Chapter 14
LOGAN
I shuffle through the ties in my closet, trying to find the right one to wear for my date with Killian tonight.
Date? What in the fuck is going on?
You can stop all this right now, demand that Killian restrain himself and stop speaking like the devil.
I find a blue tie with black stripes and head over to the mirror, fixing it, thinking about that encounter when he barged into my bathroom.
I was so irate, and so turned on. He wasn’t wrong about my cock, which is why I tried to disguise it before he had a chance to see it, but Killian Lorde doesn’t miss anything, apparently.
I glance myself over in the mirror, my button-down open in the front. I can imagine Killian seeing me like this, probing me with those dark eyes, full of all that desire and cruelty. My cock shifts, and I hate myself for it.
You know what this sick fuck wants from you. It shouldn’t arouse you. It should terrify you.
But my self-admonition only makes me firmer, and my throat tightens. Feels similar to the darkness in me, the one that compelled me to punish Sik Vik. Despite what my logical mind thinks of Killian—that I should run from him like I would a feral pack of wolves—I find myself intrigued.
What am I saying? I don’t want to be fucked by a man. I’ve never so much as kissed a guy, and I don’t have any plans to. I’m straight. I was boning a woman when his goons abducted me and brought me to his lair.
It’s like he’s a hypnotist. Something in his gaze, in his touch, in those words he so viciously levies against me, has tricked my body.
That’s all this is. He’s a master manipulator, and these games have coerced me into envisioning things I never would have considered if he hadn’t planted them in my damned mind.
I button up, as though trying to prevent his phantom gaze from viewing any more of me than he already has, then fix my tie.
I look sexy tonight, the sort of sexy that might entice Killian even more than he already is.
Maybe it would be safer to wear something less appealing, but it’s fucking Killian Lorde.
He’ll know what I’m doing. He’d probably get off knowing I felt insecure enough to dress down to discourage him from drinking me in.
But I won’t cower. I won’t show fear. And under no circumstances will I ever submit to that bastard.
Although in reality, I’m already submitting by agreeing to this date. He’s wearing me down, and I should be afraid of where this is all leading.
But I’m curious.
I finish getting ready, then head over to the nightstand and look at the condoms that have slipped out of the box.
Something in me tells me I might need one, but why would I need one if I have no intention of doing anything with Killian?
Still, I find myself grabbing one, along with a packet of lube, and pocketing them.
Besides, if the date goes sideways, I’ll have Hayes drive me to a club and find a girl to fuck around with.
Of course, that would mean calling it quits on our agreement…
or bluffing, see if Killian makes good on his threats, what he swore he would do to anyone I fucked around with.
And unfortunately, that’s something I wouldn’t be able to bear.
Once I’m ready, Hayes and Lowes escort me to Mortimer’s, a fancy Midtown restaurant known for catering to guys like me and Killian. At least if he’s forcing me to go on a date with him, it’s a nice place where I can have some steak and garlic mashed potatoes.
Jaime and Krychek are at the door, and Lowes joins them, the three of them checking the place out before Krychek returns to fetch me.
“Not gonna put a knife to my throat tonight?” I ask.
“Only if that’s what you want,” he says through his teeth, as if he knows he shouldn’t speak to me like that, but can’t help himself. Must admit, he amuses me.
Krychek leads me into the restaurant, which boasts a lot of gold and black, an art deco aesthetic with geometric patterns along the tiled floor, like a path leading me to my destiny.
The place is busy, everyone dressed in suits and gowns.
Pretty typical for a Friday night. Krychek guides me to the back corner booth, where Killian slips out and stands, like a gentleman might for a lady.
“I know you think the wifey thing is funny,” I say, “but this is getting out of hand.”
As Krychek joins my guys and Jaime a few yards away to give us space, Killian waves for me to take a seat, and I roll my eyes before settling into the booth.
He reclaims his seat as I grab my menu, pretending to look through it, though I’ve been to this place enough to know my order.
“If you really want to be a gentleman, I guess you should know it isn’t polite to coerce a woman to go on a date with you. ”
“You realize you’re the woman in this scenario, right?”
I glare at him. “You’re missing the point.”
“That’s not true. I’m ignoring it.” That sly smile plays across his lips. “How has your week been?”
“Since you attacked me in the shower?”
“Since you attacked me in your bathroom,” he emphasizes again. His smile doesn’t shift, nor does he let up his eye contact. He’s so full of shit, but something about his expression makes me think he actually believes he was the one who was attacked, and it won’t do any good to contradict him.
“It’s been fine. Business as usual. Wrath is doing much better. The bruises are healing up.”
“He’s so sexy, I’m sure he can still get anyone he wants even with a few bruises.”
Like a bolt of lightning in my chest, rage sweeps through me, and I lean toward him. “You touch my brother ever, and you’re a dead man.”
My words are a weapon, usually inciting fear in those I threaten, and though I see a flash of worry, it’s quickly replaced with that trademark sadist look and a grin. He reaches across the table, resting his hand atop mine. “Don’t worry, Log. There’s only one Wilde I have my sights set on.”
I realize I’m digging my fingernails into the table, as if trying to keep from lunging across it and attacking him, but I also notice that his assurance sets me at ease.
“I like when you get jealous,” he says, gripping my hand gently.
Another pulse of adrenaline kicks through me, though not nearly as strong as before, and though I don’t want anything to do with this fuck, it makes me question my reaction—was I jealous?
No, that’s absurd. I hate this guy. This is all part of this hypnotic spell he has over me. Even the way he’s touching me now.
I yank my hand away, which makes him chuckle, like he knows my resistance is futile. I guess because it is.
“What are you planning to order?” he asks.
“Steak and potatoes.”
“And a salad, I figure.”
“I don’t do salads.”
“They’re good for you.”
“I don’t really care.”
Jesus, we can’t even talk about what we’re eating without it turning into a fight.
I consider asking him what he’s going to order, but I don’t give a flying fuck.
The waiter materializes beside our booth. He pours water into the glasses on the table, then says, “Our best cabernet tonight, as usual, Mr. Lorde?”
That he addressed Killian’s preference and not mine says everything about who’s top dog tonight, something I’m not loving. I’m about to go ahead and order so we can get this over with, but the guy’s already bolted for the wine.
I sip my water when Killian says, “Anything else happen this week?”
As I set my glass on the table, I study his expression. “Why bother? You don’t give a fuck about my week. You don’t give any shits about me outside of what you can take.”
“I can care about what I can take and also about your week,” he says, his lips curling upward. “Maybe we’ll start with Masters. How’s he? And your other brothers?”
That he asked the appropriate question takes me by surprise. “They’re fine,” I say curtly because I don’t want him involved in their lives.
“Work? I hear you’re on the market for new contracts now that the O’Dells are moving business to Chicago.”
I’m not surprised he found out about this, given the circles we run in.
“Aren’t we all on the market?” I poke.
He jabs right back. “Some of us are too busy to take on new contracts.”
Fucking asshole.
I do my best to push past the barb. “We haven’t committed to anyone just yet, but yes, we have been inquiring around, like everyone else. Obviously, I’m hoping we can maneuver this opening in the market to our advantage.”
“You should let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”
“I can do just fine on my own, thank you.”
He smirks, and unlike the rest of our conversation, I sense his admiration, though it’s not something I need. Not from him.
“Speaking of the O’Dells’ transition,” he goes on, “I imagine there’ll be plenty of bloodshed as they try to make space in a market as crowded as Chicago.”
“Well, the O’Dells are good at that.”
“And plenty of bloodshed here in Fury as the power balance shifts yet again.”
“Something we’re not too bad at either.” We both know the truth of it all too well.
“If you do happen to find some business from it,” he adds, “I’m sure you know it likely won’t make enough to cover those debts.”
I grip my seat, digging my nails in. “If this is a real date to you, then maybe don’t remind me that I have to be on this date.”
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
“You know that’s not true.”
He snickers. “Maybe I do, but this is our lot, isn’t it? I learned a long time ago that you either accept fate or let it destroy you.” He looks right through me when he says that, as though thinking about something in particular.
Whatever that’s about, I don’t give a fuck.
“Accepting fate seems like a euphemism for being destroyed,” I remark.
“You’re not wrong.” He’s still smirking, like he found that fucked-up thought amusing. Seriously, this guy is out of his damn mind.
The waiter returns with the wine, offering us a sip before pouring, and then we order appetizers.
“So…” he drags out. “What do I need to know about my future husband?”
“As in?”
“Who is Logan Wilde?”
“What do you mean? You’re not expecting me to just ramble off facts about myself like a dating-profile bio?”
“Speaking of dating profiles, you have any dating apps on your phone?” he says, his tone menacing, like he’s offended I might be trolling for pussy while he’s supposed to have me on lockdown.
Given that he had my phone, I suspect he already knows the answer. If anything, this is some kind of fucked-up test. “Yes, I do have dating apps on my phone. It’s a good way to meet women, especially when I can’t get out much.”
“I assume you’ll be deleting them now.” He stares me down, as if expecting me to remove them right now.
“Controlling much?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not deleting shit. I’m not using them, and I expect that to be good enough for you.”
“Well, it’s not.” His cheeks flush red, the veins in his neck pushing out as he claws his hands like he’s having to restrain himself from reaching across the table and backhanding me.
“You must have dating apps on your phone too,” I insist.
“I prefer to meet women in person, though with guys apps are easier since you don’t have to show your face for hookups, so I don’t have to worry about anyone knowing who I am before we meet. Men also don’t seem as bothered by my personality.”
“I can assure you we are.”
“But full disclosure, I deleted all the apps before I asked you on a date, which is why I expect you to do the same.”
“You don’t get to control me.”
He’s quiet, probing me with his gaze before he says, “We’ll see about that.”