Chapter 4
LOGAN
The next few days are uneventful, but I’m anxious as fuck.
Well, more than usual. I assume it’s a trauma response from the abduction, a part of me waiting for more guys to break in at any moment and tear me away from my family.
I’ve had a few dreams where I’m in a wedding dress, heading down the aisle toward Killian, who stands in a tux with a priest at the altar.
One would think it’d be difficult to secure a Catholic priest for a gay wedding, but they probably don’t know the Wildes or the Lordes.
“The good news is, nothing about this is legally binding,” my attorney, Finter, assured me after reviewing the contract, which, no shit, but that’s not really the issue. “As far as protection goes, it’s contingent upon this wedding.”
Of course it is. Just my luck. I’m sure one of the Lordes’ best lawyers came up with this. Old Terror was brutal, not an idiot.
Outside of the contract, I’ve gone through our finances with our accountant.
Repaying the debts written off because of our arrangement with the Lordes would be, short of a miracle, something we would never recover from.
And even if we could get out of our debts, that would still leave our enemies.
Our family earned every one, and the moment this forcefield around us disappears, they’ll descend upon me and my brothers in a storm of vengeance and blood.
Killian is smart enough not to bother me while I mull over everything he said, and on Friday, I’m in Dad’s study, catching up via FaceTime with Malaki, who’s rambling about his friends and school.
“You there, bro?” he asks, shaking me out of my daze.
“Sorry, just a lot on my mind.”
I haven’t mentioned any of this arranged-marriage BS to him or Rory.
Their education and futures are my priority.
Unlike Wrath, Masters, and me, neither of them has any interest in this life, so I consider it my duty to ensure they never have to deal with it any more than their birthright forces them to.
But I must admit I envy how they can make plans for something bigger and better.
Because for me…well, I never had a chance to dream of another life.
This was always my fate. It’s not something I allow myself to dwell on usually, mostly because it doesn’t do me any good.
It’s different now, though, and I’ve been letting myself indulge in self-pity.
I’m a cornered animal, right where Killian wants me.
“I’ll be fine,” I tell Malaki, not sure if that’s even the truth.
He angles his head, issuing an accusatory glare. “Okay, I’ve been gone for a few months. That doesn’t mean I can’t read when something’s up with you.”
“Fair enough. Something is going on, but it’s just business. My responsibility.”
He studies my expression. I want to shift the phone so he won’t be able to get too good of a read on me. But even if he tried, I can’t imagine he’d clock what’s really going on.
“You know, you don’t have to do this,” he says, and the way he words it…does he know? Wrath is a little snitch, so it wouldn’t surprise me.
“Do what?” I ask, cautious in case I’m wrong.
“Be all quiet and broody, keep it all packed in and not ask for help. It’s nice to talk about things. I actually have a counselor here, and we talk about a lot of things.”
“A counselor? What do you talk about? You aren’t telling them family secrets, are you?” My words come out more hostile than I intended, a consequence of being obsessed with secrets all my life. I bite my lip. “Sorry, I know you wouldn’t do that. I don’t know why I reacted that way.”
“I think you just demonstrated what I’m talking about. This isn’t healthy, Logan. To keep things buried like that. I’ve just been talking about some stuff that happened when we were younger. Like…” Even before he says it, I already know where he’s going. “With Mom.”
Vivid images flash through my mind—bright-red blood, being gripped by terror as I seize my gun, rushing through the house, desperate to make sure my family’s okay…
I clench my fists, trying to will away the thoughts of that fateful day. The day our mother died.
“Obviously, just the event,” Malaki assures me. “And once I got it out, it didn’t feel as heavy. It didn’t feel so scary.”
I glance around Dad’s office, searching for a way out of this conversation. “I think I have some things I need to get to.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you, Logan.”
“You didn’t. I just, I need a minute.”
It’s not that the memory is too much for me. Hell, there hasn’t been a day since then that I haven’t gone over it, whether I wanted to or not. It just feels like I can’t deal with it while I’m already stressed out of my mind over Killian.
I tell Malaki I love him before hanging up, and I’m about to head out of the study to mope about the premises when the door bursts open. I jump, half expecting Killian’s come to collect.
It’s only Wrath. “Whoa, bro. Why so jumpy? Guess being kidnapped will do that to you. You know, that last time I was kidnapped, it wasn’t so bad. Met some nice guys, and I had a good time before I killed them all.”
If only he was joking.
He slaps my back. “Relax. You’ve been too uptight the past few days.”
“I was just on the phone with Malaki, and it reminded me why it’s so important to maintain protection for our family. Everyone shouldn’t have to pay for this family’s mistakes.” Just me…
“I don’t think you get how the mob works,” Wrath says. “You don’t get a choice about it. It’s in our blood, and that includes the little artist.”
Maybe it’s something to do with being given such a wild-ass name, or that he and Masters inherited the side of Dad that loved all this—the politics, the power, the frenzy.
Malaki, Rory, and I aren’t anything like them.
This wasn’t the life we chose for ourselves, and I would rather swallow the more unpleasant parts of this than put it on them.
Of course, that’s not something Wrath would understand, so I bite my tongue.
He hands me a drink, and I down it. “Ooh, you needed that, didn’t you?”
“You have no idea.” I enjoy the tingling that gives me some reprieve from the bullshit.
He glares at me. “You’ve been doing that thing you do.”
“Huh?”
“Sulking around the house.”
“You and Malaki need to leave me to it,” I say through my teeth.
“Well, I’m here to announce you’re finished moping. You’re coming out with us to the Trove tonight.”
I cringe.
Wrath and Masters love attending the fights, which I find barbaric. Brutal.
“You’re not fighting, are you?”
“Of course I am.”
Jesus, I thought I couldn’t get more stressed than when Malaki brought up Mom.
“Wrath…last time your opponent broke your arm and busted open your lip.”
“And I broke his nose, but look at this guy.” He indicates his perfect nose, which he’s so proud of never having broken in a fight.
“I’m not going to a goddamn fight, especially if you’re in the ring.”
He slings his arm around my shoulders, tugging me close. “Come on, big bro. You’re gonna love it.”
I hate the fights. It’s one of the many things I could do without. Although, the Trove is one of our business associates’ favorite places to meet.
“You know what would make my brother feel better?” he asks. “A good lay. A girl to remind him he doesn’t belong to some psycho. And you know all the hot girls show up to the fights.”
He’s not wrong. Plus, one of the reasons the Trove is so desirable for guys like me is that the security is on point, so there’s no chance Killian would attempt to have me kidnapped from there. But that brings me to another issue…
“Killian might be there,” I say. “I don’t want to see that fucker.”
“He hasn’t come to the past few. His brother might, but Killian doesn’t like the fights. I’ve heard he sees his real life as having enough bloodshed that he doesn’t need any as entertainment, you know?”
The thought that we might have found a place where Killian won’t be is enticing.
It’s early for my drink to have kicked in, but I feel a rush, or maybe it’s because Wrath’s idea is not half bad.
*
The Trove is packed tonight, and I already regret coming here.
But something about what Wrath said really stuck with me.
If I’m running around, fucking women, then I don’t belong to Killian.
I’m my own man, regardless of any bullshit our dads came up with, regardless of some document I signed—the decision of a heartbroken kid, at the request of his desperate, dying father.
Despite what Killian thinks are my obligations to him now, part of me’s clinging to the hope that at the end of all this, he’ll laugh his ass off, maybe reveal that my brothers put him up to it as an elaborate prank.
It’s not unlike something Wrath would do.
Yet despite my attempts to rationalize this away, something deep within me knows it’s futile.
That Killian absolutely expects me to marry him.
The place is loud, the shouting, screaming crowd surrounding the ring—a dome-shaped cage in the center of the warehouse, on full display for an audience that believes the highest form of entertainment is blood.
Scantily clad servers weave through the patrons, carrying trays of fresh and discarded drinks, ensuring their wild horde is satisfied.
Wrath nudges me with his shoulder. “Over there.”
A few prospects with drinks, laughing together. They’re hot, and that’s about all that matters to me right now.
“Oooh, I wish I didn’t have to focus on the fight,” he says, “but I’m sure I’ll have some options by the time it’s over.”
I groan. “Wrath, you’d better win because I really don’t want to see you getting your ass pummeled.”
“You won’t. You’ll see me pummeling someone else’s ass, so cool down and have some faith in your little bro.” He hooks his arm around me, pulling me farther into the warehouse.
But I’m all tensed up, hating the thought.
I order an old-fashioned, but the whiskey makes me think of Killian. I consider discarding it and ordering something else, yet find myself sipping on it eagerly.
“Just back out now,” I tell Wrath after another swig. “They can easily find a replacement. Half the guys in here would kill to get the attention of having their asses handed to them.”
“I didn’t even tell you who my opponent is.”
“Will it make a difference?”
“It’s Riggy Segal.”
“Rigs?” I know him from the underworld. A worthy opponent, who could definitely kick his ass, which gives me some comfort. Only a little, though. “I don’t get what you enjoy about these things.”
“It’s my life, isn’t it?” It’s hard for Wrath to say anything all that seriously, but I can hear the seriousness in his tone, and it reminds me of my own feelings about this life.
What Dad set up for us and how I don’t want any part in it, yet here we are.
And while I don’t always love Wrath’s choices, I don’t have the right to make decisions for him.
“Come on, Logan. I know what’ll cheer you up.” He pulls me over to the girls we spotted on the way in.
Maybe if I can find a girl who’s interested, we could beat it before it gets to the point where I have to watch him fight. And there’s one among them—dark hair, with these beautiful cat eyes—looking at me like she knows exactly what she wants from me already.
“You catch a lot of fights here?” I ask her, feeling like I might as well have asked if she comes here often, but she doesn’t seem to mind. Few women ever do.
“Unfortunately, my friends dragged me, and I’m eager to find any excuse to get out.”
Maybe I just found my ticket out of this, away from all that shit I don’t want to face right now. I chat her up—her name’s Alana—and we’ve barely gotten a few words in when I notice heads turning.
I follow the crowd to see an entourage entering.
The first guy looks like a bodyguard—suited up, all bulk, like he used to be a linebacker.
Following him is—the hell?—Killian, flanked by Jaime and Krychek.
They look a little worn down, but when we make eye contact, Krychek smiles and winks at me like he got a kick out of me handing him his ass.
Killian doesn’t look as amused. He glances between Alana and me like we’ve wronged him, and instinctively, I realize that flirting with a girl while engaged to him is dangerous.
But we’re not really engaged, and if he thinks that even if I did marry his ass, I wouldn’t need some pussy, he’s out of his fucking mind. Well, more than he already is.
“Guess you Richie Riches all know each other,” Alana says, catching my attention.
“Uh…yeah.” That’s all I’m willing to say.
My gaze follows Killian, and I’m waiting for him to look back, but he keeps on, so maybe I’m overthinking this? I’m just relieved he didn’t approach right away, ask me if I’d decided what I was going to do as his future wife. I’ll take that as a win.