Bluebird

by Stella James

  “You don’t want out, Logan,” he drawls. “Not really.”

  I can hear the ice cubes in his glass knock together when he sets the glass tumbler back down onto his desk. I turn to face him, his attention on the stacks of cash lined up in front of him as he places the bundles one by one into his safe without a fucking care in the world.

  “I don’t?” I challenge.

  “Nope.”

  “Care to explain to me what do I want then, since you know so damn well?” I nudge back one of the leather chairs in front of his desk and take a seat, refusing to back down.

  “A little birdie told me that you’ve got it in your mind to deliver a smidgen of payback to Santos in his crew,” he says, leaning back in his chair. His fingertips drum together beneath his chin. “Correct me if I’m wrong.”

  “That shit’s personal and has nothing to do with you or the club.”

  “Well as it just so happens, I manage to have in my possession, an address.” He reaches into his top drawer and pulls out a slip of paper folded neatly. “Being that there is a warrant out for our dear friend Mr. Santos, I can assure you that you will not find him without this little tidbit of information.”

  “And what exactly does this have to do with me being your fucking errand boy?”

  “Nothing,” he says simply. “I’m merely proving my point.”

  “Which is?”

  “You don’t want out, Logan. Because working for me gives you exactly what you need. A place to throw all that leftover angst from your sad little childhood.”

  “Watch it,” I warn.

  He raises his hands in mock surrender and chuckles. “Hey now, we’re friends Logan. We might not be the same as I tend to lean towards less messy forms of self-medicating.”

  Right on time, there’s a light knock on the door before it opens and the sound of heels clicking against the floor fills the room.

  “Ah, Simone, right on time,” Zavier says. “Come here sugar, I was just finishing up with Logan.”

  The leggy blonde waitress saunters towards him and steps behind his chair, raking her long nails over his chest and placing her mouth on the side of his neck. She looks up at me through thick black lashes and grins as Zavier chucks the folded piece of paper onto his desk. I hesitate for less than a second before I scoop it up with a curse and head for the door. Zavier’s amused laughter fading behind me with every step I take.

  I find Trevor on the floor and tilt my chin towards the back door, holding up the address in my hand.

  “Santos?” he asks when we reach the parking lot.

  “Yup.”

  “Let’s get this done quick, brother. I got a date with Kendra.”

  “And by date you mean?”

  “I’m gonna show up at her place at three a.m. and hopefully get laid,” he laughs.

  “Whatever man, I’m driving.”

  *

  I pull over and kill the headlights, leaving the engine running just in case Santos and his crew of dirtbags spot us before we spot them. I know this area well enough, having been sent down here by Zavier several times in the past. It’s mostly shitty, rundown old houses and duplexes. There’s an all night convenience store on the far corner but it looks mostly abandoned. Even if it weren’t, this isn’t the kind of neighbourhood where people report suspicious activity. This is the kind of neighbourhood where people are just trying to survive, minding their own business in the process. I look down at the address in my hand and crumple it up, tossing it on the floor.

  “That one,” I nod ahead at the third house up ahead on the left.

  “You sure?” Trevor asks, loading his Glock. I never carry but Trevor is almost always packing.

  We stay put, under the leftover glow of a half-busted streetlamp and wait. Santos is tucked away in a safe house belonging to one of his drug dealing uncles. It’s nearly two a.m. and he should be getting home soon. I checked in with Nico at the warehouse and cashed in on a favour. Santos fought tonight and won, which means he’ll be good and liquored up by the time he hauls his useless carcass home and I show him what happens when he fucks with someone I care about. It’s probably irrational to take this shit personally, but I don’t care. Prairie could have been hurt and until I give Santos a piece of my fist, I won’t be able to get that image out of my head.

  I half expected Trevor to question why some piece of ass was worth pissing off a bunch of gangbangers but he’s kept his mouth shut. He saw how fucking pissed I was when I left for the hospital. He knows this is about more than an easy lay. I’d have his back if our positions were reversed and he knows it.

  “Bingo,” he mutters.

  I look across the street and see a supped up red Charger swerving towards the curb. The drivers side door flies open and Santos stumbles out with a bottle of liquor dangling from his hand. Celebrating.

  “You ready?” Trevor’s voice interrupts.

  “Let’s go.” I cut the engine and reach for the door when the sound of shattering glass has me ducking for cover.

  “What the fuck!?” Trevor roars.

  “Fucking white cunts!”

  I glance up in the rear view mirror just in time to catch a glimpse of some punk’s face through the shattered window before he smashes out my right taillight. He walks around the box to the driver’s side and I shove open my door, knocking him down before he has a chance to do any more damage. He hits the pavement and suddenly I’m on him, my fist ramming into his jaw. My vision clouds with red and all I hear is the sound of my knuckles pummeling his flesh.

  “Logan!” Trevor’s arms come around me and he hauls me off the piece of shit that just smashed my truck.

  “Come on man, he’s done.” I look up the street but Trevor slaps me on the back and shakes his head.

  “We need to get out of here,” he says. “You can come back for Santos, but if someone comes along claiming this guy, we’re outnumbered.”

  “Fuck!” I shout, slamming the door before I peel away from the curb.

  I take Trevor back to the club so he can get his truck and go get laid. I find myself parked on the street below Prairie’s apartment but I can’t make myself go up, no matter how much I crave her. I’m a fucking bastard for even showing up here, my knuckles still covered in blood. A simmering rage lingers under my skin when I take stock of the damage done to my truck. Fucking punk.

  A gentle knock on the passenger side window jars me from my anger and I look up to see Prairie standing there. She opens the door and climbs into the truck, shutting the door behind her. She looks down at her hands, clasped together on her lap before she clears her throat and speaks.

  “What’s going on Logan?”

  “Nothing that you need to worry about,” I reply automatically.

  “Hm. I think I might have to worry about it when you’re parked outside my building at nearly three a.m. with blood on your hands and a busted truck.”

  “It was nothing, just work shit,” I let go of a deep breath.

  “Work shit? This is typical for nightclub security?” She waves her hand the length of the truck, her eyes lingering on the broken window.

  “Some rowdy drunks, nothing I couldn’t handle,” I lie.

  “Logan.”

  “I’ll go,” I say, reaching for the keys when her hand lands on mine.

  “You don’t have to go,” she sighs. “I worry about you.”

  The sincerity in her words, along with the hint of defeat, punches me in the stomach. And as I have countless times in my existence, I well and truly hate myself. I hate myself for choking on the truth and for the fact that I even need to lie to her.

  *

  Less than an hour later, after I’ve yet again washed the blood from my hands and watched it disappear down the drain, I step into Prairie’s bedroom just as she turns from the closet, pulling a plain pink nightgown over her head.

  “How are you feeling?” she asks.

  “I’m fine babe,” I say, pulling her into me and breathing in her scent.


  She lets me hold her for a moment before she releases my hand and leans up on her toes, kissing me softly. She teases my mouth with her tongue, tasting me slowly.

  “Are you sore?” I ask, gripping her hips and tilting my head back so I can see her eyes when she answers me.

  “No,” she says.

  “I can’t stand the thought of hurting you.”

  “The only thing that would hurt right now is not feeling you above me,” she says, reaching for the bottom of her nightgown. She pulls it over her head and tosses it to the floor.

  Her breasts are naked, the pebbled tips begging for my mouth. I lean down and taste her, my mouth nipping her gently before I lick the sting away and trail my fingers up to her hair. I tilt her head back and claim her lips, sliding my tongue inside of her warm mouth, tasting her.

  She grips my arms and pulls herself towards me, running her hands up to my shoulders she tugs me closer. I spin her so that her back is to the mattress and pull free, long enough to peel off my shirt. She sinks back onto the bed and looks up at me as she reaches for the scrap of white fabric that covers her. She rolls the lace down her smooth legs and kicks them aside, once again on display for me and every part of her is perfect. Every scar, every freckle, every inch of sweet smelling skin burrows into my senses and all I can think of is us together. I lose my jeans and kick off my boots. Already painfully hard, my cock bounces against my stomach and she grins. I kneel at the foot of the bed, knowing just how slow I want to move. I want to taste her. I want to cherish her.

  I start at one of her pretty painted toes and trail my lips up her leg, her muscles trembling beneath my mouth as I move up to her thigh. I nip the skin there and her hips buck up.

  “Too slow,” she whispers.

  “No Prairie, I need to taste you,” I groan, inhaling her sweet sent.

  I part her thighs and place her legs over my shoulders before I place my mouth on her and take one long swipe with my tongue. I grumble in my throat. She tastes like honey. I lick her again, slowly. Pausing on her clit I swirl my tongue until her thighs relax and she lets her legs fall open for me.

  “Mm, good girl,” I say. “Leave your legs where they are and I promise I’ll make you feel good.”

  She grips the covers when I reach a hand between her legs and slide one finger inside of her. Christ she’s so fucking hot and tight. I pull her clit gently between my teeth and press my finger in as deep as I can. Her taste makes me dizzy, her response to me is by far the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. I increase my speed, satisfied with my restraint this far and truly let myself go. I take everything she’ll let me have, sliding in another finger, she clenches down on them, strangling them tight.

  “Logan, oh God, Logan,” she gasps.

  Before she can fall completely apart, I remove my hand and slide up her body, thrusting into her in one quick motion, she comes undone and floods me with her climax, her tightness quivering around me.

  “Goddamn babe,” I groan, pulling out and sliding back into her heat.

  Her fingers dig into my back, her breathing strained and all I can think of is how much more I want. How much more of her pleasure I want to claim. Bending my head down, I take her mouth with mine, kissing her deeply while my heart pounds against the walls of my chest. I can’t last, not when she’s like this beneath me. She brings her hips up to meet mine and I can feel myself losing control. A guttural moan rumbles up from my chest and I come hard. Burying my face in her hair, I slow to a stop. I can feel her heart pounding against my chest as she tangles her fingers into my hair. She holds me to her tightly, her legs still wrapped around my waist. She tilts my head back and looks up at me with a smile.

  “Logan,” she whispers.

  I untangle our bodies and roll onto my side, taking her with me so that her back is to my front and my arm rests across her breasts. Our panting breath begins to even out.

  Hours later, I lie there wide awake with her pliant body wrapped around mine, her scent and warmth surrounding me. The soft lull of her breathing a gentle reminder to count my fucking blessings while I have them. Because unless I get out of this deal with Zavier and figure out how to fix the broken parts inside of myself, I’m gonna lose the best thing that’s ever happened to me…all over again.

  Chapter 24

  Prairie

  I take the familiar elevator up to the ICU, balancing a tray with three coffee cups in one hand and a bouquet of pink daisies in the other. Sharon had called this morning while Logan and I were still under the covers. She said that Brooke had woken up last night but she didn’t call me right away because the doctor wanted to order some immediate tests. She was still lucid when they brought her back to her room early this morning and her doctor gave the go ahead for visitors.

  I watch through the glass sides of the elevator as we ascend, trying but failing miserably to shake off my concern for Logan. I couldn’t sleep last night and happened to look out my window to see him sitting in his truck outside my building. The first thing I noticed was the broken taillight and smashed rear window, a lump of fear sitting in my stomach as I knocked on the window. I took him in the minute I slid into the passenger seat. Swollen knuckles, red and scraped. The splattering of blood on his otherwise clean white T-shirt, and that vacant, shameful look in his dark brown eyes that I’ve seen so many times but have been unable to fix.

  I’m not stupid, I know he wasn’t just working at the club. Something happened, something he feels he needs to protect me from. But the thing is, the more we keep from each other, the more we’re holding ourselves back from a healthy future. And I realized then that as tempting as it is to turn a blind eye and simply focus on the good parts, I don’t want that with Logan. I want more. I want messy, I want complicated and I want to be honest with each other. We deserve a second shot at making it work.

  That’s why I’m going to a meeting tonight. I want to talk to Holly and get her advice on how to broach the subject of my assault with Logan. He isn’t just anyone to me, he’s everything. He has been since I was seventeen. And he needs to know what he’s getting into. He needs to know that some nights I wake up in a panic, surrounded by rumpled bedsheets and bad memories. He needs to know that I still have triggers, a deep voice or someone innocently sneaking up on me has the power to rip open my neatly stitched together wounds and the pain sometimes last for several days. And aside from all of that, I need to know exactly what he’s doing for Zavier Kane and how we can get him out of it.

  Turning the corner, I see Sharon chatting with one of the nurses at the ICU desk and I make my way over. I put my thoughts of Logan and our future to rest for the time being and give in to the smile that forms on my face the minute Sharon spots me and returns the sentiment.

  “Am I too late, is she still awake?”

  She takes the coffee from my hand and smiles gratefully before she replies, “You bet she is sweetie, and she’s been asking for you.” She links her arm with mine and we head for Brooke’s room.

  “How’s your mom doing?” she asks.

  “She’s good! Her and Neil went to Vegas recently. She loved it,” I grin.

  “That’s wonderful, good for her. You make sure and tell her that I say hello.”

  “Of course, actually I think tha- Trevor?”

  We reach the doorway and I’m surprised to see Trevor standing in the corner of the room, his arms crossed over his chest, his stare on Brooke who’s currently getting her IV changed.

  “He’s been here all morning,” Sharon whispers. “Brooke never mentioned that she was seeing anyone.”

  Before I can respond, Brooke looks up and blinds me with a soft smile. I wait until the nurse is finished before I walk to the bed and set the flowers on the end table. I sit carefully beside her and tuck a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

  “Hey,” I say with a smile.

  “Do you think I can use this experience as a sympathy card for future auditions?” Brooke asks, her voice hoarse.

  “As
in, please give me the part because my current job is super dangerous and this one time I got shot?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Oh Brooke,” Sharon sighs.

  I can’t help but chuckle when Brooke shrugs her shoulders innocently. “I think for now we should focus on you getting better. Then we can worry about how to spin this whole thing in your favour.”

  A grunt from Trevor behind me has me turning to face him, but his expression remains neutral.

  “Prairie, have you met Trevor?” Brookes asks.

  “I have actually,” I say. He offers me a nod and remains where he is.

  “Brooke honey, I’m going to run down to the cafeteria and fetch your father. We want to speak to the doctor again about your homecare.” Sharon places a kiss on Brooke’s forehead and squeezes her hand before she blinks quickly and leaves the room.

  “As I was saying,” Brooke continues. “Trevor has found himself hopelessly in love with me.”

  “I’m not in love with you,” Trevor states.

  “Did I tell you that the first time I met Trevor here was after our night out at Delve?” Brooke asks me. “He turned me down flat that night, and yet, here he is. I’m telling you, I think he’s obsessed with me.”

  “I am not obsessed with you,” he mutters.

  I manage to suppress my laugh as he uncrosses his arms and runs his hands over his face in frustration.

  “Then why have you been here all morning?” she asks simply.

  “I was just checking in. Christ, if I had known you were gonna be a huge pain in my ass, I would have phoned instead.”

  “Aww, is this our first fight?” she asks.

  “Brooke, stop torturing him, I think he’s had enough,” I tell her with a smile.

  “You’re probably right,” she sighs. “You’re free to go. As you can see, I’m fine,” she tells him.

  He seems to consider it for a moment before his gaze softens for a split second and he responds, “I’ll be back tonight.” He doesn’t give her a chance to reply before he’s out the door and striding down the hallway. I give her a questioning look but she seems just as confused as I am.