Torn from You (18 page)

I heard Havoc
begin to paw the ground; it was a loud pounding that matched my
beating heart. The swarm of heat that shifted across my body was
intoxicating. Logan had made me feel real before he betrayed me,
and yes, after it was a different kind of real. A raw and
eye-opening real of what a man could do to you.

There was
nothing to say. I had no words for him, so instead of standing in
front of him looking like a mute, I swung around and headed for
Havoc.

I heard the
footsteps in the dirt behind me just as I reached the white
Andalusian. He tagged my hand and pulled me to a stop. “Let me
explain, Eme.”

A tremor of
fear shifted through me at his tone and the reaction made me angry.
“You don’t get to do that. You let me go, remember. I’m free now
and I don’t need anything from you. I’m not your fucking sex slave
to cram your cock into every night.”

“Jesus,” he
growled. “Not once did I take you without your consent. And you
know it.”

“That’s
because if I didn’t, the consequences were worse.” Okay, I was
lying, because I was mad and hurt and yes, I was a little scared
too. I had no clue why Sculpt was here, and the thought of going
back ... no, I’d never go back.

His voice was
quiet, “I never beat you, Emily. I tried to protect you.”

“
Is that
how you live with yourself? No, you just took away my choices. You
watched while
other
people
beat me. You bled my self-esteem. Damn it, you tore my fucking
heart out.”

“I got you out
when I could.”

“Yeah, in
pieces.”

Logan
never moved a muscle. Blazing, heated anger shot from his dark,
chocolate eyes. “Emily.” Logan paused, as he waited for me to look
at him. “I’ve lived two years without you. I’m not doing it any
longer. We
are
going to
talk.”

“What?” My
heart was pounding so fast I felt I would soon go into cardiac
arrest.

“The compound
is destroyed.”

My breath
hitched as I immediately thought of all those girls. “The
girls?”

“Most got
out.”

“Most?” What
did that mean?

“Raul is
dead.”

“So you came
to find me to tell me that? That your ruthless, piece-of-shit
fucking father is dead? I don’t care. I’ve moved on.”

“Have
you?”

I paused, and
it was a mistake, because he noticed. “You need to leave.”

He moved in,
and I saw the intent on his face, the way his brows lowered, how
his eyes turned dark. I knew what he was going to do, but before I
could turn he grabbed me by the shoulders. “I let you go once,
because I had to. Now I don’t.”

I started
trembling with anger and fear stirred in my belly. There was an
uncertainty if he was going to grab me and carry me away and I’d
never be found again.

My trust in
Logan had snapped, and it couldn’t be reconnected. “Yeah well, tell
that to the police when I call them and have you arrested. They
know what happened to me.” But they didn’t know Logan was involved.
Maybe that was a mistake. I reached into my back pocket then
realized I didn’t have my phone.

“Mouse.”
Logan’s hand went to the nape of my neck, and his fingers caressed
my skin causing disturbing goose bumps to rise. No. I didn’t want
my body to react to him. “You need to understand what went down and
to hear it from me.”

That pissed me
off. He wanted me to understand? No. Nothing could ever make me
understand. “I live every single day with what you did to me.”

So much pain
had risen to the surface, because he dared to come here. It hurt.
He hurt. The memories hurt. I knew escape was my only answer before
I fell back into a place I swore I wouldn’t go again.

“Christ.”
Logan ran his hand through his bedroom hair, and the locks fell
easily back in place. “I did it to protect you.”

“
So I
needed to be whipped for protection? And tortured? Oh and let’s not
forget that time in the courtyard when I had a gun pressed to my
temple
by
your father
and you
walked away. And the humiliation of being publically ...
fucked.”

Logan stepped
closer, and I felt his breath on my skin, his smell wafting into me
just as I remembered it. “I never took you against your will.
Ever.”

He was right,
he never did. Even when he fucked me in the dining hall he’d asked
me. We did it to appease Raul and from making the situation any
worse.

I felt like
stomping like a fifteen-year-old when I was twenty-two. Instead I
casually took the few steps to reach Havoc and picked up her lead.
I started to walk Havoc from the ring when Logan called out.
“Emily.” I kept walking. "I’m sorry it had to happen that way.”

My hand on the
latch of the gate dropped. “You don’t get to say that.” I turned,
fury encompassing me like I was lit on fire. I dropped the lead and
strode over to him glaring, unflinching as he stared right back at
me. “You don’t get to say you’re sorry, Sculpt.”

He remained
stoic and solid, and I was furious that he could be so calm and put
together while I was falling apart inside.

“Emily.” His
arms came around me in one heated embrace, and the loss I felt the
last two years, the devastation, the loneliness, it was smothered
by the weight of him. The tightening in my chest hurt so bad I
wondered if my ribs were poking into my lungs. Breathing became
unbearable as the distinct memories of this man hit like a tidal
wave. My fingers curled into his T-shirt, and I felt the hardness
of his chest, the way it contoured over taut skin, remembered how
his tattoos rippled when he moved. I remembered, and it pissed me
off that it was so clear.

“Let me repair
this.”

His whispered
words hit me, and I swallowed the sob threatening to escape and
embarrass me. I was stronger now. I’d survived him and his father.
And I’d survive this too.

I pulled back,
instantly feeling the crushing despair descend on me. Why? Why did
he come back? “You made me fear you. You made me fear myself. You
locked me inside myself so deep that it took me months to break
free again. Repair? You think you can repair that?” I huffed. “I
think you should be looking at yourself and repairing your fucked
up head before you offer to repair someone else.”

I turned and
walked away, staring straight ahead, ignoring the heat I felt
blazing into my back. And I knew what it was from—Logan.

I put Havoc in
her field and was walking back to the house when it started to
rain. I heard the motorcycle start up minutes later, and a wave of
relief swept over me. I didn’t know where he was going, and I
didn’t care as long as it wasn’t here.

The reality
was I had no idea who Logan was—the man I fell in love with or the
son of a sadistic, ruthless Raul. Was he taking over his father’s
business now that he was dead? Maybe he was here to take me
back?

Somewhere
inside me, I knew that wasn’t true. I’d escaped because of him.
He’d managed to get Deck to Mexico to get me out. I’m not sure how
or why, but that was how it went down.

When I’d left
Logan that night all I knew was that Deck’s men stayed behind. I
never asked what happened, and Deck never told me. I had assumed
the FBI had gone after Raul when I told them what happened. But why
had it taken two years? And why wasn’t Logan arrested if he was
with his father?

I leaned over
the fence and watched as Havoc galloped across the field toward her
herd. The rain teemed down on me, and I closed my eyes, tilted my
face to the sky, and let it trickle down my cheeks.

It felt cool
after the blazing heat of the day. Within seconds my T-shirt was
soaked and my breeches stuck to my thighs like Velcro.

I shook out my
wet hair and ran my fingers through it. An image of Logan caressing
my head, stroking my hair—

I slammed my
palms into the fence and curled them. No. Stop.

I leaned my
forehead against the cedar rail while the rain pounded hard onto my
back and shoulders.

I’d liked it,
his touch. How he was with me. I felt empty without him. Damn it,
what was wrong with me?

My therapist
had said the thoughts of what happened would fade, that with hard
work and reconstructions, I’d stop hearing the girls screams and
having nightmares. But she didn’t know everything; she had no idea
that I loved the man that brought me into that world. To her he was
a stranger who kidnapped me and took me to Mexico to be a sex
slave.

Sliding down
to the ground, I sat with my knees tucked up under my chin and my
arms wrapped around them.

For two years
I’d been able to keep Logan locked up inside of me. My therapist
and I worked through what I’d witnessed and suffered, and the
nightmares did fade. When she began pushing to know more about what
I endured from the hands of the “stranger”, that was when I quit
therapy. I refused to speak to Kat and Matt about what happened.
Kat begged and pleaded with me to talk, but I couldn’t. She knew
about Logan and how I felt about him and I wanted to forget, not
relive the humiliation.

But eventually
they both stopped asking, and I slipped into my void of living.
Georgie came by a few times a week, and she was her usual self,
no-holds-barred Georgie. She told me about her brother Riot, and we
talked about the loss and how Deck had been overprotective of her
ever since.

My tears
flowed like the rain, slipping down my cheeks as I rocked back and
forth, the needles pounding into me. I cried. I don’t know why
really. I just did. And it hurt. Seeing Logan tore me open, and I
was bleeding, and the thing was I didn’t know how to stop it.

“Mouse.”

I jerked,
raising my head. He stood in front of me, soaking wet, water
dripping down his face like teardrops.

I stopped
rocking. He looked like the man I loved standing there, with his
hands tucked in his front jean pockets, a little uncomfortable,
maybe unsure of himself. No, Logan was never uncertain.

He stepped
closer.

“Emily.” His
voice. It was strained and harsh like it was when we ... we were
together. He crouched in front of me, the rain having soaked his
T-shirt, revealing the dark ink on his skin.

Logan had
never left me. He’d always been in me, yet I’d denied it. Fought it
because it was wrong. It was abnormal. I had to be crazy to still
love this man, and yet ... some fragment of my soul did. I don’t
think it would ever be cut out. But I’d keep trying.

He reached for
me.

“Stay away.” I
punched him in the chest then in the shoulder, my fists like drum
sticks hitting him over and over again. “Why are you doing this to
me? Just leave.”

He held me by
the shoulders, eyes never leaving my face, his expression calm as
he let me assault him until I was exhausted. I closed my eyes and
fell backward until I was sitting in the wet grass, chest heaving
and fists throbbing.

“You
done?”

My eyes flew
open, and I raised my hand and slapped him across the face. The
resounding sound echoed, and the palm of my hand stung like I’d
slapped a marble countertop as hard as I could. I didn’t care. I
wanted it to hurt. I needed the pain.

I made a
strange moan in the back of my throat and went to slap him again,
but this time he caught my wrist.

“Once I’ll
take. Not twice.”

When I relaxed
my arm, Logan let me go. He took off his jacket and tried to wrap
it around me, but I pushed him away. His frown lowered and eyes
darkened as he relented and threw it over the fence instead. And it
was him yielding, because Logan did what he wanted, and if he chose
to wrap a friggin’ jacket around me he would.

I stared
as the familiar crevices of his chest molded through his tight, wet
T-shirt.
Get
a grip. He let me be tortured. He humiliated me.

I bit the
inside of my cheeks until it was so painful that I remembered what
I’d suffered with Logan was a billion times more. “You left. I
heard the motorcycle—”

“I put it in
the garage, out of the rain.”

“Well, I don’t
want it in my garage.”

He ignored me.
“We need to talk about this.” He reached for my hand; his eyes were
downcast and glassy, yet hard.

Emotions
I’d hidden away torpedoed to the surface.
No. I don’t want this.

I shot for the
house, but Logan was a fighter, quick and agile. He ran after me
then snagged my hand, swung me back around, and trapped me against
a tree trunk.

“You’re ...
scared and angry, and you’re entitled.” He stared at me, and I
remained frozen, droplets of rain sliding down my cheeks. “Eme, I’m
not here to take you away. I’m here to tell you what happened.”