Logan (Wild Boys After Dark, #1)(7)

“Concussion?” Stormy reached up and touched the knot on her head, wincing again.

“I don’t think you’re in danger of one, but just in case, I feel the need to mention it. You’re in good hands with Logan. He knows what to look for.”

I wish she was in my hands, but I have a feeling she’s going to run like the wind as soon as you leave.

“Well, right now I’m in Dylan’s hands. I have to finish my shift.” Stormy reached for the doorknob.

Heath shot a curious look to Logan.

“Dylan said you’re done for the night,” Logan reminded her.

“Dylan isn’t the one who needs the paycheck.”

“I’ll let you two hash this out.” Heath embraced Logan and gave him a hard pat on the back.

“Thanks again, bro,” Logan said. “See you Sunday?”

“Always.” Heath took a business card from his wallet and handed it to Stormy. “Call me if you have any trouble, and take care of those cuts.”

Stormy tried to follow him out, but Logan stepped in front of her, shutting the door behind Heath.

“Do you mind?” She worked her jaw from side to side.

“You’re not serious. You heard what he said.”

“And you heard what I said.” She crossed her arms again and reached for the door.

Christ Almighty. Really? What was it about her that made him care? He took out his wallet and fished out a few hundreds.

“What are you doing?” She stepped back, as if he’d offered her money for sex.

“You need the paycheck, and I need you safe and healing. I’m giving you your paycheck. Give me a number.”

“You can’t buy me.” She looked away, her jaw set.

He wanted to take her in his arms and remove the veil of confidence that had her body trembling and her eyes blazing. He couldn’t help but reach up and smooth her tangled hair.

“I’m not interested in buying you. What happened to you tonight wasn’t normal. It wasn’t okay, and it’s not something you just kick under the mat and move on from.”

She glared at him. “Says the man who’s never had to fight for his life.” Fear and anger coalesced in her eyes, turning them a shade darker. He was sure she meant to look tough, but it revealed her underlying vulnerabilities and tugged at him again.

He stepped closer, lowered his voice, and couldn’t help that it came out as a low growl, filled with intensity from harsh memories. “I fought for my life every day for four years.”

Her brows knitted together, her lips parted, but no words came.

“I think you should take tonight off and heal for a few hours. You’ll be sore tomorrow, and—”

“I’m not—”

He placed a finger over her lips to silence her. Torture. Pure torture. He didn’t know why—wrote it off to a stressful night—but hell if he wasn’t fighting the urge to seal his lips over hers and make her his.

“Don’t. I’ve seen too much for you to tell me you’re not sore. You’re sore. Your head is throbbing, your back is pulsing along those deep, long scratches. Your muscles are aching from tensing up, and your mind…Your beautiful, strong mind is going to be exhausted tomorrow after realizing, accepting, and trying to move past what that man could have—would have—done to you. Save your breath, darlin’.” He took a step back, giving her room to make a decision.

“But you’re right. I’m not your father, and I certainly don’t own you.” His eyes slid to the pulse point in her neck and fought the urge to soak in the rest of her. “Not all guys are *s.”

Air left her lungs in a rush of heat. She pressed her lips together, as if she meant to stop it, and pushed past him—heading right back out to finish her shift.





Chapter Four


JESUS CHRIST. DID everything Logan Wild say have to ooze sex? Stella had never met anyone more masculine, more virile. He wasn’t frighteningly aggressive, like Kutcher was. No, Logan was a different type of brawn altogether. She could tell by the confidence he possessed, the words he chose, the way his blue eyes darkened and narrowed and his voice took on a guttural quality, that when he pleasured a woman, he didn’t just take her; he consumed her. She was trembling from anger and fear, her mind was a whirlwind of chaos, and still she got damp when he stepped in so close she could smell his scent and taste the liquor on his breath. She’d had to run out of the room to finish her shift just to remember how to breathe. She’d been on the verge of throwing herself at him and f*cking him against the door, on the table, bent over the chair. God, she wanted him—and she felt like a slut for wanting him after what had just happened.

She hated that she felt like a slut for wanting something that other people did all the time without second thoughts. She hated Kutcher for making her afraid. Goddamn it. She felt like she was going to explode, and Mr. Blue Eyes was sitting at the end of the bar the whole f*cking time, watching her like she was some precious gem that he had to protect.

I’m not a precious gem.

I’m strong. I’ve survived this long without a guy taking care of me. I’ll be damned if I need it now.

Her shift was over at midnight. She glanced at the clock. In five minutes she’d have made it through one more day. In five minutes she’d be closer to the day Kutcher would be released from jail. In five minutes—four minutes now—she’d have three more days to live her shell of a life before she was forced to start looking over her shoulder again, because he’d appear. Oh yes, of that she had no doubt. Kutcher always appeared. She’d made one big mistake at the last gas station she’d stopped at and mistakenly used her credit card for food. She’d been lucky when he’d been jailed for assaulting the guy at the gas station, but that didn’t dull the ache of knowing he’d attacked that poor man because he was looking for her.