Logan (Wild Boys After Dark, #1)(9)
She couldn’t imagine making it back to Mystic alive once Kutcher was released from jail. He was the epitome of an abuser—overly apologetic and manipulative. Like all the other mind-f*cked women who stay with abusers, she’d fallen for his ploys and had taken him back after the first few times, but when she’d finally broken things off, he’d become the worst kind of stalker, appearing out of nowhere and attacking her. If he couldn’t have her, he didn’t want anyone else to have her either. She found out too late that he’d been at the party where she met him because he was selling drugs to one of the wealthy guests. She hadn’t realized how big his drug-dealing business was until she’d made the mistake of telling him she knew about his operation. That was when he’d turned from leaving bruises to wanting her dead.
When they turned onto her street, Stella felt Logan move closer, tension surrounding him like a bubble; he felt dense and powerful. She didn’t live in the best neighborhood. As they walked around that final corner and headed down the deserted sidewalk, the sounds of cars and people gave way to eerie silence, with the random dog barking in the distance. She was fully aware of the moment she shed the false security that city nightlife provided and her armor clicked into place. She knew that all it took was one night, such as tonight, where in the midst of a crowded bar, evil could pick a target and make its move, and no one would be the wiser.
She shot a glance at Logan—jaw clenched, eyes narrow and scrutinizing, fists at the ready.
No one but Logan Wild.
“This is it,” she said as they came to the alley that led to the back of the row house where she rented a room. She took a step toward the alley, and he gently grabbed her arm, then stepped ahead of her, leaving no room for negotiation. He was paving the way. Ensuring her safe arrival.
She’d never met anyone like Logan before. Even the guys she’d grown up with, the ones who’d known her from the time she was a schoolgirl and had told her that they’d be there for her when they first heard about what Kutcher was doing, had abandoned her. Fear was a powerful thing. They’d acted as if bad luck were contagious. Her friends had all put space between them in the final days before she’d left town. Only that poor man at the gas station where she’d mistakenly stopped and used her credit card for food had tried to stand up to Kutcher. She’d learned on the news that he’d ended up in the hospital. The upside was that Kutcher had landed in jail for a few months; the downside was that the poor gas station attendant had spent weeks healing from broken ribs and lacerations. She still carried that guilt around her neck like a noose. She hadn’t even been able to thank him because she feared that making contact would give Kutcher a fresh scent to follow.
She unlocked the door, and Logan put an arm out in front of her, blocking her path.
“I’ll check it out first.”
She rolled her eyes at his insistence but couldn’t deny the relief of knowing someone else would endure that first few seconds of what if instead of her. That steady panic that grew every night when she walked home and then first stepped foot into her basement apartment.
“Be my guest.” She tried to sound as if she didn’t care, then held her breath as he walked into her apartment and flicked on the lights.
Logan didn’t seem to possess the same fear that had sent her friends scattering from her life. What would it be like to be that self-assured? She followed him into the small kitchen and watched as he stepped around the small table and two chairs, then opened the pantry. The kitchen was no bigger than most people’s bathrooms, but it was functional, and she didn’t need extravagance.
Logan glanced at her, forced a smile, but she could see he was in protection mode. His eyes were narrowed and serious, and his shoulders had risen with tension. He planted his legs with every measured step, reminding her of a panther, stealthy and powerful, the way he moved through the small hallway, checked out the bathroom, then the laundry closet on the opposite wall. He methodically checked out every nook and cranny in her apartment. She moved closer as he stepped into the bedroom. With no doorway to separate the two, he had a clear view of her double bed, single dresser, and the clothes hanging in her closet. When she’d run from Mystic, she’d taken only what she could carry without assistance. She’d fit everything she needed in one suitcase and two backpacks. Stella had fretted about having enough clothes to sustain whatever job she’d eventually find to hold her over, but she’d quickly realized that it wasn’t clothes, shoes, or other material items that she needed in order to get through each day. She’d learned that strength and determination were the only must haves she needed in order to survive.
What Stella missed most was hearing her mother’s laugh, seeing the happiness in her eyes when Stella walked through the door to visit, and the way her mother lowered her voice when she talked about something she found funny or interesting. God, she missed her. She glanced at the picture of her mother on the bedside table, the only material thing she owned that she really cared about.
“I think you’re all clear.” The sleeves of his dress shirt were pushed up to his elbows, exposing muscular forearms with a dusting of dark hair. The top buttons were still undone, tails untucked. The fight had added streaks of dirt to his shirt and a wild messiness to his hair, making him even more devastatingly handsome.
If Logan had been standing in her bedroom looking like sex on legs before Kutcher, Stella might have tried to flirt with him. She wouldn’t have thought about seducing him before Kutcher, because before Kutcher, she was a good girl, and her seductive ways included little more than stolen glances. Kutcher ruined that for her. Ruined her. Thinking of all the ways Kutcher had changed her, and the things he’d stolen from her, brought anger. It started deep inside her, simmering, brewing, bubbling up in her chest, until she wanted to scream.