34. Logan
I stare sightlesslyat the images spread across the array of monitors in front of me, hands clenched tightly enough that my blunt nails dig into my palms. Control. That’s my only focus, and one that’s normally second nature.
But not today.
Not since her.
The faint sound of another rippling laugh comes from Dante’s art studio above me.
I flinch, the slight motion finally reminding me to blink. It brings the small 10-point font of the digital clock in the corner of my largest monitor into focus. Riley has been up there with Dante for twenty-three minutes already. Up where I don’t have any cameras. Up where I can’t… can’t…
Indulge my obsessionwould be one way to put it, but I refuse to think of it like that.
I press my lips together and slowly, deliberately unclench my hands. Stretching my fingers out, I place them on the keyboard.
I have work to attend to. There’s always something, and right now our priority is—
“Fuck,” I hiss when she laughs again, the low murmur of Dante’s deeper voice filtering through the ceiling too.
It’s worse than being forced to endure the sound of her moans the day I watched her touch herself on the security cameras, and I don’t even know why.
I bite out another low curse, then angrily flip through the security feeds, reviewing the visuals for all the monitored locations within our stronghold. Our home. What used to be a sanctuary before she invaded it.
But flipping through them is pointless. I can’t see her. Anything could be happening up in Dante’s studio right now.
I narrow my eyes, dozens of dangerous scenarios running through my mind. It’s intolerable that I don’t have access to the visuals I need. When we installed the security system, Maddoc’s decree about keeping cameras out of our individual private areas in the house made sense.
Now, I’m not so sure.
Riley was upset earlier, and understandably so. Capside is a vicious organization, and McKenna sending her sister in for the drop almost guarantees that the girl won’t come back out in one piece. Not that it makes any fucking difference to me. It’s as meaningless as the fact that Riley trusted my insight about it earlier.
I don’t care whether or not this particular woman relies on me for guidance about what her sister might be facing.
I don’t care that she’ll never laugh for me the way she is for my brother right now.
And I definitely don’t care if she ever looks at me with anything other than fear.
She should fear me, hate me, hate the monster that I am… the same way I do. The same way I hate her. That I hate all of this.
I trust Maddoc in most things, but he isn’t infallible, and letting this woman fracture our brotherhood is a fucking mistake that he just can’t see yet.
Riley laughs again, and I grit my teeth so hard my jaw starts to throb.
It’s a good thing I don’t have cameras up there. If I did, it would be my duty to watch, to monitor her, to make sure she’s not causing even more disruption at a time when none of us can afford to be distracted.
I close my eyes, inhaling and exhaling to try to regain control. When that doesn’t work, I tap several keys on the keyboard in quick succession, turning off the feeds for the security system for the first time since I installed it.
I’m obviously too weak-willed to keep myself from this obsession I’d like to deny, but the least I can do is not feed my addiction right now. I know the cameras will still record even though my monitors are dark. Alarms will be tripped if there’s anything that needs my attention. So what I should do, for the sake of my sanity if nothing else, is take myself away from the temptation to… listen.
But I don’t.
I hold my breath, ears straining as I try to guess what’s going on upstairs.
It’s silent long enough that my lungs start to strain, and when I finally let out the air I’m holding, immediately sucking in another breath as my lungs burn, I realize to my complete frustration that my cock is hard again. My hands have curled into fists, my muscles tense and straining as if they either want to fuck or fight.
I can’t do either, but I force each of my muscles to unclench, one at a time, then reach for my noise-canceling earphones and put them on.
There’s no way to fight, and fucking isn’t an option. Not for me, ever. And not for any of us when it comes to Riley, per Maddoc’s orders… so whatever the fuck Dante is doing with her up there, he’d better not be sticking his cock inside her.
Jealousy rears up inside me, roaring like a lion, but I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t know why it’s even there, clawing at the inside of my chest. I’ve never even fucked a woman, so why should I care if it’s Dante up there breaking the rules and not me?
Focus on something else.
Extracting Chloe.
Researching Capside.
Anything.
I start by methodically going through every bit of intelligence we were able to glean from the bug I planted, then lose another few hours tracking down the city’s planning information on the area, including schematics of the drop-site building and the surrounding neighborhood.
Time ticks away steadily as I fall into the reassuring rhythm of machine-like efficiency I’ve perfected over the years, one that leaves no room for messy emotions. I access satellite data, analyze ways in and out of the area, identify good vantage points and blind spots, and then map out ways to make an escape and plot routes we can employ if we need to call in backup from the organization.
It’s well into the night before I get to the most rewarding part—pulling it all together into a plan that will maximize our chances of success.
By the time dawn brightens my bedroom window, I’ve calculated how much accelerant will be needed to get a proper fire going, one that will efficiently burn down the building where the drop is scheduled to go down, and arranged for that. I’ve also put other safeguards into place, ensuring, as I always do, that those few people I care about in this world will be as protected as possible.
I haven’t heard anything else from above me.
I haven’t let myself.
I blink, focusing on the small clock on the corner of the screen. It’s almost time for my morning routine to start, so I carefully save my work, straighten my desk, and change into workout clothes before heading down to the gym in the basement. I don’t exactly enjoy exercise, but I do appreciate the way that pushing my body to its limits each morning blissfully empties out my brain.
I’m distantly aware that I’m working at less than my normal full capacity, my body a hair sluggish from lack of sleep, but I push through anyway. I learned a long time ago that the monster inside me will consume me from the inside out unless I master it, and the way to do that is to build up routines and maintain control at all times, leaving it no chance to overtake me.
Besides, the body is just a tool to the will. And nothing breaks my will.
Once I’m finished in the gym, I shower and head to the kitchen, where I prepare an omelet and two slices of whole grain toast, fill and start the coffee maker, and focus on not thinking anything at all.
Eventually, the others start waking up and filtering down to join me in the kitchen.
“Morning,” Maddoc grunts as he heads for the coffee pot.
I nod a greeting, taking another bite of omelet, then following it with a bite of toast. Omelet. Toast. Omelet. Toast.
“Dante up yet?” Maddoc asks once he’s finished his first cup and poured a second, turning to face me.
He leans back on the counter, regarding me in that steady, unflappable way he has that made me start to trust him, despite all my misgivings, back when I was living on the streets.
“I don’t know. He hasn’t come down yet,” I answer, killing my curiosity as fast as it arises—along with the rage that flares hot on its heels—when my next thought is to wonder why. And which room Dante spent the night in.
It doesn’t matter.
Less than a minute later, Dante saunters in with a drowsy-eyed look and a lazy smile that I’ve seen more than one woman swoon over in the time that I’ve known him.
“Morning,” he drawls, lifting his chin in our direction in greeting. He scratches his stomach, exposing his abdominals and the trim line of hair bisecting them, and I avert my eyes before I can look for any marks Riley might have left on his body.
Bite marks.
Scratches.
Anything that might accompany the kind of moans I heard through the security cameras the night she touched herself. The kind of moans that my headphones would have blocked out, if they’d been coming from Dante’s studio last night.
I tighten my fists, forcing sudsy water from the sponge I hold, and push both the memory and the curiosity back where they belong. Away.
“Good morning,” I respond evenly once I’m back in control.
Now that they’re both here, I could tell Maddoc and Dante about the plan I’ve worked out, but I find myself holding off. It isn’t until Riley enters the kitchen a few moments later that I realize I was waiting for her.
Dante gives her a lascivious once-over that makes her blush, then offers her a pre-doctored cup of coffee, his fingers brushing hers when he hands it over. “Ready to make today your bitch?”
“I’m always ready,” she says with a smile just for him that looks far too intimate, making me wonder if Maddoc is blind. Surely, he can see that there’s something going on between them.
It doesn’t matter. We’ll do this, and then she’ll be gone.
I tap the counter, getting my brothers’ attention. “I’ve figured it out.”
Maddoc’s gaze instantly sharpens, and Dante manages to drag his attention from the woman and give me a feral smile, both of them clearly just as eager to deal McKenna a blow as I am.
Riley looks back and forth between the three of us, her delicate eyebrows drawn together in confusion. “Figured what out?”
“Pretty sure Logan means he’s plotted out exactly what we need to do to pull off Chloe’s rescue, princess,” Dante tells her.
He knows me as well as I’ve ever let anyone, he and Maddoc both, so of course he understood my non sequitur.
Riley’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and her warm brown gaze whips around to meet mine. “You have? Already? Even though you just found out about it last night?”
I stare into her eyes, distracted for a moment as I try to pinpoint the color. Precision is vital in all things, and it’s been a low-grade irritation that I have yet to identify the exact shade of them. It’s not as dark as a well-brewed cup of coffee, but richer than milk chocolate. The color also has glints of gold in it that shouldn’t be there. They… confuse me.
This woman confuses me.
“Logan?” she prompts, reminding me that she asked me a direct question and I’ve been silent longer than is socially acceptable.
I blink, wrestling my thoughts back to the matter at hand.
“Of course I have,” I say crisply, the pieces all clicking together in my mind as I prepare to lay them out for my brothers. “I’ve memorized the schematics for the warehouse the drop is scheduled to go down in, along with the city planning files for the surrounding landscape. I’ve identified the Capside players most likely to be involved and reviewed all the details we’ve been able to document for each one. And I’ve established and arranged for the most effective weapons, escape routes, and equipment. Everything’s in place.”
“Holy shit. I can’t believe you pulled together a plan so quickly,” Riley says. She bites her lip, ducking her head a little as she murmurs, “Thank you for doing all of that.”
I nod stiffly, the relief and admiration in her expression making something in my chest react in a way that’s almost painful.
My hand twitches with the instinctive urge to rub at the uncomfortable warmth behind my breastbone. Riley’s gratitude means nothing to me. I didn’t do any of this for her.
I did it in spite of her.
I did it so that we can finally be rid of her.
I did it to return things to the way they were before she burst into our lives and disrupted everything.
At least, that’s what I tell myself as I begin to lay out the plan.