Smoke & Mirrors by Skye Jordan
14
Isabel
When I get back to the motel after my shift at the bar, the lights in Logan’s apartment are still on.
I learned a long time ago not to take responsibility for someone else’s anger, but there’s still a knot in my stomach from our earlier argument.
I don’t owe him an explanation. I’m pitching in around here to pay him back for letting me stay. He has no right to be angry, but I know he’s acting this way because he cares.
Telling him what’s in that box is a powder keg, but I want this stress to end. I want to leave the past in the past and start the next phase of my life—one which is still a complete mystery—with a clean slate.
I’ve got to get rid of this fucking gun and cut all ties with Aiden.
I pull out my phone, take a deep breath, and call Aiden. I’m surprised when I get his voicemail. After how he’s been hounding me, I expected him to pick up. Then again, it is late on the East Coast.
“Look, I’m over this mess,” I tell his voicemail. “I just want to end it. Tell me how to get the gun back to you.”
I disconnect, sick to my stomach over the loss of five grand. May as well have been a million. That’s how important it was to me. But Logan is even more important. Everyone I’ve met in this small mountain town is more important to me, which is a huge wakeup call. There was no one and nothing for me in New York. I need to figure my shit out so I can find myself a new place to start over.
I don’t see any movement in Logan’s apartment, which means I’m going to have to make the herculean effort to apologize. For the record, I suck at apologizing. It always feels like defeat. Apologizing makes me feel small and weak, but I’ve gotta do what I’ve gotta do.
At Logan’s apartment, I raise my hand to knock, but he opens the door before I can. “What’s up?”
“Can we talk?”
“I don’t want to fight.” The resignation in his eyes shows me the wall he’s erected between us. “It’s your life. You can live it however you want.”
He starts to close the door, and the words “It’s a gun” tumble out of my mouth. His gaze laser sharpens on me again, but he doesn’t say anything, which pushes me to add, “In the box. It’s a rifle.”
“You took a rifle from an abusive ex? And you expect him to leave you alone?”
“Let’s get one thing straight.” I don’t try to hide my anger with his assumptions. “He was an arrogant narcissist, but he was not physically abusive. Mentally and emotionally, sure, and as soon as I saw it, I broke things off. You don’t have to believe me, but you don’t get to treat me like a liar when you have no proof what I’m saying isn’t true.”
Instead of closing the door in my face, he walks away, leaving the door open. Not exactly much of an invitation, but Lucky appears in the doorway, jumping to put his front paws against my leg, wagging his tail, and I swear he’s smiling.
God, he’s so trusting, but I don’t want to like him or get attached—my same goal with his dad. “Hi, Lucky.”
I pat his head, step into the apartment, and close the door at my back, leaning against it, hands behind me. Lucky’s still standing beside me, tail wagging. When I don’t pet him again, he wanders toward a small dog bed and lies down.
Logan sits on the arm of the sofa, his attention focused on me. “I’m listening.”
Here we go.
“We only dated a few weeks before I realized what a bastard he was. I never even slept with him.”
As soon as I say it, I’m not sure why I did. Maybe so Logan won’t think I’m as big a fuckup as I feel like I am.
“The gun came from an auction,” I go on. “I thought we were just there to watch, but he bid on the damn thing and won, then didn’t have any money on him to pay for it.”
The sour feeling of being naive collects in the back of my throat and I look at the wood under my feet.
“I feel so stupid about the whole thing. When I look back, I realize he knew exactly what he was doing. He knew I had my rent money on me. I was going to pay it at the office later that day when I got home.”
I leave out the part about how I could only pay my rent in cash because of how many rent checks I bounced.
“So I paid for the gun at the auction. He kept stalling on paying me back, which put me in hot water with my landlord. And when I demanded the money, he said I should just move in with him.”
“How did you buy a gun on the fly like that? Don’t you need a license or something?”
“Not for antiques, evidently. If it was manufactured before 1899, current gun laws don’t apply.” I close my eyes on a sigh and rub at the sting. Talking about this makes me feel about an inch tall. “Anyway, I had to pull money from my savings for the rent, which is when I discovered he’d siphoned all the money from my accounts. Every goddamned dime.”
“You had joint accounts?” Logan asks, his voice softer now.
“No. He used my password—which is the same as all my passwords, shame on me—to get into my online bill pay and sent himself a check for everything I had.” I sigh out a ton of self-disgust. “So I used his code for the keyless lock on his back door and took the rifle. I thought he’d pay me back right away, but he knew I didn’t want the gun, and he thought if I got evicted, I’d come to him. So, when I did get evicted, I drove across the country instead.”
I leave out the part about the whole job issue. That’s just too big a can of worms to open right now. In fact, I hope I never have to open it.
Logan looks at the floor and shakes his head. “My dad used to do that to my mom. Gaslight her. Made her feel small. Tried to convince her she was nothing without him.”
I close my eyes for a second, trying to hold on to the rising anger—at him, at myself. “Please don’t compare me to your mother.”
He meets my gaze, apologetic, but I still see fire in his eyes. “You’re right, I’m sorry. It’s just…a bad habit. I’ll stop.”
I take a breath and continue. “I used the last of the cash I had stashed away in my apartment to get here. I keep telling him I’ll give the gun back if he repays me the money he stole and the price of the rifle. I could pawn it, but I’ll get next to nothing. Right now, it’s my only leverage.”
The little things you learn about someone in just a few weeks—it all has the ability to blow your world apart when things go south.
Tears are choking me, but I refuse to cry. Not for that fucktard.
“Shit.” Logan’s voice holds sympathy, but also disgusted anger. This time, I know it’s for Aiden, not me, but it still pushes the tears I’ve been trying to hold back over my lashes, and I wipe them away.
“It’s no big deal. Live and learn, right?” I can’t look Logan in the eye. “I just left him a message. Told him I’m done with it, and I’ll give him the gun back. If he doesn’t respond, I’ll just head down to Portland when I’m free and get rid of it. Minimize my loss.”
Telling Logan this ugly story crushes what little self-esteem I have left. If it was only this instance, I wouldn’t feel so bad. People cross other people every day. But Aiden is a far more complicated thread woven into my life. Like an invasive vine, he slithered in and took over. I didn’t see it until it was too late, and I can’t face telling Logan all the dirt.
“It is a big deal,” Logan says. “Does Tucker know this?”
“Oh, God no. I have enough trouble. Nobody knows.”
“What about the police?”
“I looked into it. Even went to the station in person and told them the story, and they said there’s no way to prove I wasn’t the one who sent him the check from my account. Even if they traced the login to his computer, we were dating. There’s nothing to say it wasn’t me who logged in from his place. That’s when I took the gun.”
“Guns and controlling men don’t mix well. Are you sure he doesn’t know where you are? I don’t like this situation at all.”
“All he knows is that I’m from Portland and that Tucker is a firefighter somewhere in the state. Besides, he couldn’t fire a gun if his life depended on it. Seriously. He’s a collector, not a shooter. He’s all about using his money to collect pretty things and put them in pretty cases to show them off.”
“Like you.”
I huff a laugh. “Well, yeah. I mean, he’s got good taste.”
That makes Logan laugh. I sag against the door, suddenly exhausted. This has all been weighing on me so heavily. It feels good to tell someone. Only now I feel vulnerable. As in, exposed and waiting to be filleted. I also feel shittier than shit about myself and need space.
“Okay, good talk.” I turn, grab the door handle, and pull the door open.
Logan is at my back before I can slip out, using a palm above my head to close the door again.
His arms wind around my middle, and he pulls me back against his body. His scent curls around me, woodsy with leathery notes. Damn, that is a serious aphrodisiac. He’s warm, and all his hard planes feel perfect against my curves.
It feels so good to have someone care about me. Something I didn’t realize I was missing until I came here and found everyone caring about me.
His lips touch my neck, followed by “I’m sorry that happened to you.”
The sweetness of the moment melts all my rough edges.
He kisses me again. “Thank you for telling me.”
Emotion curls inside me—relief, gratitude, affection, need.
So much need.
I lay my head against his shoulder, reach back, and drive my fingers into his hair, and by the time his lips make it around to mine, I’m ravenous. As soon as he kisses me, I open and taste him, loving the feel of his tongue against mine.
His growl is a mix of lust and pleasure, and a rush of desire sinks low in my body. The sound of him, the feel of him, the smell of him, he floods my senses until I don’t know where I end and he begins.
As soon as I turn in his arms, he lifts me off the floor and presses me against the door, sinking his hips between my thighs at the same time that he sinks his tongue into my mouth.
We spark into flames, and I cross my ankles at his back as he carries me into the bedroom. Before we reach the bed, I’ve got his shirt off, the button of his jeans undone. This need feels wild and deep. Out of my control.
“This isn’t a thing, right?” I’m compelled to get him to agree this isn’t going anywhere outside this bedroom. “We agreed.”
“Right.” He lays me on the bed, pulls my shirt up, and kisses a path toward my breasts as he drags the tee off over my head. My jeans, then his. My bra and panties, then his boxer briefs. He briefly takes in my tattoo, running his fingers across the ink on my skin, but we’re both too focused to talk about it.
Everything happens so fast, yet not fast enough. He’s all hard hills and planes of muscle. I want to slow down and savor, but my body won’t have it. I love the way his hands and mouth move over me, with strength, passion, and reverence. Like he wants all of me, all at once.
I don’t think I’ve ever felt this wild desire on both sides at the same time. There may have been a drunk hookup or two over the years that felt passionate, but this is different. This is deeper. This should scare the shit out of me, but this is also Logan. I’ve never been afraid of Logan.
He reaches toward the nightstand and, while he’s still kissing me, pulls out a condom. In seconds, it’s rolled on. Then his hand is between my thighs, his fingers stroking, the head of his cock pushing into me. Then the shaft. His power makes me arch. He fills me, stretches me, pushing me toward oblivion.
Then he stills. Or mostly stills. His muscles are twitching, his body trembling with need. It’s humbling, witnessing all this strength tamed, feeling the white-hot passion between us, controlled by his will.
He’s breathing heavily, his bright eyes searching mine. I can read everything going on inside his head. I see a revelation crossing his face. One of those this-got-out-of-hand-fast thoughts.
“Don’t stop.” My words are breathy, coming between pants. I lift my hips, and his eyes flash with lust, then glimmer with stars. “Logan, don’t stop.”
That’s all it takes to get him moving again. And damn, he’s got moves. Bracing his hands on the mattress, he drives his hips between my thighs, slow and deep. Consistent. Relentless. His gaze on mine.
“You feel so fucking good,” he says from behind clenched teeth.
I can’t speak. My orgasm comes at light speed, taking over and slicing through me. My nails dig into his biceps. I arch and shudder. And, yeah, maybe I scream. I’m not sure. My body suddenly has a mind of its own.
Logan stills again. Sweat slides down his cheek, his chin, and drips on my chest. “Fuck, you just got really juicy for me.”
A whine comes from somewhere in the room. Lucky. I close my eyes, not wanting either of us to move.
“Shhhh,” Logan tells the dog in a sweet, soft sound. “You’re okay.”
That quiets the dog immediately, and Logan eases to his forearms so our bodies meet hips to chests. He lowers his head and kisses me. His hands slide into my hair. “Tell me about the tattoo.” He looks at it again, sliding his thumb across the skin as he reads the words. “The best view comes after the hardest climb.”
“It’s just something that helps me get through the hard times.”
“It’s crazy sexy.” His gaze meets mine again, and I see all kinds of emotions there. “You should call in sick to the bakery tomorrow.”
I feel like I’ve lost time. Like I’ve missed part of the conversation. “What?”
“We’re both going to need to call in sick.” His voice is deep and rough. “Because we’re going to be right here, in my bed, all day tomorrow.”
“That’s… You…” I’m having a hard time thinking, hard time talking. “This isn’t a thing. Calling in sick would make this a thing.”
“No, it doesn’t. A thing doesn’t become a thing just because we stay in bed longer.”
“Logan—” The warning is pushed out of my mouth when he’s making another one of those plunges that fill me until I moan, and I can’t untangle words or meanings. All I can do is grip his hips and sink my nails into his sweat-slicked flesh as he thrusts again.
Logan slides one arm under my thigh, draws my leg up and out, giving his hips more room. So he can fuck me deeper, make my back arch, elicit moans. I might or might not have begged. All I know is he’s driving me toward that peak again like it’s his damn job. And I shatter again like that’s my damn job.
And while I float back to earth and feel him still hard inside me, I’m seriously considering a career change. I love this damn job.