A Reputation Dark & Deadly (A Dark & Deadly Series Book 2)

by Heather C. Myers

  "I'm here," she told him, continuing the sentiment of anchoring him to this moment. "I'm okay. It's okay."

  "It's not fucking okay," Logan said but he took a seat in the uncomfortable plastic chair and didn't say anything more on the subject.

  After the nurse came in to check her vitals and the doctor examined her body, it was deemed that she would be discharged later that evening just as long as Logan was there to take care of her should she need assistance with anything. Logan nodded once, keeping his mouth closed as he watched every person who interacted with Peyton carefully, making sure he knew exactly what they were doing before they were allowed to put a hand on her.

  Once they left, Logan stared back at Peyton, his eyes burning, causing a flush to touch Peyton's cheeks so she had to look away.

  "Listen," he finally said. "If we’re going to be together, I need you to fucking listen to what I have to say. Before you twist that around and interpret that as me being allowed to fucking tell you what to do, that's not what I mean at all. And you should know that. What it does mean is that if I tell you something, if I share something personal or give you a fucking opinion, I want you to really hear what I have to say. That doesn't mean I need you to agree with everything I have to say but it does mean you have to at least consider what I have to say."

  Peyton pressed her lips together and nodded her head. He was right, of course. She needed to respect what he said, especially when it came to things he knew personally. She hadn't. By going behind Logan's back, she completely disrespected him and his opinion. She didn't even give him a chance to explain why he felt the way he did. She just assumed he was going to tell her what to do, just assumed that he wouldn't hear her feelings. But the insistent way he was looking at her now, the way his eyes - as bronzed as they were - almost begged her to understand this concept.

  She bit the inside of her bottom lip and nodded her head.

  "I'm sorry," she told him in a low voice.

  "I don't want your fucking apology," he told her.

  Her eyes flashed at him. "Could you just let me apologize?" she snapped and suddenly realized that she needed to lower her voice lest anyone were to overhear. They weren't exactly in a room and any nosy nurse could overhear quite easily. "I fucked up, okay? I meddled and I thought I could help, which was incredibly arrogant and selfish of me. I know that me being here is my fault. I just..." Her eyes snapped up to his and she shrugged her shoulders almost helplessly. "I thought I could help."

  "Well, you can't," he told her bluntly. "Not with this. Not everyone has your family, Peyton. Some things, you just have to fucking let be." He leaned on her bed and took her hand in his. They were bigger, much bigger than her own, and they folded over hers easily. They were callused due to the baseball and even through his splint, she could feel the warmth of them. They made her feel safe.

  "My father..." He let his voice trail off, his eyes staring at the crisp white linen that encapsulated the hospital bed Peyton currently occupied. It was odd, seeing him distracted when he was known for being aware and focused and completely present. "Was not a nice man. I learned at an early age that you couldn't depend on your father to teach me what it means to be a man. I had to learn myself. And I did. I had no fucking role models except the men I saw on television. Athletes. The only thing my father ever did for me was put me in youth baseball and I learned to fucking hit the ball so hard, I was playing for teams older than I was. When I was playing, I could forget that my father liked to smack me around for amusement, that he kept my mother hidden in the shadows of his own fucking problems because he was chicken shit. I could get over the anger I felt at my mother for being so goddamn dependent on him. I fucking hated her for it, for this life, for choosing him to be the man she had children with.

  "And then I went to school and learned my father created me. I came from him. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't fucking exist." He shook his head, more to himself than to Peyton. "That fucking monster created me. It's no wonder I'm one, too."

  "You're not a monster," Peyton said, feeling compelled to offer her two cents. It might not make a difference to him but at least she said it, at least he heard it from her. And if he didn't believe her, then fine. But at least he knew how she felt.

  "Are you fucking kidding me, sweetheart?" Logan asked, looking at her with amused eyes. "You don't think I don't hear what people say about me? My colleagues fucking hate that I have tenure. I swear at my students, sleep with my TA's and I don't prepare power points for my lectures but I rarely get a complaint. Don't you think people are looking for any fucking reason to fire me?"

  "Being with me is reason enough, Logan," Peyton told him, her voice low. She didn't want to admit it out loud, didn't want to give him any ideas, but it was true.

  "Being with you is the best fucking thing that's happened to me," Logan told her and she could hear the truth of the statement in his tone. "I have no idea what the fuck happened in my life for you to fucking fall for an asshole like me. I've been trying not to think about it because I'm aware that you could wake up and realize that I'm not worth your fucking time."

  Peyton rolled her eyes. "Shut up, Logan," she told him. "This self-deprecating crap doesn't look good on you."

  "I know the fucking law," he told her. "I know the sociology and psychology and anthropology and history of crime. I know how to fuck and please and bring women to their knees. But I don't know how to be there for someone. I have no clue what the fuck I'm doing and that scares the shit out of me. You, what I feel for you, scare the shit out of me."

  Peyton pressed her lips together and looked away. No one had ever spoken to her this way. As much as Logan wasn't a romantic, this was the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to her, and that meant more than she knew how to handle, more than she knew how to react to. Something warm squeezed her heart together and that warmth dropped down so it could spread out through her entire body.

  "So what happened...?" she forced herself to ask, forced herself to say. She needed to say something, she needed to change the subject lest she get swept up in feelings she didn't know how to handle.

  "Karla called me," he told her, his eyes sharper and more focused now that the subject changed from his feelings to something more logical. "I wasn't going to answer it except for the fact that it was late at night and you sure as hell weren't picking up." Peyton winced at the look Logan gave her. "I realized why the fuck Karla was so insistent on me being into you. She wanted to use your ignorance and inexperience against you. She wanted to indirectly compare the two of you together. That was why she fucking sent me to get you at the party. She wanted me to see how fucking childish your behavior could be. It was why she got Brandon involved, because I'm certain, without a fucking doubt, that Brandon didn't reach out to her. Not after what I did to his fucking jaw. But she used her looks and her persuasion to get what she wanted. Probably used the fact that he could get back at me by getting to you." He looked at her again, like he was looking at her for the first time and really seeing her, really seeing what she was to him. "He knew you were my weakness. That if you hurt, I hurt." He clenched his jaw together, his fingers tightening in her blankets. "Peyton, you have no idea..."

  He let his voice trail off and looked away. Peyton reached for him as best as she could, until her hand found his.

  "I'm here," she repeated, trying to get him to lock eyes with her, to really understand what she was saying. To understand the truth in her words. "I'm okay."

  Logan looked like there was more to say, like he wanted to argue with her statement, but he bit his lip and kept the words to himself.

  "When Karla told me where you were, I wanted to fucking to kill her," he admitted, his voice low. "Because I know she manipulated the fucking situation. I know it was her. I wanted to fucking kill her and Brandon and bury them together. Good fucking riddance." He pressed his lips together once again and squeezed her hand, as if to emphasize his point. "I came here first, to check on you before I fucking did anything.
But this can't fucking stand, Peyton. You're mine and people need to realize that if they fuck with you, they fuck with me, and I can't let anyone get away with that shit."

  Peyton wanted to argue with him, to tell him he was being dramatic, but his eyes were so filled with passion and determination and his gaze so beautiful that she didn't want to take that away from him. So she kept her thoughts to herself and squeezed his hand in return, conveying that he had her support, even if she thought it was a little bit over the top.

  "Where do we go from here?" she murmured. Perhaps it wasn't the most appropriate place to have this discussion. Hell, she was surprised she was willing to risk this discussion with him in the first place. But after everything that had happened, she felt as though they both owed it to themselves to at least get on the same page about where they were in their relationship. What they could expect from each other.

  Logan picked his head up and looked at her as though she was daft for even asking such a question. "You're mine," he said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

  "And you're mine," she replied.

  He nodded his head. "I'm yours," he told her. "I thought that was fucking obvious."

  Peyton smiled despite herself. "It's not, actually," she told him. "You have a reputation and I" -

  "It's bullshit," he told her, holding her stare and giving her a look. "I know you don't believe that shit so don't start quoting it now."

  "Your reputation isn't bullshit," she told him. "Come on, Logan. I know you've slept with girls who have come before me. I don't care about that. You know I don't."

  "You do if you're questioning me about it," he told her. "And maybe I deserve that line if questioning. I never expected I would be with someone who would know about my past. To be honest, I never fucking expected to be with anyone serious for a long time, maybe not ever. I just know that there was a time before you and a time after you. There's no fucking in between. The time before doesn't matter to me. I can't even fucking remember it because it doesn't matter. The only time that matters is the time I get to spend with you. If that makes me your fucking boyfriend, then fucking fine. But that word doesn't do shit when it comes to describing the way I feel for you. Do you understand?"

  Peyton nodded. Her face was crinkled because she was smiling so hard.

  "So you're the type of guy I can introduce to my mom and my friends, right?" she teased.

  "Jesus, I suppose so," he said. Even though he wasn't smiling, his lips were curled up so at least she could tell he accepted her teasing. "I'm not sure how she's going to like you bringing home a man fifteen fucking years older than you are, but shit. It's the nature of the beast, I guess."

  Peyton beamed at him. "As long as you treat me well and take care of me, she won't have any issues," she promised.

  Logan rolled his eyes but didn't say anything. In fact, he stayed where he was until Peyton was officially discharged. He paid the co-pay required before leaving, despite Peyton's insistence that she could pay for it herself, and he muttered something about how he wanted to make sure her mother understood he was taking care of her, enjoying throwing her words back in her face so soon.

  He took her back to his place and carried her through the front door and into the bedroom. Like she was bride, like she was his prize after a long conquest and he wanted to take advantage of her as quickly as he possibly could. Peyton had no idea why he chose to bring her here instead of her place. Karla's voice still echoed in her head: "No one has been to his place. Not even me."

  Except, Peyton wasn't anyone to Logan. She couldn't compare herself to those that came before her because they weren't even in the same league. Logan loved her in his own way. Maybe it didn't reflect the same love that filled romance novels or movies but it was his and it was real and Peyton wouldn't have it any other way. She knew even before that he wouldn't be buying her flowers or texting her sweet things throughout the day just because he could. She also knew he would make sure she was covered at night - especially considering he liked to sleep with the window open - and he would carry her home if she couldn't walk. He would cut class to stay with her in the hospital and he would lecture her about how stupid she had been because he was really scared but couldn't admit it.

  It wasn't typical but it was his way of showing his love. And she wanted that more than anything.

  He gently set her on the satin sheets before padding into the connecting bathroom. Peyton remembered waking up here after that horrid night with Rikki, after that night where Chuck wasn't going to let her say no.

  Logan rescued her. Peyton blinked when the realization hit her. She had been an utter damsel in distress and Logan, in all his beastly grandeur, had knocked down a door to rescue her that night and brought her here instead of her dorm. To keep her safe. So he could keep an eye on her.

  And now, after Brandon, Peyton had rescued herself. She was the one who had fought off Brandon. She had made it to her car. She locked it so Brandon couldn't come in.

  And now, after that, she was back here. Everything came full circle.

  Peyton's ears pricked up when she heard the rush of flowing water and she realized Logan was drawing a bath for her. Her entire body filled with warmth and her lips curved up into a smile she couldn't contain, though she made no attempt to try. A bath sounded heavenly right now.

  When he came back in the doorway, his eyes held hers. Slowly, he began to remove his clothes until they were in a pile by his feet. The gesture was strangely erotic and simultaneously vulnerable. The act of undressing someone that was only done through trust.

  Peyton stared at him. She could feel her eyes darken at the sight of his naked body. Her eyes roamed up and down, taking in every inch of flesh. She loved the way his shoulders stretched wide, the curvature of his muscled arms, the way his torso narrowed at his waist, the sprinkle of hair throughout his body. Even his member, not just erect, was still something to brag about and wasn't unsightly on him. Everything about him was beautiful and it was all hers. He let her into his world, a guest that he wanted to stay permanently. Someone he called his.

  "I love you," she told him. She had told him before, and she knew he knew she was being serious, but she felt compelled to say it regardless.

  He cocked his lips into a slight smirk. "I know," he told her.

  Peyton pressed her lips together to fight a knowing smile. Had he purposefully quoted Star Wars - which would be telling unto itself since Logan did not seem like the type of guy who was into Star Wars - or did it just happen that he was being his arrogant self? She didn't know and supposed it didn't really matter.

  He walked over to the side of the bed and knelt down on the floor so he could start taking her own clothes off in a similarity slow fashion. The entire time, he held her gaze, even as he unbuttoned her jeans, unzipped her jacket, slid the denim off her legs and the cotton material over her head. He was skilled enough to reach behind her and unclasp her bra, peeling the straps off her shoulders one by one until the cups fell from her skin and onto the floor, until she was completely naked in front of him.

  His eyes darkened and she knew he was appreciating the view she was offering him, but Peyton could also detect that there was nothing truly lustful in his eyes. As in, he wasn't undressing her for the purpose of having sex. Rather, there was another purpose for the shedding of their clothing and he wasn't going to try and feel her up to distract themselves in that way. At least, not yet.

  Logan stood back up and took her in his arms once again. Her head instinctively found his shoulder and she curled into the warmth his bare skin offered her. It would have been so easy to fall asleep in his arms, against his chest, to the steady beating of his heart.

  When they reached the bathroom, he slowly eased her into the tub in a standing position. The minute her foot found the floor of the surprisingly large tub, her entire body warmed. He made sure the water was extra hot and the water nipped at her flesh, beckoning her to relax. She gracefully plopped down and he followed suit.
Not as quickly because Logan certainly wasn't used to this temperature, but he suffered it for her. And that meant more than he could know.

  Logan positioned himself behind her so her back hit his chest and she could lie down with her head against his chest. His arms wrapped around her waist and he pulled her tightly against him, resting his chin on the top of her head. Peyton felt her eyes get heavy and she didn't stop herself from closing them as Logan finally turned off the water.

  "You're comfortable," Peyton murmured against him. She already felt the familiar tug of slumber pull at her senses and she knew she would be sleeping in a manner of minutes if he let her. She didn't worry about sliding under the water and drowning, not when Logan's grip on her was tight, not when she knew, without a doubt, he would never allow any harm to come to her.

  He made a guttural noise of approval in the back of his throat but didn't immediately respond. She didn't have to look at him to guess that his eyes were probably closed now as well. His chest continued to rise and fall in a steady, comforting way but Peyton knew he wasn't sleeping. His fingers were tracing the curves of her waist in patterns that were too conscious to be misconstrued for sleep.

  "You got away," he mumbled to himself and she could feel him shake his head. "You got away."

  "I couldn't have done it without you," Peyton told him. "Your call saved me."

  "Sweetheart, you fucking saved yourself," Logan told her. "I just unknowingly distracted him." He paused. "You know, I heard everything on the phone. You struggling. Him screaming. I heard him knock you down again. I heard your hipbone hit the pavement." Peyton winced at the memory, and through hooded eyes, glanced at the ugly bruise on her left hipbone. "I had no fucking idea what was going on or what would happen. I was fucking helpless. The worst feeling in the world isn't loss or some bullshit you can move on from. It's knowing someone you love is hurting and there's nothing you can fucking do to save them. So you do what you can as best as you can and hope it's enough."