by Ashley Logan
Beyond Touched
The Beyond Series, Volume 3
Ashley Logan
Published by Ashley Logan, 2018.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
BEYOND TOUCHED
First edition. July 6, 2018.
Copyright © 2018 Ashley Logan.
Written by Ashley Logan.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
HEY AWESOME READER!
BEYOND COMPARE | The Story of Katarina James and Lennox Green
BOOKS BY ASHLEY LOGAN
About the Author
For all the humans adapting to the world after trauma X
CHAPTER ONE
ALEXA
Keeping my eyes peeled, I scan every alley and stoop along the street on my way to Madame Jermaine’s School of Dance. I hug my puffer jacket closer against the cold and am grateful for much more than the coffee warming my hand. It wasn’t that long ago that I was living on the street myself, and though I know I probably won’t ever convince Sam to take on a conventional lifestyle, given her beliefs, I still care for her deeply and wouldn’t want anything to happen to her.
“This isn’t your usual time slot Goldilocks,” she says, leaning against someone else’s front door. Looking me up and down, she nods in approval. “Looking good, Lex.”
Frowning at her, I rush up the steps and pull her into a hug, rubbing some warmth into her. “I wish I could say the same, but your lips are turning blue.”
“So you won’t kiss them, then?” she says as her body shivers against mine.
“Seriously?” Leaning back, I look at her sideways. “Are you drunk?” I ask, detecting a hint of alcohol on her breath as I hand her the hot coffee and bag of bagels.
“Maybe a little,” she says with a shrug. Holding up the cup, she gives a mock toast before taking a sip. “Ahh. Thanks.”
Shrugging out of my jacket, I drape it around her shoulders and taking the hat from my head, I pull it down on hers. “Why are you drunk at ten in the morning?”
“Keeps me warm. It’s what the Russians do. How come you’re here?” Sam asks, taking a bite of bagel. “Checking up on me?”
“Always. And Madame is sick, so I’m taking her junior classes today.” Studying her as she ravenously attacks the bagel and downs more coffee, I dig into my bag for some cash. Opening my wallet I pull out the notes and empty the change into my hand, before shoving it all in one of the jacket pockets.
“I don’t need your money, Lex.”
“You do. When did you last eat? And you need to get somewhere warm for winter. You’re welcome to stay with me anytime-”
“You know I don’t sleep indoors,” she says, cutting me off.
“I do, but the offer is always there.”
Her pale blue eyes regard me carefully. “Thought we were done living together?”
“Done sleeping together, Sam. Big difference. And just because I don’t want to do that, doesn’t mean I don’t care about you, or want you in my life.”
“Whatever. Move on. I have.”
“Oh. Good,” I utter, surprised by her harsh and abrupt tone. I know it hurt her when we ended things, but I wasn’t being honest with myself and she had to know it wouldn’t last - I was just hiding from the real issue. “I’m happy for you, Sam. Is she nice? Will she keep you warm this winter?”
“Here’s hoping.” Looking me over again, she sighs and runs a hand through her short, dark hair. “I miss you, Lex.”
“I’m sorry, Sam. That part of my life is over now. I’ve stopped lying to myself. I’m making a fresh start; trying to be something, one day.”
“You always have been something, Alexa,” she says, her tone stern. “You might realize it if you weren’t so serious all the time.” Sighing, probably because she knows my reasons for taking life so seriously, she shakes her head a little. “So you’re still into dick?” she asks with a smile.
“Yeah,” I reply, quietly. “Definitely a dick girl.”
“Pity,” she says with her cute, slightly crooked smile. Taking another huge bite of bagel, she studies me as she chews. I take the opportunity to do the same to her, taking note of any items she might need replaced. Her boots are looking too worn to last the season, but now that she has a hat and a warm jacket, she’ll manage for a few more days until I bring her some boots. Pleased to see some color coming back into her cheeks, I smile and give her a nod of approval as I pull her hat down a little more.
Following her bagel with another swig of coffee, Sam’s eyebrows draw together. “Saw Kyle last week.”
My blood runs cold and my heart kicks up a gear.
“Oh yeah?” I ask, trying to keep my voice from trembling.
With a sympathetic smile, she taps my elbow with hers. “Don’t worry. He’s still based in Niagara.”
A huge sigh of relief escapes me and I wince. I hate that he can still scare me so much.
“He was down here asking after you though,” she adds quietly.
Not good. Extreme opposite of good.
Croaking an answer, I try again and find my voice, strained as it may sound. “Did he learn anything?”
“Learned he wasn’t welcome,” Sam says with a smile and a wink. This time when she raises the coffee to her mouth, I see that her knuckles are slightly discolored from healing bruises. “Larry told him you’d moved on to New York City, destined for Broadway.” Laughing a little, she clears her throat. “I could totally see you on stage there instead of stripping here in Buffalo, Lex. You always loved those books, and operas and shit.”
Letting go of the breath I’m holding, I return Sam’s warm smile. “Thanks Sam. For everything. I’m sorry you’re still tangled up in my mess.” Sighing, I rub the worry from my forehead and try a smile. “Be sure to tell Larry I said ‘hi’ from the Big Apple, next time you see him.”
“Sure thing. What time’s your class?”
Checking my phone, I look several doors down to the sign above Madame’s studio. “Fifteen minutes, but I better open up and get the heaters blasting before parents start arriving with their little stars. Stay safe until I see you again?”
“Anything for you, babe. You keep yourself safe too. And stop giving away all your winter clothes,” she says, shuffling out of my jacket and holding it out for me.
“You keep it. I’ve got another. Bye Sam.”
“Bye gorgeous,” she says, kissing my cheek. “Ooh, and don’t look now, but there’s a guy just past your dance place that is definitely your type.”
Looking at her as if she’s gone loopy, I shake my head. “What type?”
“Tall, deadly and handsome. And in possession of dick.”
Laughing, I wave her off as I walk back down the steps to the sidewalk. “You don’t even like men. How do you know if one
is handsome?”
“I appreciate all of God’s creatures,” Sam says, managing to sound offended. “I’ve seen this one around here before, and he even catches my eye, Lex. Maybe you should get his number.”
“How drunk are you?” I ask in all seriousness as I look down the street and pause.
Making the lights of his car flash as he locks it, is one tall, handsome dick owner. Dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt, he looks set to work out, and his body tone suggests he might do that often. That, coupled with his height and something about the way he moves, makes him appear somewhat intimidating, but at the same time completely relaxed. A sports bag hangs over one shoulder and instead of wearing his jacket as one might expect on this cold Saturday morning, he has it draped over the box he’s carrying and doesn’t look in the least bit cold.
Hot is a much more fitting word to describe him.
His chestnut-brown hair is short enough to look masculine and tidy, but long enough to need swishing out of his eyes in a flawlessly tousled mess. Bearded, he wouldn’t look out of place in a flannel shirt with an ax over his shoulder, but again, it’s trimmed in a way that you know he’s well-maintained and not some wild hillbilly from the mountains. There is a slightly ginger tone to that beard that makes his whole face seem warm and inviting, and the sparkle in his eyes is visible even from this distance.
“That is a good looking man,” I whisper, looking away quickly as his eyes linger in our direction.
“Told ya,” Sam says with a quiet laugh. “His name’s Damon.”
Staring up at her, I narrow my eyes, wary of a setup. “You know him?”
Sam shrugs. “He lets me pick his wallet sometimes. I looked at his license.”
“What do you mean he lets you pick his wallet?” I demand, hoping she hasn’t gone back to stealing.
“His arms are usually full, so he asks me to get it out of his bag and help myself. The dude lets me take every note in there. Sometimes it’s over a hundred bucks. Feeds me and Larry for days.”
“And he doesn’t ask for anything in return?” I ask, eying her warily before looking back to the guy.
“Nah. He seems cool. You’d better get to class, Lex. Clock’s ticking.”
“Right. Catch ya later.” I flash her an over the shoulder smile before my eyes hone in on Damon again.
Definitely looking at me too, his friendly smile makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. He’s rather adorable. Before I even think about my response, I feel my cheeks warm as my lips curve easily into their own small grin.
“Good morning,” he says, again in a harmless, friendly kind of way as we near each other.
“Morning,” I reply politely, wondering where my volume has gone. Adjusting the dance bag on my shoulder, I clear my throat and fish the keys from my pocket as we pass each other.
Glancing over my shoulder to watch him again, I catch him looking back over his shoulder at me. My cheeks flame and I focus on fitting the big key into Madame’s chunky lock. Once it’s in and turned, I risk a quick peek, only to find Damon grinning at me over the box in his arms. Keeping his warm eyes on mine, he turns his back to the swinging doors of the next building and pushes through them, disappearing inside.
Looking to the sign above the door, I see it’s a fighting gym called Jake’s. Tall, handsome and potentially lethal.
Damn. That is my type.
Glancing down the street to where I left Sam, I see her smile, and wave before disappearing around the next corner.
Sighing, I shake my head at her and push inside Madame’s studio, rushing to turn off the alarm.
CHAPTER TWO
DAMON
Smiling at Jake when I get inside the gym, I look back towards the door, fairly certain I’ve just seen an angel.
I don’t even remember the last time a woman looked at me like that. It’s been several years of pity looks for me, and I can’t believe the high I’m feeling right now from a genuine ‘hey, how’s it going?’ smile from a beautiful stranger. Catching sight of myself in the mirrors by the free-weights, I watch the grin slide right off my face.
She didn’t notice.
That’s why she smiled at me like she did.
Hanging over the side of my gear, my jacket hides what is inside the box as well as where my hands would be holding it; if I had hands.
Sighing at my reflection, I dump my box of prosthetic equipment on the nearest bench and head to the locker room to throw my bag on a hook. Pulling my drink bottle from the side, I take a slow drink and try not to feel sorry for myself.
I’d seen her down the street while I was taking off my hooks in the car. Looking like something out of a magazine, her blond hair fell to her waist, blown about in the late autumn breeze as she seemed to look for someone.
Her angel status was confirmed when she found the itinerant girl I sometimes see around these parts and gave her food and a hot drink, and even the clothes off her own back. They’d seemed familiar with each other, and by the time she was on her way again, I was out of the car and able to see that she was sizing me up. In a good way.
I guess it’s nice to know that if I still had hands, there’d be something about me that could attract a woman. The way she blushed when she saw I was checking her out at the same time was too cute. That’s the problem, I suppose. They’re all too cute, and I’m not cute enough.
Women want the whole package. I’ve heard it said often enough to believe it’s true.
They want a whole man. A man who can hold their hand, and not with a stump, or a hook, or a silicone replica. They want the real thing. Real hands. Hands that can help; that can rub the tension from their shoulders; real hands with fingers that can run through their hair, down their cheeks, and over their soft lips.
Frowning at the empty space beyond my wrists where my hands once were, I sigh. Tucking my stumps into my armpits, I try to warm them. I get chronic phantom pain, and it’s always worse if my no-hands feel cold. My medication takes the edge off, but it’s pretty hard to get rid of the pain entirely.
The damaged nerves in my stumps misinterpret almost every message the world gives them. Mostly the messages received by my brain are some form of pain, which is why I end up distracting myself with just about anything I can find.
Today it’s fighting. Initially I’d thought that fighting would at least make my absent hands feel deserving of their aches and pains, but fighting actually makes my hands feel warm and wet. Warm and wet is better than pain, so I fight when I can. I don’t know why my brain and my stumps can’t work this shit out, but I keep trying new things, hoping to find anything else that might turn the pain into some other sensation.
So far I know that driving makes them itchy, other people offering to shake my hand feels as though my hands are being crushed in a vise, wearing prosthetics makes them feel as though they’re burning in acid, cycling feels like wind blowing through my phantom fingers, painting makes them feel warmth blown on them. Mom’s cooking makes my hands feel as if they’re resting on silky pillows, skiing makes them tingle and sex makes them hum.
They don’t hum nearly as often as I’d like.
Sighing at myself, I head back out to the gym.
“What’s with the face?” Jake asks, looking up from my box of gear. “You get dumped?”
“I get dumped before I even to talk to a girl,” I say dismissively, then raise my stumps at his confused expression. “As in, they’re not interested in the guy with no hands.”
Jake looks at me a while. “I bet some are. There’s chicks out there into all sorts of shit. I saw this video online of a chick-”
Clearing my throat to cut him off before he leaves me mentally scarred, I shake my head. “Not the kind of girl I’m looking for, Jake. Thanks. I just want a nice one. I’m not overly picky. She doesn’t have to be whole or anything; just has to not be grossed out by me, and be willing to maybe like me - as a human.”
“Ah, but you’re not human,” Jake says, pulling out my gloves and the
tape. “In here, you’re a machine. Which reminds me of this sci-fi porn I saw a while back, where the chicks were doing the robots. I tell ya, there’s a girl for everyone. Everything,” he corrects, his brow furrowing. “You getting any action at all?”
“Some. Been a while though. And it’s kind of depressing to rely on pity fucks.” Sighing, I rub my forehead with a stump before it gets gloved. “I haven’t had to pay for it yet, so that’s something I guess.”
Jake chuckles to himself as he runs the tape around the base of my gloves and I hold out my arms, ready to be put together.
“I did have a regular convenience fuck going a while back, but she got a real boyfriend, so I had to give her up. We didn’t really like each other much anyway. She was kind of mean actually,” I add, recalling the insults I’d put up with just to stop the pain for a while, and get my dick some attention.
“Grim.” Jake finishes trapping my gloves in place by taping them to my forearms. Digging around in the box, he gets my head gear and pulls it onto me with practiced ease. Buckling the chin strap, he shakes his head.
“Not to sound like an after-school special, but if a girl can’t see beyond the surface to the man you are inside, she ain’t worth a damn anyway. Go warm up.”
Jake starts arranging my tray at the side of the ring, with my towel and water, and the dish I spit my mouth-guard into. We have a system worked out to make everything run as normally as possible. As I jog and stretch and get warm, Jake does the same and gets into his own gear.
After an hour of full on, brutal contact, we’re both left dripping and gasping for breath.
“Shit, Damon. You just about killed me. Are you sure you’re alright?” Jake asks, holding onto the ropes for support as he relaxes enough to let his guard down for the first time since we started sparring. “I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone go that hard, for that long.”
I spit my mouth-guard on the tray and laugh. “That’s what she said,” I joke, only to remember why I was so angry in the first place. No girl has ever said that to me; not even before the accident. I feel my missing hands curling into tight, painful fists that need to hit.
