Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 142783 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142783 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
What had he done?
What had he done?
Disoriented, he raked his arm over his face to clear some of the derangement that muddled his mind. He struggled to get it together.
To breathe.
With a shaky hand, he leaned down and set the gun on the ground before he dug his phone out of his pocket.
He had six missed calls from Nathan and a couple messages.
Dread sank all the way to the bone.
He squeezed his eyes shut to try to clear his vision, and he could barely fill his hemorrhaging lungs when he tapped into his messages.
He put it to his ear and forced himself to listen. That dread turned to alarm when Nathan’s panicked voice came through. “Logan, answer your fucking phone. I need you. Juna showed here.”
The words were haggard, coming between juts of his breaths.
“That job Trent is supposed to do tonight is a fucking trap. Juna and Dad set him up. He’s going to kill Trent, Logan…fuck…”
There was fumbling on the other end of the line.
“Juna said she couldn’t go through with it, so she came here to stop him, but he hasn’t been here since this morning and now he’s not answering his phone. We have to stop him. Warn him.”
Terror caught Logan by the throat. Frantic, he tossed the gun into the dumpster, then he stumbled out from his hiding place, mumbling, “No, oh god, no.”
He pushed out onto the street as the next message came through.
“Fuck, Logan. Answer.” Nathan choked a pained sound. “I’m going by myself. God, I hope you’re okay. I’m freaking the fuck out. I love you. I love you.”
The line went dead.
Frantic, Logan dialed Nathan. He was going to promise him he was coming, all while the reality of what he’d done chased him through the rain-drenched night.
His call went to Nathan’s voicemail.
“Shit,” he whimpered, trying to focus as he dialed Trent, and he shouted into the messages when he didn’t answer, “It’s a trap. Fuck, Trent.”
He realized he’d cried it.
Begged it.
He stumbled, dialed Jud.
Nothing.
Nothing.
He ordered a car that was two minutes away then stuffed the necklace into his pocket. His limbs were shaking out of control when he slipped into the backseat of the car as a rash of chills washed over him.
He looked down through the dim light to the blood that he didn’t realize covered his jeans and his hands.
Just like Nathan had promised it would.
“You okay, bro?” the driver asked.
Logan choked around the knot in his throat. “Just hurry.”
Twenty minutes later, the car was at the curb in front of their house, and Logan stumbled out.
Disoriented.
In shock.
He heard the roar of motorcycles screaming up the street. He almost breathed out in relief until he saw it was only two lights.
His eyes narrowed as he tried to make out who it was.
Trent and Jud.
They flew into the drive as the wind howled and the rain battered.
They squealed to a stop, their engines killed, their eyes wild.
Trent fumbled off, soaked in blood.
Jud fell right to his knees.
“Nathan,” Logan begged. “Where is Nathan?”
“He’s gone. He’s fucking gone.” Trent wailed it.
It was half cry, half fury.
Logan bent in two.
“No.”
No.
Nathan had needed him, and he’d ignored his call.
No.
Agony froze his blood. Burned in his mind.
He swayed side-to-side, and he blinked and struggled to focus.
The only thing he knew was he had to get to Aster and explain before Jarek got there.
His head split with a rush of pain.
Unless Jarek was dead.
He pressed his hands to the sides of his head like he could stop the butchering inside.
“Get in the truck,” Trent shouted, racing for the house.
Jud was moaning.
Just fucking moaning where he’d dropped to his knees.
“I have to get to Aster,” Logan mumbled.
“What?” Trent shot out in a slash of anger and confusion.
“Aster.”
“Are you fuckin’ crazy? Aster Costa? I just fucking put our father in the ground after he had Nathan mowed down. We’re leaving. Right now.”
Trent grabbed Logan by the shirt and hauled him up.
It was when he noticed the blood that saturated Logan’s clothes. “What the fuck did you do, Logan? What did you do?” It was horror. His own guilt.
Like he could be the fault of this.
“Nathan,” Logan cried.
Trent tossed him into the back of the truck. “Don’t move your ass out of that spot.”
Logan leaned out the door and vomited again. Two minutes later, doors were slamming and Trent was tossing a bunch of bags into the back.
Jud slid into the front passenger seat, and Trent put it in reverse and gunned it out of the driveway, clipping his bike as he went, metal screeching as it was dragged two feet.
Then he shifted into gear and floored it.
“I have to get to Aster.” It was a moan.
Trent whipped his attention over his shoulder to Logan. “You will never step foot in Los Angeles again, Logan. Do you understand?”
“I have to—”