Chapter Two #2
“Hey! Order!” the guy shouted directly in Nick’s face. His breath smelled like beer and garlic. “How long on those wings?”
Nick narrowed his eyes at the aggression wrapped in such a simple request. He reminded Nick of his stepdad. “About four inches. If don’t get out of my face, I’ll make sure your order comes out around closing time.” He cocked his hip, slapping a hand on one side. “Try me.”
“We’ve been waiting forever.”
The pain made Nick’s filter evaporate completely. He was so over this asshole.
“Four whole minutes.” Nick sighed dramatically. “Tragic. I’ll drag your raw chicken out right now if you’re that desperate. Salmonella’s just spicy food poisoning, right?”
“I don’t care if it’s been four seconds.” The guy leaned forward, all two-hundred-plus pounds of entitlement. “I’m hungry now.”
Nick’s abdomen cramped so violently his head swam. He white-knuckled the counter behind him, nails digging into the oak. The agony was a living thing now, coiling through his gut like something with teeth.
“Listen, you little—”
“No, you listen, you red flag”—Nick’s scowl was pure venom in lip gloss—“unless Marcus suddenly grows four more arms, your wings aren’t cooking any faster.”
“So it’s my fault your cook’s slow as fuck?”
“By all means,” he drawled, gesturing toward the kitchen with exaggerated flourish, “strut that Walmart-cologne swagger back there and show us how it’s done. Or plant your basic ass in a chair before I accessorize your outfit with your appetizer.”
The guy reached out like he might grab Nick. His thick fingers stretched toward Nick’s apron, meaty and aggressive.
A shadow fell across the counter.
Logan moved like something that wasn’t quite human, fluid and fast and impossibly predatory. He materialized between Nick and the construction worker without seeming to navigate through the space between them, his body suddenly blocking everything else from view.
The look on Logan’s face stopped Nick’s breath. Not angry, exactly. Colder than anger. Something primal and dangerous lived in that expression, something that made every instinct Nick possess scream at him to run or hide or make himself very, very small.
“You need to step back,” Logan said quietly. The words were polite. His tone wasn’t. Something underneath the words promised consequences for disobedience.
The asshole’s face flushed red. “This doesn’t concern you, man. I’m just—”
“Step. Back.”
Nick tried to turn around, tried to tell Logan it was fine, it was nothing, just a—
The world went dark.
Not gradually. All at once, like someone had flipped a switch. His vision collapsed inward, sound becoming muffled and distant. Nick felt himself falling, felt the bar’s floor rushing up to meet him.
Strong arms wrapped around Nick’s ribs, stopping his descent as Logan caught him.
Nick registered the sensation of being held, of being supported by something solid and warm and impossibly strong.
He wanted to protest, wanted to say he was fine, wanted to stand on his own two feet like a functioning human being
“I’ve got you,” Logan murmured. “Just breathe. I’ve got you.”
The bar around them seemed to fade into irrelevance. Conversations continued, glasses clinked, but it all sounded distant and strange, like Nick was hearing it through water. All that existed was the feeling of being held, of Logan’s arms tightening protectively around him.
Nick trembled, a full-body shaking that he couldn’t control. His breathing had gone erratic, coming in gasps that didn’t seem to bring enough oxygen. His skin was simultaneously too hot and too cold.
Logan lifted him easily, one arm under Nick’s knees, the other supporting his back.
“We’re getting you to Ash’s office.” He was already moving, walking in long strides, cradling Nick against his chest like he weighed nothing at all.
The movement felt like floating as Logan carried him through the bar, past the tables, toward the back hallway. Nick’s vision kept threatening to gray out at the edges, and he clung to Logan harder, burying his face against the man’s chest.
They headed through the kitchen—a blur of stainless steel and heat—and then into relative silence.
Ash’s office. The soft, calm space with the ferns and the jade plant.
Logan settled into the office chair and adjusted his grip, keeping Nick cradled against him.
Nick tried to sit up, but his body had other ideas.
Everything ached. His muscles felt like they’d been wrung out and left to dry.
“Just breathe,” Logan said, one hand moving in slow circles against Nick’s back.
Another wave of pain crashed through him, and he couldn’t help the sound that escaped his throat—something between a gasp and a whimper.
His eyes snapped up, studying Logan’s neck. The curve of it, the pulse point where his carotid artery ran visibly beneath the skin. Nick’s mouth went dry. His gums ached with a sensation he’d never experienced before, a pulling sensation that made him want to—
No. God, no! What was wrong with him?
Nick jerked his head away, pressing his face back against Logan’s shoulder. His whole body was shaking, and he couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t stop any of this.
“You’re okay. Just stay with me,” Logan said quietly.
But Nick wasn’t okay. Something fundamental was breaking inside him, something that went deeper than the physical discomfort. His instincts were screaming at him to do things he didn’t understand, to want things that made no sense.
Then the pain hit again. A spike of it, sharp and brutal, and Nick’s body went rigid.
“Shh,” Logan whispered, rocking slightly. “Breathe. Just breathe.”
The sensation wasn’t fading. If anything, it was getting worse. Nick’s jaw clenched so hard he thought his teeth might crack. Sweat soaked through his shirt, and his breathing had turned erratic, gasping.
“Nick?” Logan’s voice carried an edge of something that might have been panic, though he kept his tone even. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”
“Hurts,” Nick managed between gasps. “Stomach. Everything.”
Logan adjusted him, trying to find a position that might ease whatever was happening. His hands kept moving, rubbing, soothing as he murmured things that Nick couldn’t quite process over the roaring in his ears.
The door swung open. Ash appeared, his expression shifting from curiosity to concern in half a second.
“What happened?” Ash moved closer, but he stopped short of touching Nick. “Should I call someone?”
“Ambulance,” Logan said, his voice hard despite the gentleness in his hands. “Call an ambulance.”
Nick wanted to protest. Wanted to say this would pass, that he just needed a few minutes, that an ambulance was overkill. But another wave of contractions rolled through him, and he couldn’t do anything but curl tighter against Logan.
“I’m calling,” Ash said, already pulling out his phone.
Logan kept rocking, kept murmuring things that sounded like promises. His hand cradled the back of Nick’s head, holding him in place, and Nick was too terrified and in too much pain to examine why that felt like exactly what he needed.
The gut-wrenching agony intensified once more, white-hot and all-consuming. Nick’s body went rigid then limp, and then the world tilted sideways into darkness.
The last thing he heard was Ash’s voice, tight and urgent. “Yeah, I need an ambulance. Someone’s collapsed, and they’re…they’re not conscious anymore. Frothy Pine Bar on Millbrook Road. Hurry.”