5. Logan
5
LOGAN
“ A h, fuck,” I curse when I stub my toe on the step before lifting my foot to cradle in my hands.
“Will you shut the fuck up,” Royce hisses, glowering at me over his shoulder from halfway up the stairs.
Still holding my foot, I roll my eyes. “It’s not like anyone’s home.”
“With the way you’re banging around the place, the fucking neighbors will be able to hear you and call the police.”
I let loose yet another eye roll because, seriously? “Their closest neighbors are a mile down the road.”
“Exactly.”
When he turns his back on me to continue up the stairs, I flip him the middle finger before following him to the second-floor landing.
Despite having never been in Bertram’s new house, he seems to know where he’s going as he turns right at the top of the stairs, making a beeline for a set of double doors that open into the primary suite.
From what little I’ve seen so far, you wouldn’t think Bertram moved into it less than a week ago. For real, it looks as though he’s lived here for years. Books line the bookshelves, and there are paintings on the walls and rugs covering the hardwood.
I wonder if he had everything put in storage when he was incarcerated or if he bought entirely new shit that some poor soul has had to find a home for.
“What are we looking for again?” I ask as we enter the main suite that he shares with Lydia.
“I don’t know. Anything that might lead us to whom she sold Aurora to,” Royce answers, moving straight for the nearest bedside table before yanking open the drawers. “She’d already packed up all her shit by the time I went to hers, so if there’s anything to find, it’ll be here.”
“Surely she wouldn’t be stupid enough to bring proof of her crimes here?” Despite my uncertainty, I move to the other side of the bed to investigate. We’ve done much speculation over the last few days as to why Lydia would choose now to get rid of Aurora, and the only thing that makes sense is because of Bertram. The timing is too perfect to be coincidental.
Lydia is seriously insecure and jealous. She’s envious of the attention her own daughter received from Bertram—oblivious to how sick and inappropriate it was—so it’s only to reason she’d feel the same toward Aurora.
To Lydia, Aurora is a threat—yet another female to compete with for her husband’s attention.
Better to get her out of the picture before Bertram learns of her existence.
Yeah, it’s a completely fucked up way of thinking!
“The last thing Lydia would want is for her husband, whom she’s recently gotten back, to not only find out that Aurora exists but also the role his darling wife played in the child’s sudden disappearance. So, I repeat, why would she be stupid enough to bring proof of her crimes into this house?”
“We’ve gotta at least look,” is all Royce says as he rummages through the bedside table.
It’s immediately apparent from the lube and combination of porn and business magazines that I have Bertram’s side of the bed, so after a brief glance—and definitely no touching ‘cause eww —I wander over to the large his-and-hers closet.
I pull open drawers, rifle through clothes, and even peek inside handbags, but whatever the fuck I’m looking for, I don’t find it.
“How do you think Ry and Gray are getting on?” I ask. Every few minutes, my thoughts drift back to her, wondering how she’s holding up at the family dinner from hell. It’s beyond fucked up that she even had to go. I mean, we told her she didn’t, but never one to back down or show weakness, my Shortcake insisted. I know the opportunity to possibly glean some info about Aurora’s whereabouts was too tempting to pass up—even if the chances are slim that Lydia will spill a word about who she sold Aurora to.
At least it allows us to snoop uninterrupted, knowing both Lydia and Bertram will be out of the house for at least an hour. All it took was Dax’s IT guy fiddling with the security system and Royce picking the lock, and voila , here we are.
“I’m sure they’re having a grand old time catching up over steak and lobster,” Royce drawls from the bedroom. Sarcastic fuckwit.
“You don’t think it was a bad idea, her going? That it’ll be too much for her? She’s already a wreck. What if this pushes her over the edge?” Exiting the closet, I lean against the doorframe as he checks under the bed before turning to face me.
Arms folded across his chest, he stares at a fixed point on the wall, but it’s clear he’s not truly seeing it. “Do I hate the idea of her sitting across the table from that sick fuck? Of course I do. Will it be too much for her? Maybe. I honestly don’t know. But I do know that our girl is resilient as fuck. I know she’ll endure anything if it means getting her daughter back. And I know that no matter what the fuck happens, she has us. We’ve got her back. We’ll pick up the pieces if she breaks. We’ll wipe her tears when she cries. And when all this is fucking over, we’ll make sure no one can fucking touch her or Aurora again.”
Amen to that.
Out loud, I tease, “Damn, you’re a sappy asshole when you’re in love. Who knew?”
If looks could kill, I’d be six feet under. “Stop wasting time and go check the bathroom.”
Still sporting a shit-eating grin, I push off the doorway and stride to the adjoining bathroom. Flipping on the overhead light, I scan the immaculate white porcelain and marble countertop before crouching to look through the cupboards underneath.
Royce joins me a few moments later, the two of us working silently. I crouch to go through the cupboard under the sink, pushing aside bottles of cleanser, eye creams, and god knows what other shit that Lydia uses to make herself look like less of a hag.
My nose scrunches when I realize I’ve grabbed a box of sanitary pads. “Bleugh.” I nearly gag. As if seeing Bertram’s porn magazines wasn’t bad enough, now I need to live with the knowledge that Lydia still gets her fucking period. I can officially die with regrets now.
I go to let go when I realize the weight isn’t quite right. The box is too heavy. Trust me, after spending far too long in the pharmacy picking out the right ones for Riley, I know what weight a box of sanitary pads should be.
Curious now, I lift out the box and reluctantly open it. The top is as you’d expect—filled with sanitary pads—so I tip it upside down. There’s a loud clatter as an old mobile phone hits the floor. Huh, interesting.
“Think I might have found something.”
Royce crouches beside me, reaching out to grab the phone and powering it on. He goes to the call list, but it’s empty, and there is only one outgoing message in the phone’s inbox.
Package delivered.
It’s time-stamped the exact date and time we were due to meet with Lydia to do the exchange for Aurora, along with the digits of the number she messaged.
“Fuck,” I curse. “The package is Aurora, right? I mean, it has to be,” I rant. Agitated, I swipe a hand through my hair, tugging on the short, blond strands. “Should we call the number?”
Royce’s eyes lift to mine while he thinks. With a one-shoulder shrug, he presses the number and puts the phone on speaker. There’s a tense moment of silence before an automatic voice comes over the line. The number you are trying to reach has been disconnected.
“Shit,” I curse as Royce sighs. “Do you think Dax’s guy can trace it?”
“No idea,” he answers, pocketing the phone as he stands. “I’ll give it to him and see.” He does a scan of the bathroom. “I don’t think we’ll find anything else here.”
Checking the time, I’m more than happy to get the fuck out of here. Riley and Gray should be done with their farce of a dinner soon, and I wanna be at home whenever she gets there.
“This is a big ass house,” I comment as we make our way back downstairs. “How the fuck did Bertram afford something like this? Did Gray buy it for him?”
“He vetoed the much more modest houses Gray showed him. I don’t know how the fuck he’s affording to live here.” Royce looks around as though only now noticing that this house should be way out of budget for someone who has been in prison for four years and had his accounts frozen. “Something to look into,” is all he says, frowning at his surroundings.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I begin to cross the foyer toward the door when Royce throws out his hand, smacking me in the chest.
“Ouch, fucker,” I glower. Asshole doesn’t even look at me, and I follow his gaze toward a set of double doors, one of which is ajar. Through the crack, I can make out a large mahogany desk and bookcases, and I can hazard a guess that that’s Bertram’s office.
“Hold up. There’s something I’ve gotta do before we leave.” Before I can ask any questions, he’s slipping into the office, and with a sigh, I follow.
I remain near the door as Royce stalks like a shadow around the desk, plonking his ass in Bertram’s chair as he touches the mouse and brings the computer screen to life. It’s password protected, but that doesn’t seem to bother Royce as he pulls out his phone and calls someone.
“What are you doing?” I ask, curiosity getting the best of me as I move closer.
Royce’s eyes flash to mine, but he doesn’t answer. Instead, he speaks into the phone. “Yeah, I’m in front of his computer.”
Whoever he’s speaking to must give him orders because he pulls a flash drive from his pocket and inserts it into the computer. “Okay. Now what?”
More orders follow. Royce hits a set of keys on the keyboard before the screen goes black, and gibberish text scrolls across it.
“We’re in,” he says a moment later when the screen returns, no longer displaying the insert password display but Bertram’s desktop.
Putting the phone on loudspeaker, a brusque voice I don’t recognize guides Royce as he navigates to the computer’s files and clicks on the flash drive.
“Download the file on the drive,” the voice dictates.
We watch as the download bar steadily fills, and when it hits 100%, Royce says, “Done.”
“That’s it. That’s all you need to do. I’ll be able to monitor his activity remotely.”
I’m guessing this is Blue, Dax’s tech guy. I’ve never met the guy, couldn’t pick him out in a line up, but I’m grateful for all his help in trying to rescue Aurora and now with finding her.
“And Bertram won’t know it’s on his computer?” Royce confirms.
“Nope. He won’t have a clue, but we’ll be able to see everything he does.”
“Perfect. Thanks, Blue.” Royce hangs up but continues moving the mouse around the screen. I watch on as he goes through Bertram’s search history and scours through the files on his computer.
“Anything?” I ask impatiently after a few moments.
Royce shakes his head. “Computer’s clean. Looks like it’s new—there’s barely anything on it, but at least we can see now what he’s doing on it.”
My nose scrunches. “Why do we wanna see whatever sick shit he does on his computer?”
Swiveling in the chair, Royce pierces me with a droll look. “Cause he’s a sick, slimy fuck who is up to no good. I want to know what the fuck he’s up to.” He gives a casual shrug. “And if we happen to catch him doing something that would get him sent back to prison…” He grins savagely, but holy fucking shit. That is genius!
Much more invested now, I lean over the back of Royce’s chair to peer at the screen. Not that I know what the fuck I’m looking at. Beyond doing assignments on my laptop and scouring the web, I have no technological interest.
“What’s that?” I ask, pointing at an app on his desktop with the Bentley symbol, the same as the brand-spanking new car Grayson said he’s now driving around in.
“Looks like an app for his car, probably so he can update the maps and entertainment center,” Royce answers.
“So it might show us where he’s been since he was released?”
With a shrug, Royce clicks on the app. Immediately, a map showing the car's latest coordinates pops up—to the restaurant where he’s having dinner with Gray and Riley.
“Click all journeys,” I tell Royce, pointing at the button. He’s already spotted it and clicks, bringing up a list of the car’s previous journeys. There aren’t many since he’s only owned the car for a few days.
Scrolling to the bottom of the short list, the first journey is from the dealership to the prison, where the car had been dropped off in time for Bertram’s release. Like, seriously? The guy couldn’t have taken a cab?
“That must be him arriving on our doorstep,” I say, indicating the journey from the prison to Halston. “And look, he made a five-minute journey to somewhere else in Halston before coming here.”
When you click on the journey, the map shows a street in the center of Halston, and the blue dot shows exactly where he was. Bringing up the maps on his phone, Royce street views the location. It brings up a corner shop on a street populated with individual shops, cafes, and apartment buildings. He shrugs. “He probably stopped to pick up condoms or something.”
“Gross.” I grimace, immediately losing interest. “If there’s nothing else, can we get out of here?”
There’s a ping from the computer, and a notification pops up telling us the car is on the move.
“Looks like dinner is over,” Royce states. “That’s our cue to leave.”
Fucking finally.
After closing out of the app, Royce puts the computer to sleep, and we ensure everything is as it was when we walked in before we sneak out of the house the way we entered. When we’re back in the car, Royce messages Blue, who reactivates the security system.
And it’s like we were never there.
“Where the fuck are they?” I growl, pacing the length of the kitchen and back. Every time I pass the door into the hall, I peer through it, but there’s still no fucking sign of Riley or Grayson.
Redialing Grayson’s number for the gazillionth time, I put it on speaker as I continue pacing. It rings out again , and I immediately dial Riley. It also rings out, and snarling, I glare down the hall to the front door.
“Will you fucking chill? You’re making me dizzy with all your pacing,” Royce huffs from where he’s hunched over the kitchen island on his phone.
“They should have been home ages ago!”
“And if something had happened, we’d know.” Lifting his head to pierce me with a stern expression as I walk past, he adds, “We have to trust Gray with her.”
“They’re dynamite when left alone. I love Gray, but his asshole ways aren’t what she needs after whatever will have happened at that dinner.”
“Maybe not, but they need to work out their differences and learn to get along. If not for each other and our sanity, then for Aurora. They have a lot of history to sift through, but if they’re talking, that’s a good start. Just let them do their thing.”
Teeth grinding, I pace in silence until I hear the sound of a key in the front door. I wheel in time to see Riley step into the hallway, and I freeze. My eyes round as they drop to her dirt-covered feet before slowly climbing to her red, dirt-caked knees, up to the red and purple marks on her neck before landing on her flushed cheeks and messy hair.
“That does not look like fucking talking ,” I snap at Royce before raising my voice so they can hear me—or more specifically, so Grayson hears me. “What. The. Fuck. Happened?!” I bellow, marching toward Riley and yanking her away from him.
My hands roam over her, carefully tilting her head back so I can see her neck. Noticing the teeth marks besmirching her skin, my nostrils flare. It’s not only that my Shortcake is bruised… it’s that she’s covered in marks that aren’t mine.
I’ve never had an issue sharing Riley with Royce, but for some reason, sharing her with Gray ticks me the fuck off. I don’t know if it’s the way he feels the need to claim and mark her as his, like she doesn’t belong to Royce or me too, or if it’s something more…
A warm hand cups my face, pulling me out of my bloodlust, and my gaze snaps to her gorgeous hazel eyes.
“I’m okay.” Riley’s soft voice soothes some of the bubbling anger. I cast a final glance at the marks on either side of her neck before dropping to my knees to brush my fingers over her knees. Her skin isn’t broken, just bruised and dirty.
“What the fuck, Grayson?” I snap, finally giving him my full attention.
The fucking idiot must be looking to get punched because he smirks at me, and the fucking spark in his eyes nearly has me lunging at him.
Sensing how close I am to snapping, Riley shifts to stand in front of me, blocking my view of the shithead.
“Logan,” she says with emphasis. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
Pushing to my feet, I keep my eyes on her as I slide my hand around the back of her neck, relishing the feel of her warm skin against mine. She places a hand on my chest, and she does seem fine, if not exhausted. Still…
“It’s not fine,” I grit, lifting my gaze to glare at Grayson over the top of her head. “You had an emotional night that this fucker took advantage of to get his dick wet.”
The smirk drops from Grayson’s face, his expression hardening to stone as he glowers murderously at me.
“What the fuck did you just say?” he snarls, stepping closer.
“Logan!” Riley snaps. When I don’t look at her, too busy facing off against Grayson, she places her hands on either side of my face and yanks it down to hers. “It wasn’t like that. We went somewhere to cool off after the dinner.” Her eyes search mine, pleading. “ I instigated it. Grayson didn’t do anything I didn’t want. He would never, and you know that.” She glances over my shoulder, likely at Royce, before turning her head toward Grayson. “We’ve all had a rough night. Emotions are running high. We should go to bed and talk in the morning.”
“Sure, Tempest,” Grayson grunts, cold gaze still boring into mine before he wrenches it away to stomp up the stairs to his room.
“Fine,” I concede, “but I’m taking care of you first, and I don’t want to hear a word of protest, Shortcake.”
Grasping her hand, I pull her up the stairs and into the bathroom. Scooping my hands beneath her thighs, I lift her onto the counter. My eyes connect with hers. “You swear you’re okay?” I ask, needing to hear her say it.
Her gaze softens, her hands coming to rest on my chest before sliding over my shoulders and curling around my neck, pulling me in between her legs. “I swear it, Logan. Grayson didn’t hurt me.”
My hands go to her hips, squeezing. “What about Bertram or your mom?”
I don’t miss the pain that darkens her expression. The sadness that seeps in. “I survived.” Eyes bouncing between mine, her voice trembles as she forces herself to ask, “Did Royce find anything?”
Sighing, I shake my head, hating how her entire posture deflates. “I’m sorry, baby.”
With a weak smile barely touching her lips, she murmurs defeatedly, “Not your fault.”
Moving past the moment, I grab a towel and soak it in the sink before lifting her leg. Holding her calf, I clean her knee before proceeding to her foot. I move on to her other leg only when her skin is its usual creamy color.
With her hands clutching the side of the counter, I notice the dirt beneath her nails. Tutting, I take a palm in mine and carefully clean the dirt from the creases. She giggles, and the sweet sound is music to my ears. The fact that this astounding woman has the capacity to laugh while her world is being burned to ashes speaks to the strength of her resilience.
I flash her a grin and a flirty wink before fetching a nail file and removing the dirt from beneath her nails. When I’m satisfied that I’ve gotten it all, I move to run the bath.
While the tub fills, I lift Riley off the counter and gently set her on her feet. I reach around to her back to undo the zip of her dress, and she holds my stare as the black material peels away, falling to her hips before she pushes it down to her feet and steps out of it.
She’s left standing in her bra and panties, looking like every man’s wet dream. Except, I’m not doing this to get my dick wet—even if he hasn’t caught on to that yet.
Divulging her of the last of her clothing, I whisper in her ear, “Get in the bath, Shortcake.”
“Only if you join me.”
One side of my lips quirk. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
I turn off the taps and check the temperature before she steps in and lowers herself into the warm water. She watches as I pull my t-shirt over my head before shoving my sweats and boxers down my legs and kicking them aside. Striding toward the bath, I climb in behind her before hauling her against me, her back to my chest.
I take a proper breath for the first time since Grayson drove her away from her apartment. She relaxes into me, her body melting into mine, melding until we become one.
With her in my arms, it’s the closest to peace I can achieve these days.
The back of her head rests against my shoulder, and lifting it, she looks up at me, her bottom lip between her teeth. “Say the words.”
The grin that gradually grows across my face is effortless and pure. She’s asked this of me several times in the last few weeks, and honestly, I can’t get enough of it.
Lowering my neck, I kiss the tip of her nose before looking her in the eyes and giving her what she wants, “I love you.”
She sighs, like those words are all she needs to sustain herself, and I tighten my arms around her, pulling her in closer. My lips brush against her temple, and I just breathe her in.
“How was your game tonight?” she asks. “I’m sorry none of us could be there.”
Sighing, I glance away as I rub the back of my neck. “I didn’t go. I went with Royce instead.”
“Logan,” she chastises, although she’s not really angry.
“My head wouldn’t have been on the ice anyway,” I admit to her. In all honesty, my head hasn’t been on hockey all week. I’ve been physically present at practice, but my mind is elsewhere, and Coach said if I didn’t get my head in the game not to bother showing up tonight. So I didn’t.
I mean, how can I be focused on hockey—a fucking game —when my fucking life is in pieces. Aurora might not be mine, but I feel like I’ve lost a daughter or at least a friend, and I like to think Aurora and I were friends.
“I couldn’t have been there when I needed to be here,” I tell her. “I wanted to go with Royce. I’d do anything to get Aurora back. To bring her home.”
Shifting so she’s sitting on her knees between my legs, Riley cups the side of my neck and presses her forehead to mine. “I know. You have no idea how much that means to me. What you’re doing—what you’re all doing. But you can’t lose out on your future because of this.” She smiles, but it’s watery at best. “What will I tell Aurora when we get her back, and you’ve been kicked off the team? I’ve been talking you up and promising to take her to a game. It won’t be the same if you’re sitting beside us instead of out on the ice.”
I bark out a laugh even as I sniffle. “Shortcake, you can bet your ass I’ll be on that ice when Aurora comes to her first game. You think I don’t have the entire team practicing for their next pre-game entertainment show? I’ve got them learning all the moves to Let It Go . It’s going to be epic. Aurora will love it.”
Tear tracks streaking down her face, Riley chuckles. “She will,” she agrees as I brush away her tears.
Gathering her into my arms, I stand before stepping out of the tub. Grabbing a towel, I wrap it around her before capturing her lips with mine. I intend for it to be a quick kiss, but just like every time I touch her, I’m incapable of pulling back.
Riley presses onto her toes, her body flush against mine as her lips part, and she deepens the kiss. One hand falls to her hips while the other slides into her hair as I give myself fully to this woman who already owns every piece of my heart.
Clinging to one another, our tongues tangle in a kiss that speaks of salvation, of the dreams we both hold dear and the futures we hope to see play out.
And I swear I’ll do everything possible to ensure Aurora is front and center in that future.