16. Karolina
KAROLINA
“I’m sorry, Karolina.” Logan apologizes for the third time since Brandon left the estate.
We’ve been sitting in tense silence for over an hour. I’ve been pretending to read a book I selected from the collection in the study, but the history of Yorkshire as it was written in the late nineteenth century doesn’t hold my attention.
“He’s a good guy.” Logan tries again.
“He’s a liar. He stalked me. He manipulated me.”
I can never let myself forget it.
Logan winces. “Okay, that wasn’t cool. He shouldn’t have pretended to be your professor without telling you he’s also Bones. I know he wanted to tell you before your classes started. He got scared. The only thing that’s ever scared him is the prospect of losing you.”
I flinch. “He’s the one who chose to hide away from me. He could’ve told me he survived the gunshot wound. He didn’t have to become an assassin and then create a whole new identity to be with me. I loved him as he was,” I finish with quiet agony.
Logan eyes me warily. “I can’t tell you he’s that same boy you knew in foster care. He’s had to make hard choices. We both did.”
That gets my attention.
I can’t bear any more lies from Brandon, but Logan seems prepared to offer me the truth.
“You know him from the ring?” I ask. “That’s what he told me.”
“Yes. That’s where we met. But I was always better with tech than with my fists. We were both recruited by the pakhan for different reasons.”
My brow furrows. “What’s a pakhan?”
“The head of the Bratva in Chicago. We worked for him. At least, we did for about a year. Then Ragnar—Brandon—went freelance. The boss, Sokolov, was pissed, but Brandon made sure to eliminate the men he sent to punish him for desertion. It didn’t take long for the boss to accept that he’d lost his most skilled enforcer.
It wasn’t worth losing more of his people to go after Ragnarok. ”
I cringe at the alias, and Logan hurries on. “I owe him everything. He got out, and he helped me escape. He had my back. He protected me from Sokolov’s wrath when I chose to leave his organization, too. I’m a free agent because of Brandon.”
“He said he did it all for me,” I say bitterly. “All that blood money. I don’t want it. He’s made me complicit. Just like when he killed Rich for me.”
Logan shakes his head. “You did nothing wrong. And in my eyes, Brandon didn’t, either. You can’t understand what it was like for us back then. He doesn’t want you to understand it. He wanted to shield you from that, but I fucked it all up with my big mouth.”
“He did plenty to fuck it up all by himself.”
“Can you ever forgive him? It’ll kill him if you can’t. He’d rather die than live without you.”
I rake a hand through my hair. “It’s not about forgiveness. It’s about trust. How can I love him when I don’t trust him? I can’t make myself vulnerable to him again.”
“I get it,” Logan says. “But Brandon would never betray you. He was so determined to be a good enough man for you that he created a whole new face and name. I told him it was crazy, and I said you would accept him if it’s meant to be.
I can see now how good you are for him. How good you are together.
He’s a different person with you. He’s alive. ”
“You don’t know what it means to me that he’s not dead, that I didn’t kill him. But that’s not enough to heal the damage he’s caused.”
“That’s not what I meant. He survived the gunshot wound, but he’s been a dead man walking ever since I’ve known him. The only times he showed any human emotion were in the hours after he talked to you online. But that was just a shadow of how he is now. I’ve never seen him like this. He loves you.”
Longing shudders through me with visceral force. I wish I could surrender to it.
“You don’t know what I’ve been through. He does. He knows how hard it is for me to trust. He did betray me. More deeply than I ever could’ve imagined.”
Logan’s head cants to the side as he studies me. “You didn’t strike me as a coward.”
I bristle. “Excuse me?”
“You’re scared. You’re ready to throw away his unconditional love because you’re afraid of getting hurt.”
“Of course I’m scared!” I burst out. “The man I love stalked me. He pretended to be someone else. He manipulated me.”
A smile ghosts around his mouth. “There it is.”
“What?”
“You love him. You just said it yourself.”
My mouth opens and closes. I’m at a loss for words.
I didn’t mean to admit it out loud, but now I’ve given voice to my undeniable feelings.
“He keeps hurting me,” I say raggedly. “I don’t think I can take any more.”
“You can. I know he’ll move heaven and earth to prevent you from experiencing more pain, but no one can promise a life without conflict.
He’s told me about you. You’re all he’s talked about for years.
The woman he described to me is brave and strong.
You know the whole truth now, and you still love him. All that’s holding you back is fear.”
I’m wavering. I can’t waver.
Not safe.
I’m distracted from my inner turmoil by a strange, loud sound on the grounds of the estate.
“Get down!” Logan shouts, shoving me off the couch and onto the floor.
He covers me with his body.
“What’s happening?” I demand.
“Chopper,” he bites out. “Someone’s coming for you.”
I recognize the sound now: it’s a helicopter.
And it’s landing on the field right in front of the manor.
“We have to get to the safe room. Stay out of the range of the windows.”
An explosion rocks the manor.
“Fuck! They’ve breached the house.” He grabs my hand and drags me out of the study. “Run! And stay behind me.”
I don’t hesitate to obey. If Brandon’s enemies get to me, they’ll use me to hurt him.
I can’t let them do that.
I won’t allow anyone to harm the man I love, no matter how he’s ravaged my heart.
We race through two lavish sitting rooms and down a long corridor.
Glass shatters, and Logan grunts. He drops to one knee.
“Keep going,” he grits out. “The safe room is behind the portrait of the lady in a silver dress.”
He points to the end of the hallway, gesturing at the painting he’s described.
“The code is your birthday.”
“You’re not staying out here,” I insist. “Come on.”
He doesn’t stand when I try to pull him to his feet.
“I’m hit. You need to move.”
I see the bullet wound now. A crimson stain is spreading on the right shoulder of his white t-shirt.
“I’m not leaving you. Put your arm around me.”
He shoves me away, and I stumble. He’s not quite as big as Brandon, but he’s much stronger than I am, even injured.
“He’ll kill me if anything happens to you. I might as well die now rather than my best friend murdering me later. They’re coming.”
“Then you’d better get up,” I demand.
Logan grits his teeth and struggles to his feet. “He told me you’re brave. He never said how fucking stubborn you are.”
“You can insult me later. We have to get to that safe room.”
We lumber forward five steps, but we’re still yards away from the portrait when he drops to his knees again. This time, he sags all the way to the floor. Blood pours from his wound, a darker crimson soaking into the red carpet.
Boots pound on the hardwood floors. There must be at least a dozen of them in the house.
“Logan!” I shake him, but his eyes slide closed. “Please get up.”
I can’t simply abandon Brandon’s friend.
There’s a knife sheathed at Logan’s belt. I draw it and round on the men who burst into the corridor.
They’re dressed in black tactical gear, and I can’t help taking half a step back at the intimidating sight of them closing in on me.
The one at the front of the pack lifts a gun. “Drop the knife.”
I raise it between us instead. “Stay away from me.”
They creep closer, forming a wall of black-clad muscle between me and the way out. There’s still time for me to make a break for the safe room. I might not reach it in time, but I could at least try.
But Logan isn’t moving. He’s barely breathing.
He’s not dead yet. I won’t leave him as long as his heart is still beating.
The four men pause just out of lunging range. If I want to cut into them, I’ll have to throw myself at them. And they all have assault weapons.
“The boss wants you mostly intact,” the leader says. “Don’t make me hurt you.”
Ice crystallizes in my veins. They’re not simply here to kill me. They want to take me somewhere.
They’ll set a trap for Brandon.
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I hiss.
He sighs and gives the others a lazy wave. “Try not to fuck up her face.”
I have to act now. I fling myself at the leader with a shriek of protective rage. I can’t let them use me to lure Brandon into danger.
His eyes widen at my sudden, wild attack, and he barely steps to the side in time to avoid my knife. Instead of plunging into his neck, it glances off his tactical vest.
One of the others grabs my wrist and wrenches it behind my back. I drop to my knees with an agonized shout, and the blade clatters to the floor.
My captor increases the upward pressure on my arm, and my shoulder screams in protest.
Or maybe I’m the one screaming.
I’m forced onto my front, until my cheek presses into the rug, and my free hand claws at the soft fibers for purchase.
The man’s weight settles over my back, holding me immobile.
“Tracker?” the leader asks, sounding almost bored.
Another man is waving some sort of black wand over my body that reminds me of a metal detector.
“Found it.”
They know about the tracking device.
The knife flashes in my peripheral vision, and pain slices into my shoulder. My assailant digs the tracker out of my flesh, and I can’t smother another scream.
The tiny device is no bigger than a grain of rice. The man flicks it away, and it skitters across the floor.
I breathe through the pain.
If Brandon can’t track me, they can’t set a trap for him.
He won’t die because of me.
Not again.
But I’m not ready to let them take me from him so easily.
My captor hauls me upright, and I twist and kick. He barks a curse when my heel connects with his shin.
Despite the pain I inflicted, his grip on me doesn’t loosen.
I jab my elbow back into his stomach, but all I earn is a bruise when I slam it into his bulletproof vest.
More men appear at the end of the corridor. I thrash.
The leader laughs. “She’s a wild little thing. Whoever gets her better enjoy a challenge.”
“The bitch kicked me. It’s not fucking funny.”
A fist tangles in my hair, wrenching my head back. I don’t stop fighting. My fingernails rake the leader’s face.
His grin morphs into a snarl, and he barks at one of his men. “Who has the tranq gun? Put her down.”
A silvery dart punches my chest. I jerk in my captor’s hold.
My limbs grow heavy. I kick weakly, but there’s no strength behind it.
The corridor dims as my body sags.
The last thing I see is Logan’s motionless form before the world disappears.