Torn from You (31 page)

Logan

Logan watched Emily work with the chestnut
stallion in the round pen. The dance she played with the horse was
mesmerizing. She became another person, calmness settling over her
as if nothing the stallion did could unglue her. She was patient
and relaxed with a steady, consistent confidence that the stallion
tried to test time and again with his antics.

It was magical. Emily was magical.

This bullshit she kept putting up between
them had to stop. The bike—Christ, the bike with her up against
him—was hot and pure torture. He could feel her body quivering, the
pulse of her heartbeat against his back. It took two years to get
the shit out of his life that robbed both of them of a chance
together. According to Deck last night—that shit still wasn’t
gone.

Rob had sent him into fight mode. He made it
damn clear that Emily was his, and if developer slime ball didn’t
respect that, then he was hauling her ass out of there. Not a
chance was she working for some guy who didn’t respect her. Shit
like that led to unwanted attention, and unwanted attention led to
worse shit.

Rob came to stand beside him, arms hooking
over the third rail of the fence. Logan didn’t bother acknowledging
him.

“She’s good.”

Logan remained silent.

“I was skeptical when I heard about ‘the
girl who speaks to horses.’ Googled her, but didn’t find much.
Surprising considering how good she is.”

Logan kept his eyes forward. Emily was in
the middle of the ring, eyes downcast, her body language inviting
the stallion in. The horse’s eyes were calmer now. Then he lowered
his head and walked slowly toward her. It was a beautiful sight.
Ten minutes ago the whites of the stallion’s eyes were blazing, his
muscles contracting, fear emanating from his every pore.

The stallion nudged her in the back with his
muzzle, and Emily slowly turned and began stroking his nose.

“Ten minutes,” Rob said while shaking his
head. “My guys have been trying to get near this horse for
weeks.”

Logan chin-lifted toward her. “She’s always
had a way with horses.”

“Sounds like you’ve known her a while?”

“Yeah, a while.” Logan kept his eyes glued
to Eme. God, it reminded him of when they’d sit and watch the herd
of quarter horses all day and she’d explain what they were doing,
how a horse was telling the other to screw off. He could never see
it, but Eme ... It was like she saw into them.

“Where did you meet?”

He really didn’t feel like explaining his
past to some dick who hit on his girl, but he’d play semi-cordial
for Emily’s sake. “An underground fighting ring.”

“Damn.” Rob cleared his throat then
continued, “She needs a website. Your girl is good. She’d do well
in the racing community. High profile. Lots of money.” Rob nodded
toward Emily. “She’s a natural. If word gets out, and I’ll make
sure it does, she’ll be turning down clients she’ll be so
busy.”

He liked Rob calling Emily “your girl.”
Maybe the guy wasn’t so bad after all— Fuck no. He was a guy, and
he’d been thinking of getting in Emily’s pants. That thought
doesn’t disappear because the guy got shot down. He’s still
thinking what’s beneath her tight ass, and it pissed Logan off.

“Emily doesn’t have a website, might be
because she doesn’t want to be busy.”

“Money talks. Never known anyone who’d turn
it down. You ever turn down a gig if the money is good?”

No. But he would if need be.

“Better clear it with her before you go
publicizing.” And she wasn’t traipsing off to every dick’s farm
alone, not fuckin’ now. Jesus, he was on edge every second she was
out of his sight. Shit had to go down soon or he’d have to tell her
what was happening and he’d do everything he could to avoid that.
Seeing that fear in her eyes again—no. Never. Again. Deck said they
were close. That he was handling it.

Rob turned to him, brows raised, eyes
questioning. “Pretty hard to stay in the shadows when you’re dating
the lead singer of an up-and-coming band.”

“Yeah well, Eme’s tougher than she looks.
She’ll deal with whatever is thrown her way.” And those words were
truer than Rob would ever know. Eme had spirit, more than she gave
herself credit for; he’d seen it in her the day they met.

Shit, Emily had come right up to him at in
an abandoned warehouse where he’d just pulverized his opponent. He
had a cut on his temple, blood running down his face, and no
shirt.

She’d wrapped her small, delicate hand
around his bicep, and he remembered wondering where the sexy blonde
who had latched onto him had fucked off to. He’d just won a
shitload of money and was running off adrenaline. Raul had been
there that night. It was the first time Logan had seen him since he
was sixteen; so he was revved up and fucked up.

Emily had been wearing short cut-off jeans,
a cute little pink top with sparkles on the front, and her hair was
a mess. Her long, brown strands reached past her shoulders and were
having a hard time deciding which side to part on.

Did he fall in love right there? No. Not
even close. She was timid and couldn’t meet his eyes; there was no
sexiness about her. Fuck, he could remember thinking that fucking
her would be boring as hell. He told her he didn’t do brunettes.
Not a lie, he never did.

He would’ve walked away and never given her
a second thought except when she said, “I need to learn how to
fight.”

He’d laughed, pretty damn hard, and he
rarely laughed. She looked like a mouse—small, couldn’t be more
than five foot four, tiny little nose, petite waist, sweet hips. He
remembered thinking for one second, despite her meekness, that
those hips would be nice to grab as he pumped into her from behind.
That thought pulverized when she told him why she wanted to learn
how to fight, and then he felt like a goddamn schmuck for thinking
that.

Then Kite came up, and that was it. Girl
forgotten.

But she persisted, and that’s when he knew
there was something more to her than he first thought. When she
grabbed his arm, fingers curling around his bicep, he’d looked down
at her small hand against his skin and felt strange warmth shoot
through him. He told her to let go, but the words didn’t stick,
because for some reason he didn’t want her to let him go. At the
time, he’d put it to the adrenaline still rifting through him.

He watched as she shook her head to tell him
she wasn’t listening. Her hair fell in front of her eyes, and he
had the urge to push it back. It was like a sucker punch to the
solar plexus. He didn’t like getting sucker punched—at all.

She looked down at her feet, shuffled a bit
then met his gaze dead on. When she said, “I was attacked after
work by a guy ...”

Rage rose up in him so fuckin’ high that he
was ready to get in the ring and beat the crap out of his next
opponent. The words tearing out of his mouth felt like acid, and he
could only hold his breath waiting for an answer, because if this
chick was getting— Jesus, he couldn’t even say the word and the
thought made him sick to his stomach. It brought back memories of
the screams, the girls beaten, the abuse, and his father. It may
have hit him harder than usual because of seeing his father that
night. But when he asked if she was sexually assaulted and she told
him no, it was like a wave of cool relief blanketed him.

Thank fuck.

He had stared down at the delicate fingers
over his bulging muscle. Imagining that hand curled into a fist ...
No, he couldn’t.

Then he was being an asshole, telling her
how she could never fight, because really, picturing this girl
having to fight anyone was pissing him off. He felt like wrapping
her up in his arms and carrying her away from all the bad shit in
the world.

Then what did he fuckin’ do ...? He led her
into the worst sludge of the world—his father.

He’d brought her gift-wrapped to
his
father
. “Jesus.”

“Logan?” Emily’s hand rested on his arm,
still small and delicate, just like the first time he met her.

Looking at her now, he didn’t know why he
hadn’t fallen in love with her the moment he laid eyes on her. She
was perfect—the way her lashes dropped to cover half her eyes when
she was thinking, how her breasts peaked perfectly beneath her
shirt, and her thighs, damn her thighs were rock solid. He felt
every bit of them on his bloody bike.

But it was way more than that. His girl had
a strong empathy for horses, and the way she was around them, it
was sexy as hell. God, she couldn’t see how beautiful she was which
drove him crazy, but when she was with those horses, her
uncertainty or insecurity or mistrust vanished. Determined as hell,
yet still sensual and ... feminine. Her determination was playing
against him right now, but despite that he respected her more for
it, Jesus, he’d dragged her into hell and hurt her.

She didn’t see her strength, but he saw it
from the beginning. God, he prayed every fuckin’ day that Raul or
Alfonzo or Jacob wouldn’t break her. And he’d been so fuckin’ proud
of her when she stood up to his piece-of-crap father, and even
though it was the worst play she could’ve done, a part of him
wanted to pull her into his arms and cry— Because she wasn’t
broken. Emily never gave up.

Logan groaned, as he wrapped her into his
arms and sighed when she came willingly. Jesus, he loved this
woman. He’d thought of nothing except her for two years. She didn’t
know what went down after he let her go, and he’d never tell her;
she didn’t need that tainting her life. But it was her that gave
him the strength to survive the hell Raul put him through. Deck ...
He owed Deck his life for getting him out.

He squeezed her to him. “You looked hot,
Mouse. Out there with that stallion ... I’m buying you more
horses.”

“I can buy my own horses, Logan.”

He loved when she called him Logan. Eme and
his mother were the only ones who called him that. Now he was
called Logan by two remarkable women in his life that survived his
father. And Deck. Deck survived his father too and risked his life.
He got him out of there and witnessed the shape he was in. Deck
wanted him to tell Eme what happened, but he couldn’t. She had
enough horror in her life; she didn’t need to hear his horror. He’d
shield her from that forever if he could.

“I know you can, it’s not the same
thing.”

He caressed her cheek, and she leaned into
his touch, her eyes closing as she sighed.

“Rescue horses.”

“Hmmm?”

“You want to buy horses? Save the ones that
need it.”

That was his Emily. “Whatever you want.” He
kissed her forehead. “Trophy, Emily. You’re a trophy.”

When they pulled up to the house, Crisis and
Kite were sitting on the porch drinking beers, and Ream was leaning
against the railing.

I unsnapped my helmet and passed it to Logan
who placed it on the handle bars beside his. I quickly ran my
fingers through my hair while avoiding his eyes. “I’ll, ah ... see
you later. I better check on the horses.”

I turned, my heart in my throat and the
familiar ache pulsating. Being with Logan today had been ... it was
like the sun burning through the fog of my mind. And there in the
brightness stood Logan and he was protective and strong and willing
to do anything to repair us. Did I trust him? I believed him, so
why was I hesitating on trusting him?

Logan tagged my hand and reeled me back
in.

“No more running.” His thumb casually
stroked the back of my hand, and it felt good. Really good.

“I’m not running—”

“You are.” He tugged, and I was up against
his chest, breath seized, and he was watching me with those sexy
heart-stopping eyes. “Why, baby?” His hands squeezed mine, and I
felt that familiar warmth of his protectiveness come over me. He
knew when I needed soft, encouraging words, or rough, harsh
commands. He liked control; I got that and he did it well, I wanted
that escape he gave me when I didn’t have to think and just felt.
God, he knew me better than I knew myself. In Mexico there had been
no trust; now our relationship had to have it more than
anything.

“Logan. The trust between us, it’s
still—”

He stopped me, leaning in and kissing me on
the lips. It was hard, and it was sweet. When he pulled back, the
soft skin on our lips held briefly together like when you touch
your tongue to a dry ice cube. “Trust is built. Ours just needs to
be rebuilt and it takes time. But baby, we’ll do it together.”

And for the first time, I gave into him
completely. I let go of my head shit and what happened and took in
what he was giving me—him. And God, it felt like the elephant
sitting on my chest finally got up and walked away.

All chatter stopped, and three sets of eyes
landed on me and Logan as we walked up onto the porch.