Unmistakably Us (Imagine Ink Book 5)

by Verlene Landon

  Reentering himself, Logan strode into the hangar with fresh eyes and a renewed sense of fuck-it-all. He would enjoy what he could, while he could, but his bag was always packed. When it was time to move on, he’d do the same thing he always did—leave. With no regrets, head held high, one finger in the air and two words that saved his heart every time.

  “There he is, the man of the hour. You must have been here all night.” John clapped him on the back with a semi-hug, which threw Logan for a loop, but not nearly as much as Michael.

  “I knew you had it in you, brother. I was—”

  “Excuse me?” How the hell did he know? More importantly, why does he seem happy about it. While terror and shock shook Logan to his foundation, for a split-second, he wanted to cry like a pussy and hug his baby brother. The truth that grounded him was found by looking into Michael’s eyes.

  The brother reference that he throws around for Walker, Dax, and John was all he meant by it. It was just Logan’s guilty conscience that took it different this time. Logan recovered, shoving his disappointment deep down to join the shit-ton that was already there and played it off.

  “You were what, brother?” If Michael heard the inflection he put on the word, he didn’t react. “Afraid I was a loser? If I’d have known a little Pine Sol and elbow grease would get me into your little club, I would have led with that and saved myself learning all the mechanic shit.”

  Logan was a bit too bitter in his delivery, so he followed it up with a shoulder nudge and a well-timed smile. “I’m just messing with you. Thanks for the opportunity.”

  “Anytime, and for the record, I—we—were worried about you. Not in a loser way, but there was an immediate kinship and you seemed lost. Even Francis gave us orders to not give up on you no matter what, and what she says goes.”

  He had spent all of fifteen minutes actually engaged in conversation with the woman total, so he didn’t understand her stake with him. He refused to hope that meant someone cared. Too much fucking disappointment when I go there. “So, you two grown-ass men pretty much do whatever some little old lady tells you to?”

  “Hell yes,” they answered in unison, their voices laced with humor.

  “FYI, don’t ever let her hear you call her old. She will show you old when she kicks your ass from here to Alabama. But for the record, we had no intention of letting you go, anyway. Her threat was just added motivation.” With that, Michael turned and headed for the plane, and John hit the head.

  It took Logan a minute to catch up. “Wait, she didn’t tell you, she threatened you?” Michael nodded. Logan made it to the plane where Michael stood with his check list. Logan clapped him on the back, but this time, it was different. It wasn’t faked or laced with desire for it to be more. “Hah, looks like Dax better watch his back. Seems like there is a new favorite son in town.”

  The words burst with flavor on his tongue. Being a favorite or even someone’s son was almost overwhelming. Before he confessed all while riding this high, he grounded himself by thinking of January. She revved his blood but something about her serene face also grounded him.

  “Yeah, big guy, I’ll let you tell him that.” A sharp laugh was all the transition he got before Michael went serious and John rejoined them. “John and I were wondering if you wanted to go to lunch at Peg Leg Pete’s in Pensacola?”

  “And lunch requires this serious of a tone? Color me confused.”

  Michael was the first to respond. “Have you had the key lime pie at Pete’s? Yes, it’s that fucking serious.” Michael’s face slid into a huge grin, so like the one he would see in the mirror…if he ever grinned.

  John broke into the merriment. “While I agree, Pete’s is serious business, we were thinking a little more aviation-related. Thought you might like to go up and see if maybe flying interests you. If it does, we can make the time and help you get your license. Fair warning, though, once you decide you want to fly, you’ll hemorrhage money indulging in it. Not to mention, your ladies will complain that you love planes more than them.”

  “All this because I scrubbed shit around here?” Logan was sure this wasn’t the case, but he craved hearing it.

  “Nope, because you’re our brother, like it or not. Besides, we don’t want any trouble from the southern mob boss in a pantsuit. You ever have a designer purse swung at your head? Not something I want to repeat.”

  Logan’s mind raced while they moved the plane outside and John walked him through the pre-flight. John’s movements mesmerized him as they taxied and got in the air. He had to stop himself from turning around to catch glimpses of Michael. It was like he was the little brother and was looking to Michael for approval.

  Admitting to himself that what Michael thought mattered was hard to choke down. Caring equaled pain, but once he accepted the truth, he decided this momentary happiness could carry him through the inevitable pain.

  As much as flying interested him, and it did, he was a mechanic at heart. He loved working on things, all things. Cars, motorcycles, planes. It didn’t matter. The smell of grease and dirty nails suited him just fine. He would take them up on their offer, mostly because he thought it would make him a better mechanic in the end. Plus, the thought of taking January up into the clouds and fucking their way into Heaven had him adjusting his cock.

  Six

  January pulled into the lot at work. Before she had a chance to dismount or even shed her gloves, her phone rang. Her heart sped up hoping it was Logan. With a tap to the button on the side of the helmet, she answered.

  While she was deciding on a playful hello to use, a voice chilled her blood. “Hello, dear. You finally decided to take my calls.”

  Shit, shit, shit, shit. The disadvantage to having a Bluetooth helmet is that the caller is a mystery.

  “Mother. I’m really busy, can I call you back?”

  “No, January, you cannot call me back. We had a deal and you need to honor your end of it. If you think this little stall tactic of a trip will get you out of your obligations, you are sorely mistaken. Do I need to remind you what’s at stake here?”

  January felt everything good in her life deflate. “No, Mother, I don’t need a reminder because you never let me forget.”

  “Don’t take that tone with me, young lady. Your total compliance is required unless you want those abominations your sister just popped out a kid for to know their little brat was born to a mother who is mental?”

  “MOTHER! You know that’s not true, and you don’t need to be a raging bitch about it. I said I’d do it, and I will, but I will not be happy about it.” January knew she was toeing the line, but her mother made her see red when she talked like that.

  “No you don’t have to be, but you do have to pretend you are for me to hold up my end of the bargain. And dear, if you ever talk to me like that again, I’ll publish what a little slut your sister is in the local goddamned paper and see if the old relic she is with will want her then.”

  January didn’t wait for her mother to hang up; she slammed the button and killed her helmet. She removed it with a sad sigh. Her mother knew just what to say to keep her in line, but January knew just how to take her mind off it. She was done, locked in, so what would be the point of obsessing over it. She’d much rather obsess over Logan.

  Logan.

  January had waffled between every emotion possible, but the two major ones were shame and guilt. Now thanks to dear old mom, they are both tempered with hopelessness.

  The things she did with Logan were delicious and naughty and…worthy of repeating over and over. It wasn’t supposed to be like that. She expected it to be fun and a memory that would carry her through the next decade, comfort her when she had to let the asshole her parents chose touch her, but instead, it would torture her.

  It was clear from the first kiss, the first touch…first orgasm, that those memories would haunt her instead because she would never feel those things again.

  At first, her shame was wrapped up in how much she enjoyed the
unconventional things he talked about and wanted to try. Some she had to Google. Kinbaku was basically tight Shibari but often with an emotional connection. Some sites she found, it was referred to as beautiful. Shibari was to tie or bind.

  The thought of Logan binding her was a turn-on, even more so when she thought of his appreciation of the loops and knots in contrast to her skin.

  Of course, after I snuck out on him, I don’t think that offer is on the table anymore. She’d thought she was doing the right thing, leaving before they had to go through the awkward moments of saying goodbye. January had never gone through such a situation, an advantage to not having one-night stands, but her friends from school made it out to be the worst thing ever.

  Them searching for their underwear, and some rando rubbing the back of his neck trying to sound like he was sincere when saying he’d call them. Both knowing he never would, unless he was making a list at the clinic.

  After shame, guilt overtook her, dragging her down to lowest of lows. Guilt that she was not holding up her end of the bargain with her parents and guilt…again, that she enjoyed the possibilities Logan offered.

  The worse guilt was sneaking out before that awkward moment, or not sticking around to see if it would even get awkward. At some point between then and now, she admitted she didn’t sneak out for any other reason than her own self-preservation.

  If it were weird and he pulled the whole “I’ll call you” bullshit, she would’ve been crushed. If he didn’t, the crushing would have been worse. And to be honest, that was the bigger fear. Not to mention their friendship…where did last night leave them in that arena?

  Logan was so attentive and raw with her. Not what she expected at all. If there had been any hint at all in his dark eyes that her leaving wasn’t exactly what he wanted, she would’ve tied herself to that squeaky bed.

  Guilt and shame had long gone, having been replaced by being pissed on a royal level as her night progressed and there was no sign of the man who consumed her body last night and consumed her thoughts today.

  Logan had been there every night since, hell, since forever as far as she knew, yet he was conspicuously absent. Even Ruger asked if she knew anything. Since she was a shit liar, it was obvious Ruger didn’t buy her Logan who? act. But he was a gentleman and didn’t call her on it.

  If that wasn’t bad enough, every single dancer commented on his absence, too. The icing on the guilt, shame, and pissed flavored layer cake was Platinum.

  “So, is it double or what? Spill, sister.” Platinum plopped in the chair to her right, resting her chin in her hands. Her blood red pointed nails drummed impatiently against her make-up caked cheeks. “I’ve only got a few minutes before I take the stage, so give me some inspiration.”

  January opened her mouth, lie poised on her lips, when Platinum sat back. “No, you don’t, girlfriend. I left my phone last night and as I was heading in the side door, I heard the sounds of some porno level action happening in the back. I recognized a certain petite blonde’s voice. Or rather her moans.”

  “Oh, God.” January groaned and dropped her face to her hands.

  “Yep, that’s it. Although, it had a bit more pepper on it last night. Soooo?”

  Being unprepared for this revelation was an understatement. She knew outdoor play was a bad idea, but God, his tongue. There was a little part of her that took satisfaction in the fact that someone had heard them and that it was Platinum. There was a touch of possessiveness she harbored over Logan. He is not mine to keep. I need to get over it. And Platinum might be the ticket.

  “Okay, yes. He is hung like a horse, and yes, he knows how to use it.” Before she lost her nerve to keep Platinum’s interest in Logan, she kept going. “And for the record, what you heard? That was just his tongue.” She wiggled her eyebrows to add to the casual air she was creating about what happened.

  Platinum was fanning herself and raining “good Lords” into the bass sounds of the dressing room.

  Not that it was the best idea, but January was just forming it. She could enjoy Logan a bit more before her life all but ended, then set Platinum on him. Once he touched her, she’d be done with him and problem solved. She was proud of herself for her quick and effective plan. Then she remembered sneaking out and his answering absence. It might already be over, and she wouldn’t have a problem.

  “You should give him a ride, after I’ve had my fill, of course.” January damn near threw up in her mouth uttering the words, and that was the exact reason they needed to be said.

  Before Platinum could accept or decline her offer, January threw her backpack on her back and headed for the door. “See you tomorrow.” Platinum had yet to recover from her parting words to say bye. Good, that means she is thinking about it.

  She bumped into Ariel as soon as she opened the door. “Umph. Sorry.”

  “No worries,” Ariel said as she skirted around her to take her place at the mirror. “Cute top, by the way.”

  January looked down to see what she was wearing. Apparently, Logan was occupying every single brain cell and she couldn’t even remember what the hell she just put on five minutes ago. It read, “STILL KINDA PISSED ABOUT NOT BEING A MERMAID.” Of course, the redhead whose persona was Ariel, for crying out loud, would like my top.

  January liked her well enough, so on impulse, she dropped her backpack, removed her shirt, and tossed it at the stunned dancer. “It’s yours. It suits you.” Ariel wasn’t like the rest of the dancers there. Most, like January, had reasons other than survival for dancing. Daddy issues, fun, rebellion, you name it. They were as varied as the dancers themselves, but for Ariel, it was nothing as trivial as that.

  She had two kids by a biker turned inmate. He was one of the good guys in a bad news MC, and when shit came down, they rolled it all to him. Ariel’s version painted him as a fairly upstanding guy who had his club change around him when his prez was forced out because of his unwillingness to handle drugs.

  The club offered her all the help she could want, but she knew the strings attached would bind them even tighter to the MC. She came this way to drop off their radar and raise her kids as best she could. She stripped for them, so she couldn’t afford cute tops for herself.

  While January dug for another top in her bag, Ariel gushed. “Oh, my God, seriously?” No sooner had she pulled another tee over her head and Ariel was squeezing the life out of her.

  January didn’t realize how much such a simple gesture would mean to the other woman, but in hindsight, it made sense, so in a rare occurrence, January returned the embrace. Not out of obligation, but because she wanted to.

  “No one has ever given me something without strings, and no other woman has ever liked me enough. Thank you so much. You’re good people, January. You have a beautiful soul. Don’t let this world steal that from you.”

  “You’re welcome, hon. You deserve some things for yourself occasionally, even if it’s not new.”

  When Ariel pulled away, she was wiping her eyes and Platinum spoke up, breaking the emotion-laden atmosphere. “If you’re in a giving mood, I’ll take that one. It’s so me.” For the second time in a matter of minutes, January had to look down to see.

  “ONE CLASSY BITCH” her shirt read this time. “Dream on, chicky. I make it a point to have one moment of generosity each year, and that was it. Try again next year.” January donned her backpack again, gave a little wave to the girls, and headed into the club corridor.

  Curiosity changed her path from the back door to the side so she could peek into the smoky main room, looking for Logan.

  No luck, still a no show. I guess I have my answer as to if he was broken up over my leaving last night.

  She opened the side door, letting the salt air wash over her and soothe her aching…anything but heart. No way her heart hurt. I can’t like him. I just can’t.

  She threw her leg over Demon and fired him up. His rumble quieted her soul more than the salt air. She could live without the beach if she had to, but freedom?
That was going to kill the essence of who she was, and Demon was freedom to her.

  When she turned to reach for her helmet on the sissy bar, she realized it wasn’t there. “Fuck, I left it.” She didn’t bother to shut down her bike and take the key. Who was going to take it in the two seconds she was gone, anyway? She pulled her leg off and headed back inside. She made it through the hallway to the back when Ariel almost ran into her again.

  This time, she was wielding her helmet. “Oh, thank goodness, here, you left it. Obviously, you know that already. I was terrified thinking you might just ride home without it.”

  January took the helmet from her—she guessed actual—friend. “Thanks, but never fear, I am not in any hurry to taste the pavement and do my impression of a cucumber for life. I always wear it. Thanks for caring, though.” Again, they embraced until the strains of an electric keyboard interrupted them.

  “That’s my cue, gotta run.”

  Back outside, January went to toss her leg over her bike and realized it wasn’t running and the keys were gone. She placed the helmet on the sissy bar, stealthily removed her backpack, and noiselessly set it on the rock lot.

  Her head on a swivel, she started to slowly walk toward the back door. She chose the back, thinking that whoever it was might be expecting her to use the side door again or even the front. Of all nights to not park on the walk by the door. Plus, she snuck out on Ruger. Now she was alone in an empty lot with someone who had her keys.

  A jingle from behind had her executing a frightened leaping turn. A shadowy figure leaned against the corner of the building by the dumpster. It looked like he was twirling her keys on his finger. Her body recognized the outline before she did because wetness pooled between her legs.

  With a few rapid clicks of his tongue, he pushed off the wall and started to approach her, but he was still bathed in shadows. “I’m starting to think you’re a professional runner, Little Rabbit.”