Scarred by Vengeance (Titanium Book 2)

by Valia Lind

  "Princess, I'm not done."

  "It won't all come out," I reply quietly, trying not be affected by the nickname. "Blood stains."

  For what seems like a millionth time, I stare at my hands. At what they've become.

  The hands of a killer.

  I knew that lives would be lost. I knew that I would have to be the one to take them. But the reality of the situation never hit home as hard as it does right now. I didn't just murder those men.

  I enjoyed it.

  "Hey," Logan places his own hand over mine, while lifting my chin with the other. "Eventually, the color will fade."

  I try to focus on his words, but instead those three little words of realization ring around loudly in my head.

  I enjoyed it.

  I enjoyed it.

  I enjoyed it.

  "What?" Logan asks and I realize I’d uttered the words out loud.

  "I enjoyed it." I stand, pushing past him into what I now see is a small hotel room. There's a large bed in the middle, with a TV in front of it. A bedside table sits in one corner of the room and a desk on the opposite. I stand in the middle of the room with only one thought. It's clean, a lot cleaner than my soul.

  "Tasia, talk to me," Logan says from behind me. He followed me out of the bathroom and when I turn around, I see that he's wiping his hands on another towel. I'm not sure when he had the time to clean up, but I don't see any blood on his skin. Just his clothes.

  "I don't remember half of what I did to those men, Logan. But I remember enjoying it." I say, looking him steadily in the eye. He doesn't seem surprised. Maybe because he saw what I was doing in that parking garage and he suspected the truth. I don't know.

  "It doesn't mean anything."

  "What do you mean, it doesn't mean anything?" I snap. I stalk over to him, thrusting my hands out for him to see. "I used my hands, these hands, to slice a man to death. How can that not mean anything?"

  "Because it's not who you are."

  "You don't know that." I turn away, moving farther into the room. The four walls feel as if they're closing in on me. I feel like everything is closing in on me. I can't stop the shaking that starts deep within me.

  It's anger.

  It's sadness.

  It's reality.

  I don't know who I am anymore. I don't know what I've become. I thought I was in control a mere two days ago and now everything is messed up.

  "I know who you are." Logan is standing right behind me now, I can feel his heat surrounding me. I shake my head in response, wrapping my arms around my middle, as if I can hold it all in. He takes a few steps, bringing him to stand in front of me. He reaches for my arms, untangling them at my sides.

  "Anastasia," he says my name, ever so softly, like he's savoring every letter of the word. I look up at him, confusion evident in my face because I don't know what to say. "You didn't enjoy killing those men," he says it like it's a fact. I shake my head, but he catches me before I can move away.

  "You didn't. The part of you, the real you, wouldn't enjoy killing anyone. You would do it to save a life and you did. You saved both of us." But I'm shaking my head through all of that.

  "You don't understand, Logan. It's like it wasn't even me. I remember the rush of the kill, the unadulterated enjoyment I felt when the blade went into his stomach. Not because I was trying to protect us, but because I wanted to see him bleed."

  "But did you?"

  "What? Are you not listening to anything I'm saying?" I move away then, needed the distance from his touch. I don't to be dependent on him to calm me down. I can't be dependent on anyone. I made sure of that when I sent Calen and Uncle Freddie away.

  "Are you listening to what I'm saying?" Logan asks patiently. I'm amazed at the amount of patience he actually seems to posses.

  "I don't understand," I almost whine in response.

  "Tasia, you killing those men—I don't think it was you." And just like that, the words snap the final piece of the puzzle. I'm not sure how I missed it.

  "You think it's the drug?"

  "Your emotions are not your own. You told me so yourself. So why change that diagnosis now?"

  He's being logical.

  I need that logic.

  I have no logic left of my own.

  "Okay. If that's true, than I'm a lot more susceptible than I thought," I say, trying to wrap my mind around it. "That makes me dangerous."

  Logan opens his mouth to say something, but I interrupt with a wave of my hand. "Don't even bother saying I told you so." I glare at his smug smile.

  "Did you know this would happen?" I ask, instead of punching him in the face.

  "No. You're too...Unpredictable." I take that at face value, because it's the truth. On a lot of levels.

  "So what now?" I ask. I have absolutely no idea where to go from here. I can't leave, because now I have accessibility to Blake. I'm not about to give that up. I need to figure out a way to get her outside the neighborhood, without raising suspicion. I can't win against an army. We wouldn't get far if I tried to fight my way out.

  "Now, we get some rest," Logan replies, still watching me in that unnerving way of his. There's something in his eyes, something else he wants to ask, but I can't pinpoint that particular emotion. So instead of saying anything, I nod.

  "I'm going to take a shower," I say, walking back into the bathroom. Turning the water on, I strip in record time and am inside the stall before I even think about the fact that I don't have any clothes to change into when I’m done. All of my stuff is splattered with blood.

  The tears come again and the sorrow of taking a life hits me like a ton of bricks. I lean against the wall, trying to reign in my emotions. The ups and downs I go through every day are more exhausting than fighting a dozen armed men.

  Taking a deep breath, I try to push it all back. All the emotion, all the pain. I can't concentrate if I'm constantly battling my own self.

  I push harder, compartmentalizing.

  The knock on the door makes me raise my head.

  "I have some clothes for you," Logan says through the door. I honestly don't remember if I locked it or not. When I hear it open, I get my answer. "I'll leave them on the sink." He doesn't wait for a response, but shuts the door behind him. I wait another full minute before I finally shut off the water and get out.

  Wrapping a towel around myself, I reach for the clothes Logan left me. It's a T-shirt and a pair of boxers. His clothes. Probably from the bag I remember seeing in the backseat of his car. I pick the shirt up, bringing it to my noise. Even clean, it still smells like him.

  What am I doing? Angrily, I yank the shirt over my head, before putting on the boxers as well. Did I seriously just smell his shirt? When did I become such a sappy little girl? The range of all this unnatural behavior is making my head spin. I towel dry my hair the best I can, before grabbing my stuff and leaving the safety of the bathroom.

  Safety? I almost laugh out loud at the absurdity of my own thoughts.Get a grip, Tasia.

  When I walk into the main room, Logan is standing by the bed, staring into nothing. I don't think I make a noise, but he looks up at me with a haunting look filling his eyes.

  "Thank you for the clothes," I say, when it's clear he's not going to speak. He nods quickly, before grabbing some stuff from the bed and moving past me to get to the bathroom. I don't question his attitude, even though I want to. I don't know if anything we say to each other can ever be the actual truth and I'm too tired to even try.

  But a big part of me wants to and that's the problem. There's nothing about Logan that should allow me to trust him. I never should've trusted him in the first place. But when I'm with him, it's like something clicks inside of me and I can't help it. I have absolutely no control over how I feel. Whatever caution I feel is still there, but it's overshadowed by a bigger urge to trust what he has to say.

  I never really realized that urge was there until I felt so out of control in the parking garage. Am I the one who wants to trust h
im or is it something else inside of me? I can't believe in my own mind anymore. How am I even supposed to trust myself?

  The questions just keep piling inside my head, with no answers in sight.

  * * *

  It doesn't take Logan long to clean up.

  Five minutes later, I hear the water shut off and curtain being pulled back. I've been sitting on the bed, trying my best not to think. But mostly, I'm just waiting for Logan to step out of the bathroom because I can't bring myself to sleep if he's not in the room with me.

  Another huge realization to file and dissect later.

  "I thought you'd be sleeping," Logan says, stepping out of the bathroom. I glance up, whatever excuse I was going to deliver, dying on my lips. He's wearing boxers, nothing else. Is there a greek god of hotness? Because I'm pretty sure Logan can give him a run for his money.

  The steam from the shower follows him into the room, making it all very Calvin Klein advertisement. I drop my eyes instantly, trying not to stare, but my perfect memory will never let me forget that particular image.

  "Tasia?" I don't look up as Logan comes closer to the bed, keeping my eyes on the floor.

  "I was just—thinking."

  "Thinking?"

  I don't have to look at him to know there's amusement on his face. I can hear it in his voice. So of course, I snap.

  "Yes, people do that from time to time. It's very beneficial."

  "Is it, now?"

  "Yes. You should try it sometime." I finally look up, glaring daggers in his direction as he closes the last of the distance between us. Even though I'm looking at his face, I'm acutely aware of the fact that he has no clothes on.

  "You get so defensive when you're uncomfortable." The bastard has the nerve to grin at me. And just like that, I'm no longer uncomfortable. I'm ready to battle.

  Standing up, I take the tiny step that brings me flush against his body. With my right hand, I trail my fingers from his shoulder to his wrist, making contact, just barely. I watch his face for a reaction and see the moment the amusement turns to something else.

  He definitely doesn’t expect this.

  I place my left hand over his heart and feel it speed up at my touch. There's absolutely no amusement in his eyes now, the look is so intense I feel my knees start to shake. Before I lose my nerve, I stand on my tiptoes, placing my mouth at his ear.

  "Now, who's uncomfortable?"

  I fall back on my heel, a smile of victory spreading across my face from his sharp intake of breath. His eyes meet mine and before I can make another move, he grabs my wrists, pushing them behind my back. We're now chest to chest, only the small material of his shirt separating us and I stare up at him like a deer caught in the headlights.

  "You never know when to quit, do you?" Logan whispers, his breath fanning over my lips. We're so close I can see flecks of yellow in his eyes, I can feel his heart thudding in awareness against mine. A thousand sensations rush over my skin and I have no words for him in rebuttal.

  "I knew you weren't as unaffected as me," he says, keeping a steady hold on my arms.

  "What?" I look at him in confusion.

  "In front of Lucy, your little game," realization dawns on me.

  "You thought I was making an actual move on you?" I ask, but my voice comes out breathless instead of tough.

  "I thought you were trying to make Lucy jealous."

  "Give the man a medal."

  I try to take a step out of his arms, but he has me pinned to his chest. In the back of my mind, I know I can get out of his hold with no problem. If I wanted to. Which I find that I don't. And that scares me more than anything.

  "But—" he continues, squeezing me just a bit tighter against him. "I don't think you were prepared to feel the way you did."

  "What is this? Philosophy 101? Say what you want to say and let me go." As soon as the words leave my mouth I realize I could've said that better. I could've demanded he released me at once. And yet, I still don't.

  "You wanted to do it."

  "Obviously, genius."

  "No, not make Lucy jealous. You wanted to kiss me."

  I open my mouth to protest, but nothing comes out. I stare up, gaping at him like a fish. He's not teasing. He's waiting for me to deny it, even as he hopes that I don't.

  "Let me go," I whisper, the confusing emotions a fiery storm inside me. Logan's arms fall away from me instantly, and I take a step back, bumping into the bed.

  "Never," he says, looking directly into my soul. I feel my eyes fill up at his quiet promise and I shake my head in response.

  "Yes," Logan insists, this time his voice a little louder.

  "Logan, stop." My voice comes out small, even to my own ears I sound like I'm begging for him to continue.

  "You didn't let me tell you before and you won't believe it if I say it now." His voice carries conviction and I want to beg him to tell me what he's truly feeling, but he's right. I won't believe it. I can't believe anything he says.

  "You're afraid," he states, and my eyes narrow in response.

  "I'm not afraid of anything." I almost spit the words at him, willing for them to be true.

  "You're afraid of us."

  "There's no us." I raise my voice just a little, making sure he hears the finality in it. I push away the voice inside my head screaming at me to take back the words.

  They're lies.

  They're tools for me to keep my distance.

  They're walls to help me stay safe.

  The way I feel about Logan slams into me like a bullet. I push past him, unable to stand my ground any longer, needing escape. But he won't let me go. His hand closes around my wrist, spinning me around to face him.

  "You feel it too," he whispers. Urgently. With passion. "I know everything is messed up. I know you don't trust me. I know I may never earn that trust back. But youknow just how important you are to me and you feel it too."

  He's holding my wrist at chest level and I can feel his heartbeat pounding as he tries to catch his breath. I can't meet his eyes, my own focused on his fingers holding my arm. He's barely touching me, he's giving me a choice.

  But I feel like there's no choice at all. We've been spinning in circles, waiting to get to this very point since the moment we laid eyes on each other at that gala. We're like two magnets being pulled together across a great distance and if I was any other girl and he was any other boy, I wouldn't fight this.

  But we're not.

  We're enemies.

  We're not meant to be.

  I want to tell him no, but I find no words, but the truth. He won't let me get away with anything but the truth.

  I look up into his face, reading every emotion clearly in his eyes. There are tears in my own, and I know I look scared.

  "Logan—"

  "Just tell me the truth. Do you?"

  I've never heard him beg before and the pleading in his voice breaks me. I'm already taking a step back, before I answer.

  "I do, but—"

  He doesn't let me finish. Pulling on my wrist, he brings me back toward his body and the next thing I know his lips are on my lips.

  It's as if a bomb goes off on my senses. Everything falls away and the only thing I know is his lips kissing my own. I don't think of what this may mean, I don't think at all.

  I feel.

  It's not a gentle kiss. Not a peck or a fumble on the lips of a first date. He pours his whole heart in this kiss, as if it's the only true moment in our lives. And I give it all back. There's no awkwardness, no second guessing.

  It's thrilling.

  All consuming.

  Like pouring gasoline on an already burning flame.

  My hands are in his hair, his are on the small of my back, and he's pulling me even closer still. He tastes like home and a foreign land. Like peace and war. Like morning calm and winter storm. He pulls me apart with his lips and brings me back together.

  I don't ever want it to end, but the moment I think that, it does. We both pull b
ack just a little, and my hands fall out of his hair and onto his cheeks. I cradle his face in the palms of my hands as he places his forehead against mine. Breathing hard, I focus on the feel of him under my fingertips.

  This moment was for us.

  This moment was real.

  But it was also the end.

  I'm the first to move away because if I don't, we'll stand like this forever. When I look him in the eyes there are promises there that I know he won't utter out loud. They're not meant for us. I don't look away from him and he understands without me having to say the words.

  Slowly, he walks around the bed, pulling the covers back on both sides. Being braver than I feel, I take the three steps toward the bed and get in under the covers. Logan reaches over and turns off the light, before laying down beside me.

  I stare at the ceiling, replaying what happened in my head. For the rest of my life, the taste and feel of him will be imbedded in my brain. My perfect memory will rewind the images like an old movie reel, allowing me to experience every moment again and again.

  Without over thinking it, I move my hand just a little bit and find Logan's already there. He wraps his fingers around mine, grounding me in the here and now.

  Everything else forgotten, I close my eyes and fall asleep with the taste of him still on my lips.

  20.

  The ringing of the phone is what wakes me.

  Logan mumbles something from beside me, before rolling out of bed and reaching for his phone. I sit up, raising my eyebrows in question as he gives me a quick nod. Foster. Of course.

  "Hello?" Logan answers the phone, putting it on speaker.

  "Logan. I assume you both are alive and well." Foster's voice booms from the speakers. My hand makes a fist on the sheets beside me, earning me a look from Logan. I roll my eyes.

  "We are."

  "Good. There's much to be done today. I—"

  "Who attacked us?" I interrupt before Foster can launch into his to do list. Logan gives me a look as if to say be careful, but I'm not about to pretend to be a dutiful little slave. Foster knows who I am and how I act. If I start acting differently, he'll stop trusting me.