by Tiffany Snow
“Did you eat something?” Devon asked.
I nodded. He’d ordered some of everything, it seemed. “I had the yogurt.”
A slight frown creased his forehead. “You didn’t try the pastry?” He snagged a Danish from the tray and took a bite. Approaching me, he wrapped an arm around my waist. “Try it,” he said, holding the Danish to my lips. “You’ll adore it.”
I opened my mouth and he fed me a bite, the flaky dough melting on my tongue. I liked being in Devon’s arms too much to protest as he patiently fed me the entire pastry. He smelled good, his jaw smooth from his shave, and he wore a suit as comfortably as most men wore jeans.
It was sunny and cold outside and I hugged my coat closer as Devon held the door to his car for me. Soon we were speeding down the road in the direction of my apartment.
I wasn’t sure what to say. Would I see Devon again? Did he want to see me again? Had I said too much last night, gotten more personal than he ever wanted? I couldn’t help but think that was true, that no matter the connection between us, Devon wasn’t looking for any kind of relationship that would tie him down.
When we arrived, he walked me upstairs to my door and we didn’t speak. His hand was warm and solid at the small of my back. Once we were outside my door, I turned to him.
“Thank you for a—” I was going to say “nice evening,” but in light of the men attacking us, that seemed rather inappropriate. “Just . . . thank you,” I said instead.
Devon’s lips twitched and I thought he must have known what I was thinking.
“You’re welcome,” he said. Slipping inside my coat, his hands circled my waist as he tugged me closer. I tipped my head back to look at him and my heart skipped a beat.
“Will I . . . see you again?” I asked.
Instead of replying, Devon kissed me. I became lost immediately, tuning out my surroundings as I wound my arms around his neck. His tongue slipped between my lips and I moaned, my body responding to his touch.
We were pressed tightly together, our bodies straining toward each other even through the layers of clothes, when the door to my apartment was suddenly thrown open.
Devon turned immediately, his arm keeping me shielded behind him, and I saw him reach automatically for his weapon.
“No, don’t!” I said, gripping his arm. It was Logan at the door, staring at us as if in shock. But he recovered quickly, his furious gaze landing on Devon.
“You sonofabitch,” he ground out, and his fist came flying through the air.
CHAPTER TEN
Devon moved so fast, I could barely track what he did. Before I could say or do anything else, he had slammed Logan face-first against the wall. Devon had Logan’s arm in a tight grip and bent up behind his back, and I could tell by the grimace on Logan’s face that it wasn’t pleasant.
“Devon! Stop!” Oh my God, he was going to break Logan’s arm.
“Let me go, damn it,” Logan ground out.
Devon took a moment, but he released him. Logan turned around, still glaring at Devon before his gaze settled on me.
“What the hell, Logan? You were just going to punch him? Seriously?” I was upset and flustered, not sure how to react to him being like this. He’d never been this way before with any other guys I’d dated, though granted he’d never caught me making out with them either.
“Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick!” he retorted, ignoring my questions.
“I left a note, for crying out loud,” I snapped. “I’m not a child, Logan.”
He scrubbed a hand across his face and heaved a sigh. “Never mind,” he said. “Thank God you’re okay.” Crossing to me, he pulled me into his arms. He hugged me so tight, I couldn’t help but hug him back, despite his attack on Devon.
“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” I asked, pulling back to look up at him. “What’s going on?”
“Just a minute,” he said to me. He glanced at Devon and his expression turned guarded. “Devon, I’m guessing?” Logan’s tone was stiff and anything but friendly.
Devon didn’t immediately reply and I noticed his gaze was fixed on Logan’s arms still wrapped around me. When he lifted his eyes, they were icy cold, the blue chilling even from a distance.
“Correct,” he said, his easy reply belying the hard set of his expression. “And you must be Logan.”
“I am.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Devon held out his hand. Logan seemed reluctant at first, but a lifetime of midwestern manners couldn’t be ignored. A moment later, he clasped Devon’s hand in his own for a perfunctory shake.
“Wish I could say the same,” Logan replied, and my eyes went wide.
“Logan!” I couldn’t believe he’d be so rude, but he ignored me.
“I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t break into our apartment again,” Logan said, his tone one of barely leashed anger. He released me, but still had an arm locked around my waist, keeping me pressed to his side. “Especially if you’re just looking for a quick lay.”
I sucked in a sharp breath and opened my mouth to say something, I had no clue what, but Logan shot me a swift look. I knew that look. We’d been best friends for over ten years. There was little I didn’t know about Logan. And that look meant I’m pissed so shut up now. So I did.
Devon showed no outright reaction to Logan’s words, instead he took a step forward and said, “Perhaps you and I ought to have a little chat.”
“That’s a good idea,” Logan said. Taking my arm, he moved me to the open doorway of the apartment. “Give us a minute, Ives.”
The first thing I wanted to do was to tell them both that no, I most certainly was not going to “give them a minute” to discuss me like a misbehaving child. But logic and common sense kicked in and I realized it might not be a bad thing for Logan and Devon to talk alone. They’d certainly gotten off on the wrong foot. Maybe this would help, though if Devon wasn’t coming back, it was a bit pointless. Still, I allowed Logan to steer me inside. Before he closed the door, I glanced back at the two of them.
Logan was younger and not as broad as Devon, though they were evenly matched for height. While Devon wore a suit and tie, Logan was more casual in jeans and a gray button-down shirt he wore tucked in. The cuffs were turned back, exposing the wide leather bracelet I’d bought for him ages ago that he hardly ever took off.
With one last glance, I shut the door, leaving the two of them alone in the hallway.
Not that I was going to let it go at that, of course. I pressed my ear to the crack in the door and listened.
“You’re protective of Ivy,” Devon stated. He didn’t sound friendly or unfriendly, just matter-of-fact.
“You would be, too, if you knew the hell she’s gone through.” Logan’s reply was even more rude now that I wasn’t around. “I know men like you. You’re not fit to breathe the same air she does.” His contempt was obvious.
“Men like me,” Devon repeated. “Somehow I doubt you know many men like me.”
“You broke into my apartment and seduced my best friend,” Logan said. “That tells me all I need to know.”
The floor creaked in the hall and when Devon spoke again, his words were quieter but clearer. He’d stepped closer to Logan.
“She likes me, mate. I don’t see that changing anytime soon, and there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it.”
There was silence for a moment. “Listen to me,” Logan said, “Ivy is . . . damaged. She’s fragile. You can’t just play with her, screw her, and leave. She deserves better than that.”
“Maybe that’s why you’re still just her mate,” Devon shot back. “Because you see her as damaged. I don’t look at her that way.”
“Listen, I don’t know what kind of hold you have over her,” Logan replied, “but I see what it’s doing. You’re putting her back into a mind-set that she worked hard to escape. A way of
thinking that made her believe she was only good for one thing. And I’m not going to let you do that to her.”
I stood at the door, stunned at what I was hearing. Was that how Logan thought of me? Damaged? Fragile? And was he right? Was my being with Devon putting me back into the prison of feeling worthless and degraded? I couldn’t think that, couldn’t believe that.
Not wanting to hear any more, I backed silently away, retreating to the couch where I sat, lost in thought. It wasn’t long before Logan reentered the apartment. He spotted me and headed my way, taking a seat beside me. He sat hunched over, his elbows braced on his knees and his hands clasped loosely together.
Neither of us spoke and the silence grew heavy. “Is that what you think of me?” I asked finally. “That I’m . . . damaged?” I didn’t look at him, just stared straight ahead, not seeing anything.
“Ives,” he began, “we’ve been together a long time. I love you more than anyone on the goddamn planet. But what you’ve been through . . . I just don’t think you’ve ever really put it behind you. It’s still there, just under the surface.”
Anger suddenly burned away the hurt, or at least obscured it for a while, and I jumped to my feet. “Who the hell are you to play psychiatrist and tell me what I’ve put behind me or how damaged I am?” I demanded. “You don’t know the first thing about it!”
Logan got to his feet, too, and grabbed my arm. “Don’t pull this shit with me,” he ground out. “I was the one you came running to, remember? I was the one who helped you into the bathtub when you were bleeding and hurting so bad you could hardly walk. I was the one who held you when you were too scared to go to sleep. And all that time, there was nothing I could do to make it stop. So don’t tell me that I don’t know anything about it! I was fucking there, Ivy!”
His yells echoed through the apartment while I stared at him in shock, the blood leaving my face in a rush.
Logan was right. He’d seen me through the worst of it and now it seemed I was punishing him for watching out for me. My vision began to blur. “I’m so sorry, Logan,” I choked out.
He muttered a curse and pulled me into his arms. I buried my face against his chest. I felt guilty for treating him badly. Logan was my rock and I didn’t want to take him for granted. Then I remembered.
“Wait, why were you worried about me?” I asked, sniffing away my tears.
Logan was stroking my hair and he paused at my question. Pulling back slightly, he looked down at me. His eyes were sad when he said, “Because Jace skipped on his parole, Ives. No one knows where he is.”
My knees buckled and if Logan hadn’t been holding me, I was sure I would have collapsed. He maneuvered me onto the couch.
“Take it easy,” he said soothingly.
“How?” I asked, hearing the fear in my voice that I couldn’t hide. “How can that be?”
“Grams called last night,” Logan explained. “She didn’t want to scare you, but she wanted to warn me.”
I felt cold all over. He would come for me. Jace had told me he’d never let me get away and he was going to find me and when he did—
“Ives, listen to me,” Logan said. “He won’t find you. I promise. Nothing and no one is going to hurt you, okay?” His hand cradled my cheek, gently lifting my chin until he could look in my eyes. “Not this time. I swear it.”
He was so sincere and so intent, I almost believed him. But in the end, Jace had a way of getting what he wanted, and if he wanted me, nothing would stop him. Not even Logan.
“So why did you go all crazy on Devon?” I asked, wanting to change the subject. I wouldn’t—couldn’t—think about Jace right now. “That’s not like you.”
“I don’t trust him.”
Logan’s flat reply made me frown. “I appreciate your concern, I really do,” I said as gently but as firmly as I could. “But it’s my life and if it’s a mistake to be involved with him, then it’s my mistake to make.”
He didn’t reply and I hoped that was the end of the argument. Anxious to turn the conversation to something a bit lighter, I asked, “So was the blonde entertaining Friday night?”
Logan glanced at me, confusion in his eyes. “Who?”
“The blonde who was eyeing you. The one you danced with,” I reminded him.
“Oh. Her. Yeah, she was fine,” he said dismissively.
“Are you going to see her again?” I asked, though I thought I probably already knew the answer to that.
Logan snorted at me and I sighed. Maybe someday he’d find a woman who would capture his interest. It obviously hadn’t been the blonde.
Reaching up, I pressed a kiss to his cheek, then stood and headed for my bedroom. A Sunday afternoon nap sounded just the thing, especially after the night I’d had. I didn’t want to think about the men Devon had killed, or Jace, or what Logan had said about my past. So I slept.
Come that evening, I started getting antsy. I remembered what Clive had said about meeting Devon at eight o’clock. At seven, I was fidgety. By seven fifteen, I was pacing. And by seven thirty, I’d decided to go.
I dressed in dark jeans, a black turtleneck, and black knee-high boots. I pulled my hair back into a long, straight ponytail, all the while trying to convince myself that it wasn’t a big deal if I went. I’d just pop into the pub for a drink, like any other customer, and if I happened to see Devon there with Clive . . . well, then I could make sure he was all right. If Clive tried to double-cross him again, I’d—
Well, I didn’t know what I’d do.
With that thought in mind, I retrieved my gun from the drawer in my nightstand. It was a semiautomatic 9mm Glock that I’d chosen for its size. It fit comfortably inside a purse. I had a concealed carry permit so I had no qualms about taking it with me. If Devon ran into trouble, I’d at least be packing heat.
Logan had papers spread over the kitchen table as he sat, bent over a thick sheaf while a legal pad and pen sat near his right hand. He glanced up when I walked in.
“Going out?” he asked.
I grabbed my coat from the hook by the door. “Meeting a couple girlfriends for dinner.” I kept my gaze averted as I lied, guilt making my stomach squirm uncomfortably.
“Anyone I know?”
I shook my head. “Just a friend from work and her roommate. I shouldn’t be very late.” I grabbed my keys off the counter and hooked my purse strap on my shoulder.
“Be careful,” Logan called after me. I blew him a kiss as I pulled the door shut.
I made it to Shay’s in record time, parking around the corner. Sunday nights weren’t busy on the Landing, so I saw few people as I made my way inside.
It was dimly lit, which worked in my favor. Several people were sitting at the long bar, so I took an empty stool. The chairs at the dining tables were dark green leather and the floor was hardwood, giving the place a warm atmosphere.
The bartender was a young guy wearing black pants and a black T-shirt with a small imprint of the bar’s logo. He smiled when he saw me, his teeth very white against his dark complexion. Paired with his dark hair, I thought he might have a touch of Italian in him.
“What can I get you?” he asked.
“Crown and Coke, please,” I said. “Tall.” A moment later, he set the glass down in front of me.
I sipped the drink as I tried nonchalantly to search the place for any sign of Devon or Clive. My nerves were stretched taut, not only because of the danger I felt Devon to be in, but how he’d react to my presence if he saw me. I didn’t imagine it would be good, and yet I couldn’t make myself leave.
A movement in a shadowy corner caught my eye and I realized it was them. Devon had his back to the wall and Clive sat across from him. They were deep in conversation.
I watched for several long minutes. Clive slid something across the table to Devon, who palmed it. Clive got up, glancing casually around, and left. D
evon swallowed the last of his drink, then followed where Clive had disappeared through the exit.
Tossing some money on the bar, I grabbed my purse and hurried after them. Maybe I could see where they went. Were they done meeting? Or had that been a precursor to a longer discussion somewhere else?
As I exited the bar, I glanced to my left and right. To my right, the narrow cobblestone street led down to the river; to my left, it rose up the steep hill. The street was nearly deserted and a thick fog was rolling in from the river. I could hear the faint lapping of the water as the current rushed by.
A familiar figure in an overcoat caught my eye off to my right just as he turned the corner. Devon.
Without thinking much as to why I was doing this—probably not the best idea—I hurried to follow him. The streetlamps left pools of light at regular intervals, but the fog, combined with the snow still covering the uneven cobblestones, made walking fast a dicey proposition. Still, I made it to the corner without mishap.
There was an alley between the buildings, which were old and had been built fairly close together. Uneasy now, I crept into the alley, searching for any sign of Devon or Clive. My hand slid into my purse and I pulled out my gun. I’d rather have the weapon in my hand and not need it than be scrabbling inside my purse searching for it and be too late.
The alley emptied into another street and I approached the corner carefully. The fog muffled sounds so it was not only hard to hear, it was difficult to tell where noises were coming from. The back doors to a couple of restaurants emptied into the alley and there were several dumpsters loaded with trash and debris, which I carefully skirted.
My pulse was racing and my heart was in my throat. I was regretting coming out tonight after all, but my worry for Devon kept me putting one foot in front of the other. For some reason, I just had a really bad feeling about what was up around that corner.
I hesitated when I reached the end of the alley. Pressing against the wall, I took a deep breath. The blood was rushing in my ears so badly I could hardly hear anything over it. Despite the cold, my palms were sweaty as I gripped my gun.
