16. Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Sixteen
Logan
The tour starts off easy enough—beer and pizza at Old Town Pizza , the kind of distraction that keeps the nerves at bay. Trey, in particular, is a big fan, grinning between bites like this is all there is to it. Like we’re just here for a casual dinner.
But the pizza disappears too fast, the last sip of beer too soon, and then we’re led down.
The moment we step into the foundations, everything changes. The air is thick, heavy, damp. It clings to my skin, seeps into my lungs. It smells of wet earth and mildew, like something ancient has been trapped down here for too long. The walls are crumbling, age peeling away in sheets, revealing jagged bones of the past. In places, it looks like a flooded graveyard, the remains of something long buried forcing their way back to the surface.
Trey makes a small, strangled noise behind me. I don’t even have to turn around to know he’s regretting every life choice that led him here.
Mac presses into my side, gripping my arm so tightly I wouldn’t be surprised if I end up with bruises. Not that I mind. In fact, I turn her around, wrapping my arms around her from behind, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
“You okay, querida?” I murmur.
She gives a small nod, but I can feel the slight tremor in her body. “Just… trying not to think about how many people probably died down here.”
“Trey’s the one you should be worried about.”
As if on cue, Trey mutters, “Well, this places fucking sucks.”
The tour guide, a lanky guy in his forties with round glasses and an unsettlingly calm voice, clears his throat. “Now, I should mention that many visitors report… strange sensations down here.”
Trey visibly tenses. “What kind of sensations?”
The guide tilts his head. “Oh, you know. A hand on their shoulder when no one is there. A whisper in their ear. The feeling that they’re being… watched. Or overcome with dread. ”
Trey grabs onto Chace’s jacket like a lifeline. “Not today, Satan. Ain’t nobody putting their mitts on me. I swear to God, if I feel a single ghostly touch, I am throwing hands.”
Chace snickers. “Yeah, man. That’ll really show the spirits who’s boss.”
The guide smiles—which is somehow worse than if he had just kept talking. “Actually, I think we already have a visitor with us.”
The group goes dead silent.
A shiver runs down Mac’s spine, and she clutches my arm tighter. “Logan…” she whispers.
I keep my arms firmly wrapped around her, my chin resting on her shoulder as I scan the room, but there’s nothing I can see. Just darkened passageways, crumbling brick, and the faint sound of dripping water somewhere in the distance.
The guide inhales deeply, letting the silence settle before speaking. “Does anyone know the history of this place?”
A few shrugs. We all know about the shanghaiing, at least the basics, but none of the details.
The guide nods, as if expecting that. “Old Town Pizza sits in what used to be the Old North End, a part of the city with a… questionable reputation. Despite catering to an upstanding clientele, the Merchant Hotel—what this place used to be—was known for offering one of the oldest professions in the world. Prostitution.”
A flicker of unease ripples through the group. Even Trey has gone quiet.
“As legend has it, one of the young ‘working women’ was Nina. She was sold into this life through the thriving white slavery market, trapped in a fate she never chose. But when traveling missionaries came through, they convinced her to share information in exchange for her freedom. Nina cooperated, hoping to escape. But before she ever got the chance… she was found dead.”
A shiver crawls up my spine.
“The hotel—now Old Town Pizza—wasn’t just her workplace. It was her grave. She was thrown down the elevator shaft.” The guide’s voice lowers, drawing us in. “Some of you might have noticed it while you were eating. The old shaft, still standing, the place where her body was discovered. If you looked closely, you’d see a brick carved with her name.”
The air feels colder. The damp around us heavier.
“Nina never left,” the guide murmurs. “She walks the same paths as the men who were taken. The ones who never made it back. Some say she’s still looking for justice. Others… that she’s looking for revenge.” The guide scans our faces, then leans in slightly.
“So, tell me. Can you feel… a presence?”
I swallow. Hard.
I don’t, but the way Trey’s entire body stiffens, I’m willing to bet he does.
The guide slowly turns toward him. “Ah,” he says, as if Trey just confirmed something. “It seems she’s taken a liking to you.”
Trey goes so pale I think he might actually drop dead on the spot. “WHAT? NO. NO, SHE HASN’T.”
The guide just nods. “Oh, she has.”
Trey grabs Sam by the shirt. “DO SOMETHING.”
Sam laughs in his face. “What the fuck do you want me to do? Give you some money so you can show her a good time? Disrespectful, bro.”
Trey whirls on Clay. “How’s the cross work?”
Clay shrugs. “Sorry, my friend. I have it for sentimental reasons, not because I’m a Christan.”
Trey lets out a pitiful, strangled sound, like a dying animal.
The guide continues like he’s narrating a nature documentary. “Spirits are often drawn to those with heightened energy. People who are more… sensitive.”
Trey grips his head. “Oh my God. I’m sensitive?!”
Chace bursts out laughing. “You are a walking nervous breakdown, dude. Of course they’d be into that.”
I chuckle, dropping a quick kiss on the side of Mac’s neck. “I mean, if I were a ghost, I’d pick Trey, too. He’s probably the most fun to mess with.”
Trey groans in genuine distress. “You are all showing your real colors tonight.”
The guide turns his flashlight toward a particularly dark tunnel entrance. “Would you like to test it?”
Trey scoffs. “Test what?”
“It might not be Nina. Different energies draw out different kinds, it could be Sam.”
“Absolutely not.”
The guide grins. “Wonderful. Step forward.”
Trey grabs the nearest object—which happens to be Dean. “brO.”
Dean just shrugs him off. “You’ll be fine.”
Trey glares. “I will not be fine!”
“Think of it this way,” Sam muses. “If something grabs you, we’ll all know ghosts are real.”
“IF SOMETHING GRABS ME, I’M FUCKING DYING.”
The guide gestures toward the tunnel. “Please don’t, the tunnels are crowded enough. Just stand there for a moment.”
Trey clenches his jaw, muttering a string of profanities under his breath as he takes a slow, reluctant step toward the darkened corridor. He stiffens, eyes darting wildly around like he’s expecting something to lunge at him.
The entire group holds their breath.
Then—
A gust of cold air rushes past.
Trey fucking shrieks.
Not just a scream. A full-body, high-pitched, horror-movie scream.
Mac yelps, twisting in my arms. I hold her tighter, my own pulse jumping, because—shit. That was real.
Trey bolts, plowing past all of us in his desperate attempt to get the hell out of there. “NOPE. NOPE. FUCK THIS. FUCK YOU. I’M DONE.”
We laugh at his expense as he departs, tripping over himself, nearly face-planting into the brick wall before catching himself.
“Trey!” Chace calls after him, wheezing. “Where are you going?”
“HOME. I AM GOING FUCKING HOME.”
“You live in LA!”
“THEN I’LL FUCKING… I DUNNO, WALK!?”
Chace watches the tunnel exit, frowning.
“You can tell he’s really upset. Should I go after him?” Mac says.
I smother my chuckle, pulling Mac closer. “Nah, he’ll be fine. Just needs to calm down.”
Mac doesn’t look convinced. “It could be serious, Logan. He didn’t make a single joke.”
“He is the joke when he gets worked up like this,” Chace teases.
Sam cuffs him lightly. “Have some damn empathy.”
Chace grunts but doesn’t argue.
Our guide, Doug, stands off to the side, looking way too pleased with himself. Scaring tourists is probably the highlight of his job—scaring a tattooed-up rock star? Even better. He’s in no rush to move on, waiting for us to acknowledge just how rattled Trey got.
The rest of the night sobers up fast. The deeper we go, the more the weight of history settles over us. The tragedies, the desperation—it drags the mood down, and even the jokes fade into silence. It’s heartbreaking. And as much as I don’t believe in ghosts, a part of me hopes that whatever’s down here—if anything is—has found some kind of peace.
Still, the unease lingers. The feeling of being watched. Shadows shifting in ways they shouldn’t. A whisper of movement just at the edge of my hearing.
It’s a great night.
Even though Trey never comes back.
And when we finally make it above ground, back into the night air, he’s not outside waiting for us. Nor is he at the Rosewood.
She’s beautiful when she sleeps.
I don’t think I ever truly understood that word until now.
Mac is curled into my side, her breath slow and even, her body warm against mine. Her wavy brunette hair fans out across the pillow, a dark halo against the pale sheets. Thick lashes rest against her olive skin, lips slightly parted, peaceful in a way I rarely get to see.
And fuck, she takes my breath away.
I prop myself up on one elbow, drinking her in, memorizing her the way I should have years ago. Every curve, every shadow cast by the early morning light.
Because in a few short hours, I have to leave.
Too many words have been left unsaid, swallowed down because I didn’t want to bring her pain. Didn’t want to disturb the fragile peace she seems to have found. But Dios mío, she is stunning. My radiant, glorious goddess.
At any point in the last few days, I could have said it—Angel, you’re coming with me. And after last night, maybe it would have been easier. But the right time never came. So instead, I let myself be with her. Held onto every second like it could stretch into eternity.
But it won’t.
All too soon, I’ll be gone.
And fuck me, I’d give it all up for her. The music. The fame. The tour. If she just asked, I’d do it. Walk away without hesitation. The guys would understand, right?
The thought tightens in my chest, frustration swelling inside me, tangled with something deeper—something raw. She shifts beside me, her body stretching just slightly, and I go still. Hold my breath.
Her bare skin glows in the soft morning light, and my pulse kicks up, hunger stirring in my gut. I ache to wake her. To pull her beneath me and lose myself in her all over again.
I don’t want it like this.
Not with the clock ticking down. Not with the weight of goodbye pressing in on us. She deserves more. More than rushed touches and desperate kisses before I walk out the door.
She deserves forever.
And if I only have a few more hours, then I’ll spend them like this—holding her, memorizing her, loving her the only way I can right now.
Her brows pull together, a tiny frown tugging at her lips before she blinks awake. For a second, she just looks at me—sleepy, soft—and fuck, I feel it everywhere.
A slow smile curves her lips as she reaches out, fingertips brushing along my jaw. “You’re staring.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, my voice rough with sleep. “I guess I am.”
She shifts onto her side, her hair spilling over one shoulder, eyes still heavy-lidded. “Why?”
I exhale, trailing my fingers over the bare skin of her arm, tracing patterns I’ll never forget. “Because I need to remember this.”
Her smile falters, something deeper settling in her expression.
“Logan…”
I don’t let her finish. I cup her cheek, brushing my thumb over her lips, soaking in her warmth, the softness of her features, the depth in her eyes.
“You own me, angel.” My voice is low, raw with truth. “You always have. Always will.”
Her breath catches. I slide my hand down to her throat, feeling her pulse beneath my fingertips—steady, strong.
“There’s not a single part of me that doesn’t belong to you,” I whisper. “Heart, soul… every fucking thing I am.”
She blinks up at me, and I see it—all of it. The same thing that’s been clawing at my chest since we were kids. The thing we never named. The thing we were too scared to claim.
“Every time I look at you, the world fades away,” I say, my forehead pressing against hers. “And all I hear is the sound of your heartbeat. You’re the melody I’ve been searching for, and I’d spend my whole life trying to learn the perfect lyrics to make you believe it.”
Mac swallows hard, her fingers curling around my wrist. “You have to leave.”
Fuck.
I close my eyes for a second, my jaw clenching. She exhales shakily, pressing her forehead against mine. “I hate it.”
A rough laugh escapes me, edged with frustration. I tighten my grip around her waist, pulling her closer, like that’ll somehow keep time from running out. “You think I don’t?”
Mac pulls back just enough to look at me, her blue eyes searching mine, desperate for something solid to hold onto. “Then tell me what happens next.”
I slide my fingers into her hair, tangling in the strands, grounding myself in her.
“I come back to you,” I say simply, like it’s the only truth that’s ever mattered. Because it is.
The room is quiet except for the sound of our breathing, the soft rustling of sheets as we shift against each other. Mac is curled up beside me, her head resting on my chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns over my skin. We’ve been lying like this for what feels like forever, wrapped in each other, saying everything without words.
But there’s more between us—something deeper, something clawing at my insides every time I look at her. It’s in the way she holds me, like she’s afraid I’ll disappear. And fuck, maybe she’s right to be.
In a few hours, I have to leave. I have to walk out that door, knowing I might be leaving a part of myself behind.
I tip my head down, pressing my lips to the crown of her head, inhaling the soft, familiar scent of her. She tilts her face up, her gaze locking onto mine, searching for something. Answers? Promises? I don’t know. But I do know one thing.
I’d give her anything.
Her teeth catch her lip, hesitating, and my restraint unravels. I lean in, pressing my mouth to hers, slow and deep, breathing her in like I can keep her inside me when I go. She melts into me, hands sliding up my chest, gripping, pulling, needing.
“I’m yours, angel,” I murmur against her lips. “No matter where I am, no matter how far—I’m yours.”
She exhales, fingers curling into my hair, dragging me closer, like she’s afraid I’ll disappear into smoke if she lets go. And maybe I would, if it weren’t for her holding me together.
“I need this,” she whispers, her voice shaking with something deeper than just desire. “I need you.”
My pulse kicks, blood turning molten in my veins. She’s always had this power over me, and right now, I’d let her burn me alive.
I roll us so she’s beneath me, staring up with wide, eyes the color of a robin’s egg, lips kiss-swollen and parted. My hands explore, fingers mapping her skin, every curve, every dip, every inch of her. She shivers beneath my touch, arching into me, desperate for more.
I push the sheets away, exposing her inch by inch, drinking in the sight of her. And fuck, she’s perfect. All soft curves and bare, heated skin flushed and waiting for me.
I trail my mouth down her throat, her collarbone, the swell of her breasts, worshiping her with lips and tongue, marking her in ways only I can. She trembles beneath me, whispering my name like a prayer, and I want to give her something to truly pray for.
Sliding lower, I press kisses to the valley between her ribs, the dip of her stomach, the sensitive spot just above her hip. Her fingers tangle in my hair, urging, pleading, as I settle between her thighs.
I glance up, watching her eyes flutter closed, lips parting in anticipation.
The first taste of her is heaven and sin wrapped into one, teasing. She gasps, arching, and I grip her thighs, holding her still as I feast on her, taking my time. My hand brushes over her stomach, breaking out another cascade of gooseflesh as she shudders, slowly drawn to the swell of her breast. I nudge her clit with the tip of my tongue in a whisper of a kiss, feeling her thighs tremble beneath my grip.
She groans in delight as I lightly caress her hardening rosebud of a nipple, my touch teasing before moving across to find the other—never wanting either to feel neglected. Her body writhes beneath me, her moans like music, like the melody I’ve been chasing my whole damn life.
And fuck, I’d rewrite every song I’ve ever written if it meant I could stay right here, drowning in her, forever.
“Logannnn.” She groans, I smile, taking my time as she stirs on the bed. She’s all honey and heat, slick and soft, her body trembling under my touch, coming apart in my hands.
I want to ruin her for anyone else. Want to leave her with the memory of me burned into her skin, so no matter what happens, she’ll never forget that she’s mine.
When she shatters, it’s with my name on her lips, a desperate cry swallowed by the early light of dawn.
I crawl back up her body, kissing her deeply, letting her taste herself on my tongue. She pulls me down, wrapping herself around me, her body warm and pliant beneath mine.
I press my forehead to hers, brushing her damp hair back, my chest tight with everything I want to say but can’t.
"Logan," she whispers, my name spilling from her lips like a prayer.
Her hands slide down my back, nails raking over my skin, making me shudder. She’s exploring me with the same abandon I feel.
She rolls us, straddling my hips, and fuck, the sight of her like this—wild and wanting—steals the air from my lungs. Her hair tumbles around her shoulders, her skin flushed, lips swollen from my kisses. She drags her hands down my chest, fingers tracing the tattoos she’s only seen in stolen glimpses before. Her mouth follows, soft, reverent, branding me in ways ink never could.
“Logan, you’re so fucking hot.”
I groan, fingers tightening around her hips. “Angel, you’re killing me.”
She smiles against my skin, wicked and knowing, then grips my shaft, positioning my tip at her entrance before sinking down onto me in one slow, torturous glide. My head tips back, a guttural moan escaping as she takes me in, inch by inch, stretching around me, her silken heat gripping me like a vice.
“Fuck, angel.” My voice is wrecked, my control fraying as she rocks forward, slow and deliberate. Her breath sputters, catching in her throat as I reach the deepest part of her. She lingers there, savoring the way we fit, the way we fuse, like she wants to etch this moment into our bones.
My hands guide her, our bodies falling into that perfect rhythm, that perfect friction, where nothing else exists. She moves like she was made for this, for me, and I meet every roll of her hips with a thrust of my own, drinking in the way her body responds, the way she tightens around me.
She shatters first, her nails biting into my shoulders, her mouth falling open in a wordless cry. I flip us, pressing her into the mattress, needing to be deeper, closer, needing to fucking claim her over and over again. Her legs lock around me, heels digging into my back, dragging me closer as I drive into her, harder, faster, lost in the way she feels, the way she trembles beneath me.
I snake a hand between us, finding her clit, rolling it under my thumb as I shift my hips, angling just right—
She jolts, like she’s been struck by lightning.
“Logan,” she gasps, her entire body clenching around me, and fuck, I feel it everywhere.
“I’m here, baby. I’ve got you.” My forehead presses against hers, our lips brushing, our breaths mingling. Our kiss is messy, desperate, breaking apart as her climax rips through her. Her body seizes, her voice raw as she cries out my name, and that’s it—
I’m gone.
I bury myself in her one last time, my release slamming into me, stealing the air from my lungs as I groan her name like it’s the only thing I know.
And maybe it is.
Because no matter where I go, no matter how far, Mac is my beginning and my end.
When it’s over, I don’t move. I stay inside her, my weight braced on my elbows, my face buried in her neck. She holds me, her fingers tracing my spine, grounding me in a way nothing else ever has.
Our breaths slow, our bodies tangled in the aftermath, but the silence between us isn’t the peaceful kind—it’s heavy, weighted with everything we don’t want to say. Everything we don’t want to face.
Because this dream? It’s about to be put on hold.
I drag a hand down my face, grounding myself in the warmth of her beneath me, the way her skin is still flushed, the way she fits so perfectly against me. And fuck, I want to stay lost in this moment, in her, but reality is already creeping back in, an unwelcome intruder.
Mac shifts, her fingers tracing lazy patterns over my back, her touch soft, soothing—like she knows. Like she feels it too.
She tightens her arms around me, her lips brushing my jaw, and then, so quietly I almost don’t hear it—
“Never say goodbye.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, my throat tightening as the words settle deep.
I don’t want to.
I don’t want to walk out that door, don’t want to leave her behind again, don’t want to put miles between us when she’s the only thing that feels like home.
But the clock is still ticking.
And soon, I won’t have a choice.
I lift my head, searching her eyes,
I kiss her slow and deep, pouring everything into it, everything I can’t say.
"No matter the miles, no matter the time—every song I sing belongs to you.” She exhales against my mouth, her hands sliding across my back, holding me like she’s afraid to let go.
“I know you have to leave soon. I’m not stupid. I’m not some needy child, even if I don’t want you to ever leave me after having you, Logan. But just promise me, that you will never say goodbye. It’s too final. Too… cursed.”
Her voice trembles, the words weighed down with the vulnerability she’s so rarely allowed herself. I trace one of her tears as it slides down her cheek, and the sting of it hits me harder than I expected. I kiss the trail, tasting the bittersweet fluid, my chest tightening as I pull her closer.
She runs a hand across my chest, and fuck, I feel myself stirring—coming back to attention with her touch. She notices, of course, a sly smile teasing across her lips as she quirks one brow.
“Looks like your dick isn’t ready to part either.”
I laugh, low and rough, and lean in closer, my lips brushing hers in a soft, teasing kiss. “Never.”
There’s no rush this time. No urgency to get to the end. We move slowly, deliberately, savoring each moment, each caress, each breath shared between us. Our eyes lock, and the world outside of this room disappears. It’s just us.
I move against her, not with desperation, but with purpose—patient, passionate. She arches beneath me, her hands roaming, tugging me closer, and I lose myself in the rhythm we create together.
And in the silence between our breaths, our heartbeats—our song plays on, a melody that’s never been written down but feels more real than anything else. Perfect, even in its imperfection.
I don’t want to move.
Mac is still tucked against me, her body warm, her fingers tracing lazy circles on my skin. I could stay like this forever—her in my arms, my world anchored to this moment. But forever isn’t an option. Not yet. My phone’s been blowing up for a while, and I’ve ignored it.
I press a slow kiss to her temple before exhaling. “Come on, angel. Get dressed.”
She groans softly, burying her face into my chest. “Why?”
“There’s somewhere I need to go. And I want you to come with me.”
She peeks up at me through thick lashes, curiosity flicking in her light eyes. “Where?”
“You’ll see.”
“Who’s calling nonstop?” she groans, stretching before she rolls out of bed and grabs a pair of jeans and a tank top. I force myself to look away as she pulls her shirt over her head because if I don’t, I’m liable to change my mind, push her back into bed, and say fuck it to everything else.
“Uhh.” I glance at the phone, seeing notifications from all the guys. I click open the latest one, and a video pops up.
“Hey Logey bear, I made it back alright. Was a really cool night, met someone interesting. Anyway, not possessed. Alive, and the morning birds are bright and sound a little…” There’s a muffled grunt, and Trey, who had been standing at the front door to Rosewood, smiles with glee. The video cuts off when the next one starts.
It’s now all the guys in the kitchen. Trey is tied to a chair, and Sam, Clay, Chace, and Dean are sitting around him, clearly enjoying the scene.
“Just grabbing some coffee, then heading out for some bits. We’re taking the man-child with us. We grabbed him when we heard him giggling in the hallway. Not sure how much he saw when you and Mac were doing your thing, but he’s got this stupid grin on his face anyway.” The ceiling shakes, and Clay and Dean mutter about needing to update the Rosewood because it’s too old to keep up with the demands of young couples.
I don’t blush, but I feel pretty damn close. Mac looks like she’s died, her mouth hanging open as she watches the video.
“I saw Logey’s secret place.” Sam turns to Trey, and the video cuts off.
Mortified, I wordlessly look at Mac.
I’m going to feed Trey a bottle of hot sauce when I get the chance. Maybe slip some in his soap. Or maybe murder is better. Still, it’s good to see he’s alright… I guess
Once we’re dressed, we head outside, just as a taxi pulls up at the curb.
Mac looks over at me, brow raised. “You’re not gonna tell me where we’re going, are you?”
I smirk, “Not yet.”
She rolls her eyes but slides into the car beside me anyway, tucking her legs under her. My hand finds her thigh on instinct, my thumb brushing slow circles against the soft denim of her jeans. She doesn’t pull away. Instead, she leans into me, resting her head on my shoulder.
It’s a short ride, but it feels like it stretches forever.
Then the taxi pulls up outside Si’s Auto Shop .
Mac sits up, frowning as she looks out the window.
I swallow hard, suddenly unsure if this was the right thing to do. But it’s too late to back out now. I pay the driver before stepping out and holding the door open for her. She follows slowly, eyes scanning the shop, taking it in. I rub the back of my neck, exhaling through my nose.
“So, you know I borrowed Braden’s car when I came to find you.” My voice is low, rougher than intended. Mac stills beside me. I shake my head, glancing down. “I’m sorry. I just…it was the only thing I could think of in the moment.”
Silence.
I force myself to look at her, expecting hurt or anger, but instead, she just stares at me, eyes glassy, mouth slightly parted. Then to my surprise, she steps closer, reaching up to cup my cheek.
“I know, and besides, Braden would want you to have it.” Her voice is soft but certain. No hesitation. No doubt. My chest tightens.
“Angel.”
She shakes her head. “No. He would.”
I swallow the lump in my throat, my hands settling on her waist, grounding myself. “I can’t take it with me.”
Her brow furrows slightly, and I brush my knuckles over her cheek, memorizing the feel of her.
“Keep it safe for me?” I murmur.
Her lips tremble slightly, and she nods, her fingers tightening on my shirt.
“I will,” she whispers.
I nod, swallowing hard.
Because this feels like more than just a car.
It’s a piece of him, of us.