goddamn, it’s hard to breathe.
Logan runs his hand down his face, then seems to regret it as he winces. “Fuck.”
I smirk. Amateur. Everyone knows not to touch your eyes or wiener after a good pepper spray. Absently, I play with the ring around my finger. Part of it shifts with my movement, and I glance down. The gears turn as I twist them.
“So…” I try to fill the silence. “Who exactly do you kill, Logan?”
When I look up, he’s watching me fidget with the ring. He glances up to meet my gaze. “Pedophiles, usually. The one time I didn’t,” he motions at the tablet, then the air.
It takes a second for what he’s saying to sink in. Logan kills…pedophiles?
Logan pulls up a screen. “That judge I killed was on Apex’s payroll. I had no idea what that was until I kept looking. It’s like an underground circle jerk of power and money.”
I stare at him, still stuck on the fact he kills the same people I do.
Logan drops the tablet. “I killed the wrong person. And now they’re out to kill us.”