“What—”

“You’re going to walk out front and get in the car. Do you understand me? You won’t fight or run, and if you do, I swear I’ll shoot you in the street. I don’t give a fuck anymore.”

I believe him. He has a maniacal, desperate look in his eye which terrifies me to the point of feeling entirely numb to the barrel of the gun still aimed directly at me.

“Okay,” I answer with my hands up.

And I do what he says. We walk outside, him right on my tail as I get into his Volvo. He grabs my phone and turns it off before tossing it into the backseat so that I’m stuck with him in painful, terrified silence for the two-hour drive back to the beach.

Logan

Business has been slow lately. Spring break is over, and until summer officially kicks off, we try to enjoy the silence. But for some reason, my nerves are on edge today. And not from a jonesing sort of anxiety either. I don’t get that so much anymore. This is more of an uneasy feeling, like I want to pull out my phone and call Sierra just to hear her voice.

Although I wouldn’t dare. She left Wickett a month ago and hasn’t looked back since. Wherever she is now, she’s probably doing just fine without me. Better than being in jail at least—where she was last time I saw her. A vision I would never get out of my mind as long as I lived.

Murph stepped out to take care of some city council shit for the shop, so I’m manning this slow Thursday night business alone. I just finished a sleeve I’d been working on since last summer, and the rest of the schedule is empty.

I have all the stations cleaned and supplies put away when I hear a car door slam shut in the alley behind the shop. Cars rarely park back there so I feel immediately uneasy with the sound.

A moment later, I hear the muffled sound of voices outside the door. Then, a knock. A soft knock.

“Logan,” she mumbles in a tone that makes the blood in my veins turn frigid. She’s upset or terrified, and I’m across the room and pulling open the door before I can take my next breath.

I just want to see her face. Breathe the same air. Hold her, touch her.

But the sight I’m met with does not give me the pleasure I crave. The first thing I notice is the apologetic expression on her face, her tear-soaked eyes, and the tremble in her hands.

The second thing I notice is the hand gripped around her waist, pulling her against a body that isn’t mine. The face attached to that body is purple and swollen from a very recent beating.

A beating I did not do.

My fists clench, and I let out a snarl as Hale’s blood-red eyes meet my face. He grimaces at me like he needed an innocent girl as a shield just to face me. My innocent girl.