Chapter 40
FORTY
I’m The Sinner - Jared Benjamin
Turns out sharing a murder with someone is way more work than it should be. Logan has been the biggest pain in my ass and has been fighting me at every turn. First, he didn’t want to leave me at the back of the theater to get the car. Then, he didn’t want to go into the hardware store to get my bubble bath, and then he bitched and moaned about bathtime in the woods owned by his neighbors. Just can’t please him.
In a split-second decision that is arguably one of my worst, I slip Logan’s phone, snap a picture of the dead guy, and text it to those fuckers that tried to kill us: ‘Too slow, got him!’
I smirk, but the thrill is short-lived. My nose is cold, I got acid on my—Logan’s—jeans, the cuts on my chest fucking itch, and I’m terribly, painfully sober.
I march inside Logan’s trailer, moving immediately to where he keeps his liquor stashed. Despite my kill, I keep thinking about the victims. About my fucking sister .
I should call her. What would I say? Sorry that happened. Want me to kill him for you?
I should. I should definitely kill him right after this drink.
Logan drops onto the couch, glued to his phone. Which is fine by me. I’m fucking done with his stupid requests. No, don’t drive with the window down. No, don’t dissolve him. No, don’t have any fun .
I take five heavy swallows from the whiskey, counting each one as it goes down. The back of my throat and nose burns by the time I put it down.
‘Fucking lame,’ Buff groans. ‘No pirate eye.’
Buff is sour because I didn’t take him on this one. I take another swallow as my body tenses. The more I kill, the less I feel the satisfaction afterward. Not only did I not get to play my game, but it also felt like a waste. There was no suffering. No payback. No justice .
My face feels hot. Where’s the justice? It feels like the harder I chase it, the farther away it gets.
“I found him,” Logan says from the couch.
I give him a bored look. “Who?”
“Dakota Stewart. Cop for Silent Hollow police.”
I groan. Why does Logan care? Sure, the guy was kinda the prettiest man I’ve ever seen. He looked kinda…I don’t know…hot pointing a gun at me.
Hot? Good lord, that's the whiskey talking. Or is it? I stare over at Logan. His eyes are down, and I can see the freckles on the tops of his eyelids. He also has the most impressive bone structure. And body.
My head spins with the alcohol. Okay. Maybe I have a small thing for Logan—the most annoying, bossy mother-hen killer I’ve ever met.
I grind my teeth together, spinning that stupid ring. I didn’t plan on wearing it this long. I planned on making a show of dropping it in a public trash can, but I got distracted. Because Mr. Fucking Annoying can’t keep his hands out of my murder.
Mr. Fucking Hot Annoying.
I take another shot of whiskey for good measure. I already feel it working, numbing me. At least partially. My cheeks are starting to feel numb, but everything else—the bad shit—is still there, just as heavy.
“Well fuck.”
I don’t even look at Logan. Maybe if I ignore him, he’ll realize how angry I am that he cockblocked me at every turn. He even stopped me when I kissed…I shake my head violently. Oh, fuck no. Not going there. Because I don’t care. He stopped me from fucking up.
“Come here,” Logan demands.
‘Yes, Daddy,’ Buff smirks from his favorite spot on the kitchen island. Nosey bastard wants to see everything.
I huff, turning to the fridge and opening it. Not because I’m hungry, but because I’m so fucking over Logan.
There’s silence, and then Logan’s voice drops lower. “Ronan.”
The warning in his tone sends a delicious thrill over me. But I keep perusing the fridge, feeling him approach, and I expect him to hover like he usually does.
That’s a mistake because suddenly, there’s a hand in my hair, yanking my head back. I shuffle-step back to catch my balance.
“I said something.” Then, Logan slams the fridge shut and shoves me into it. My forearms bounce off the door, barely catching myself before his body is behind me, pinning me to it. Again, my head is yanked back so my neck is arched into the ceiling.
“Get off me.” My voice is raspy from the strain.
“No.” Logan just presses into me harder, and I feel his hard dick against my ass.
I try to shove off the fridge, but he just yanks my hair harder, making tears spring into my eyes. “Show me your fucking throat like a good boy.”
“Fuck you,” I hiss, trying to get away, but his body is a solid weight against me, and his heavy grip on my hair won’t let me move.
Logan’s hand traces down my body, and suddenly, he’s gripping my dick.
My very hard dick. I struggle, but a delicious thrill runs through me.
“Stop fighting me. I’m not hurting you.”
I hiss at him, struggling.
“I’m not hurting you. Right ?” Logan’s voice is low and demanding in my ear.
I stop for a second to assess. I’m fucking uncomfortable, but I’m not in pain.
“Good boy. That’s what I want. A good slut all tied up in my arms.”
Logan’s voice is crooning and shivers run up and down my arms. Am I…enjoying this? No. I shake back and forth, and Logan gives a warning yank.
“It’s not hard to stand there and show me your neck. So why do you seem to be struggling?”
He holds me firmly in place, and all the while, there’s war inside my head. I don’t want to do what he says—purely on principle. But also, I’ve never felt such a delicious thrill through my whole body being helpless in Logan’s arms.
“You have a hard time submitting, don’t you?”
There’s a sliding sound, then something cold and sharp presses against my neck. Something like a knife. I freeze.
“Feel that?” Logan hums. “Oh good, now you’re obeying.”
I’ve gone still because I’m pretty sure Logan has a knife to my throat. My pulse speeds up, racing in my ears and also in my dick.
“Is this what it takes?” He moves his lips to the skin of my neck, whispering, “Threatening your life? Do you want to die, Ronan?” He briefly brushes against my skin, and I can’t help but shiver. Fear and arousal run through me, drowning out the defiance. So I stand still.
Logan laughs, and it’s a mean sound. “Oh, so now you want to live. Hard to believe with that stunt you pulled earlier.” Logan’s voice deepens in anger, and his grip tightens. “What the hell were you doing?”
Oh, he wants to pick a fight about this? “Killing someone,” I snarl. “What were you doing? Besides being a scared little bitch?” It’s hard to talk with the skin of my throat pulled tight.
“Trying to keep you alive,” Logan hisses, and I feel the nick of the knife into my skin. Instead of it scaring me…it sends a rush of pleasure through my body, which is so absolutely fucked up. Logan could kill me right now. He could, but he isn’t. And that makes me feel…good.
“Fuck you, Ronan. You want to live.” Logan drags the last part out, then says a little more demanding, “You won’t get hurt.”
I laugh, and the sound is bitter. “What do you care?”
“I care.” Logan’s voice is damn near shaking.
“Yeah?” My arms are weighed down by his heavy ones. The only real movement I have is in my right hand, which I sneak between us, then grab a handful of Logan’s dick.
Logan moans and releases the pressure on me enough to jerk my body around. Then, I throw a punch right into his face. Only, he ducks in time for the hit to glance off, knocking his hat to the ground. Logan immediately pulls away to scoop it up like it’s something precious.
“And what’s with the hat, anyway?” I check my neck, and my fingers come back bloody. That fucker cut me. And it only turned me on.
Logan doesn’t answer me, just heaves, staring at the thing.
“You fucking balding?” I sneer. “Hiding something?”
“Not hiding.” Logan snarls, “You want to know so bad?” He whips the hat toward me, holding it upside down. “There. You happy now?”
I stare at it. It looks like a hat.
“There.” Logan shoves it at me, and there’s some shift in Logan’s attitude that makes me focus. He seems…serious.
I take a closer look. Inside the brim of the hat is a picture. I take one more look at Logan to make sure he isn’t going to clock me, but his eyes look tortured. Taking the hat, I look at the picture closer. It’s a teenage boy playing guitar while he smiles at the camera. He also has a hat on backwards. I suck in a breath because he looks a lot like…me.
“What the fuck?” I look back up at Logan. “What is this?”
Logan snatches the hat back. “That’s Greyson.”
“Who?” I try to look at it again. The kid looks like me, but not quite.
“My…friend.” Logan shoves the hat back on his head.
“Oookay?” What is going on right now? Why does that kid look like me?
“He was my first…” Logan adjusts and readjusts his hat.
There’s a charged silence in the kitchen. Even Buffalo has nothing to say. I don’t like the feeling in my stomach.
Suddenly, I realize what’s going on. Greyson was Logan’s first. He carries a picture of him around everywhere.
This was his first boyfriend.
First crush.
First lover.
A sickening feeling rushes over me as that sinks in. And then, a second wave hits me. Logan’s first boyfriend looks like me. Or, I look like him .
Does…is that why Logan took me?
I stagger a step back. Logan doesn’t like me . He likes that I look like him .
Suddenly, I’ve lost track of my surroundings. My heart is racing, and it feels like all the blood in my body is pumping right under my skin.
This shouldn’t bother me. I shouldn’t care. Why do I care? I don’t care.
“Your first.” Against my will, my voice cracks, and I follow it up with a snarl. “So why aren’t you with him?”
Logan looks to the side, his voice dropping and gravely. “Greyson’s dead.”
Oh. Oh fuck. And just as quickly as that sinking feeling hits me, relief hits me right after. And then guilt, because that’s the most fucked up reaction, but I’m a little drunk.
Logan keeps adjusting the hat, then rubs the back of his neck. “So that’s why I wear it all the time.”
I stand there, unsure how to react. I’ve gone from horny to angry to upset in a matter of seconds. I stare at Logan to gauge where he’s at. His face is red, and he takes the hat off one more time and slams it against the counter.
“So yeah, I get pissed when you throw your life away so…” Logan waves his hands like he’s searching for the word, “willingly.”
I’m pretty sure all the alcohol is catching up to me because there’s a lump in my throat. Logan’s pain is doing something to me. I’m not sure what to say.
“Logan…”
“Don’t.” He waves me off, snapping, “I’m over it.”
I cross my arms and say the first thing that comes to my mind because the world is spinning a little, and I’m drunk. “Clearly, you’re not.”
Logan’s eyebrows shoot up, and he snarls, “Fuck you, Ronan.”
“Fuck you!” I shoot back.
“You know,” he advances on me, “sometimes, I want to punch you in the face.”
“Yeah?” I stop, the adrenaline rushing through me, but I let him advance on me.
“And sometimes,” Logan gets up close enough that his breath brushes my skin,
“Sometimes, I just want to kiss the fucking attitude right out of you.”
I blink, unsure if I just heard him right. I find myself staring at Logan’s lips. His firm, masculine lips. As if in reaction, I lick mine.
“Fuck it,” Logan mutters, and then he’s on top of me. Then he’s kissing me like this is his only chance. Pressing his lips into mine like we’re magnets. Like the world isn’t right unless we’re together. Like we’re meant to be together.
And then his warm tongue is tracing the seam of my lips, and fuck, I part to let him in. He presses into me firmly, dominantly, like he wants to suck the free will right out of my soul.
And fuck if I might let him.