Page 28

M y neck is stiff as I cuddle into the warm body before me. When I whip my eyes open, the remembrance of who exactly I’m cuddling with comes flooding back. Logan’s arm is still caressing my back, and I desperately want to fall back to sleep soaking in just a few more minutes—no hours of this.

With the sunlight beaming through the curtains, I catch Logan staring at me. Man, he looks good in the morning. His hair is disheveled, and the sunlight magically radiates off his skin.

He eyes me from my hair, down to my mouth, and down to my breasts, which are inches from pressing to his chest. “Morning.” The man has a morning voice. Scruffy, deep, and raspy.

“Morning.” I swallow. “Thank you for last night. You’re truly a great friend.” I sweetly smile, then silently scream at myself.

Fuck. Did I just friend zone Logan? He’s not the type of man you friend zone and I sure in the hell don’t want to put him there.

I mean, putting him anywhere else isn’t logical, but saying it aloud makes my stomach turn uneasy.

Can I take it back? Reclaim all my earlier words and plead a moment of insanity.

Something inside me doesn’t want to be just friends with this man.

I watch him as his face falls in devastation and my heart shatters. Did he feel something for me other than friendship? Or did I imagine the disappointment?

“We better get on the road if we want a good head start,” he tells me without even looking in my direction. He throws the covers off, leaving the bed nothing but an empty piece of furniture.

Last night, after he opened up to me about his father, there was a small push from Logan showing his true self. Now, this morning feels like defeat and what little crack I made in his shell glued itself back together.

We awkwardly pack up our things without uttering a word to each other.

Say something, Sora.

Before even opening my mouth, Logan speaks, “Ready?” His eyes are colder than before. Last night they had life. Feeling. Today… not so much.

“Yes. I’m ready.” I sadly smile and we head toward the truck where Lana and Crew are already standing, several feet apart.

This should be an interesting ride.

A group of motorcycles roar past the motel and Logan stops so suddenly I slam into his back.

He and Crew exchange a look before Logan throws his bag into the back.

That’s odd.

Lana leans toward me and whispers, “So how did it go?” She smirks like she’s hoping I’ll confess something juicy involving me and Logan.

“It was fine.” I glance over at the guys, who are in a quiet conversation.

“Just fine?”

“Nothing happened, if that’s what you’re thinking,” I sternly whisper.

“Ugh. Boring.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re ridiculous.” I smile, Lana reciprocating the gesture. “Should I be asking you the same thing?”

There’s a moment of silence. “Over my dead body.” Lana sets her bag down and positions herself in the back.

We all follow suit and when Logan pulls out and continues this weird journey, I stare out my window, deep in thought.

Jason lays a hand on my lower back, leading me to the small group of businessmen circling the standing table. “Gentlemen. I’d like you to meet my wife, Sora.”

The three older men, same age as my husband, grin widely my way. Each one wearing an equally expensive suit which is tailored to them perfectly. They all present themselves in the same boring business fashion, sporting a glass of scotch on the rocks. One of Jason’s favorites.

That’s when I plaster on my normal fake smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all.” I take turns shaking hands with them, but the last man flashes a grin, gripping my hand tighter than needed.

“You’re right, Jason. She is lovely. A masterpiece,” the one named Dennis, who still holds my hand hostage, says. He takes his fine time, tracing me up and down before licking his lips like an animal.

“She is, isn’t she?” My husband takes a moment to admire me himself. “We’ll discuss the details later.”

There it is. Suddenly, the room feels like it is shrinking.

“Looking forward to it,” Dennis, without taking his eyes off me, knowingly sneers this time.

I’m going to be sick.

Jason walks us over to the bar as the light piano sounds in the distance. “I have a few things to discuss with the Parkers. You’ll be okay, won’t you, darling?” Jason takes a dainty sip of his scotch.

I glance over at Mr. Parker and his wife. Stuck up broad with a terrible tan. “Of course, dear.”

“That’s my girl.” Jason gives a small tap to my ass as he leans over and places his wet lips on my cheek. “Mingle. Make friends.” With that, my husband takes his leave and saunters over to the couple.

Mingle. I wouldn’t be caught dead being friends with these men’s wives. They’re so out of touch with reality, it’s alarming. I am considered one of them, even though inside I’m screaming.

I lean slightly on the bar, stirring my martini. I hate martinis. They are bitter and dry. But Jason always orders me one like he assumes I enjoy the way they taste.

A body slides up next to mine, and I recognize the potent scent of the cologne I had the not so pleasure of encountering moments ago. “That dress is made for you.” Dennis stands close—too close and I turn my body to face him with another fake smile.

“That’s kind of you to say.” I let the blandness of my drink slide down my throat before playing with the tiny straw.

“What can I say? I’m an honest man.”

My stomach lurches as I take another sip.

“And I don’t always play nice,” he whispers, leaning in, and I shudder when he rakes his knuckles down my bare arm.

My cocktail dress that Jason’s stylist picked out feels tighter. Suffocating. As if it isn’t already stuck on me like a second skin to begin with.

I peer over at my husband, who is still in conversation with the Parkers.

But he nods with a smile, encouraging me—encouraging this man to come on to his wife.

That’s when I figure it out… Dennis is going to be the man Jason hustles me out to.

It’s only a matter of time. Things are getting worse.

Privately dancing for these men seems like a piece of cake compared to what has progressed over the last few months.

Now my husband is getting more ballsy and bolder.

And more money hungry. Why does a billionaire possibly need more money?

I’m not sure where Dennis thinks this is going, but I’ll be damned if I let him stick his rich, nasty, cheating on his wife cock inside me.

I flash him with a flirty smile, keeping his demons at bay while trying to swallow down the nausea. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to use the ladies' room.” I lay a friendly hand to his shoulder, setting down my drink and his hand squeezes my ass as I brush past.

In passing I smile and say hello to the ones I recognize.

Once secure in the bathroom, I can finally breathe. When I notice there’s no one else in here but me, I lean on the sink, letting the weight fall to my shoulders. “I can’t do this anymore,” I whisper only to myself.

I inhale and exhale with long deep breaths, but the sweat still trickles down my back.

It’s now or never.

I peek outside the restroom door, making sure my path is clear, then leave, heading for the back escape. My heels clink on the hardwood floor as my only focus—my only goal is to make it to the stairs without being seen.

My heart beats fast but as soon as I open the door to descend the stairs, a rush of adrenaline moves through me, and I’ve never been more ready. More determined.

With each passing floor, I gain more confidence and when my heel hits the ground off the last step; I run. As fast as I can with four-inch heels on, I race like hell.

I unclasp my purse and toss my phone into the nearby trash then grab a taxi.

“Where to miss?”

The backseat of the taxi is stifling, but I shut it out, breathe, and come back to the present. I tell him the location where the car is hidden, and he takes off leaving my life behind.

I’m so close. There is no way I will let this plan fail me now.

The driver pulls up to the curb and I pay him, hightailing it to the vacant vacation house. With lingering eyes, I hurry until I locate the spare opener, the garage door rising. I reach under the front tire, grab the key and climb into the driver’s side.

My smile is involuntary, lighting up my face. I start the car but before I can reverse, my door swings open.

No! No!

Colors of all shades cloud my vision.

Jason grabs me by my hair and pulls me out of my getaway car. My escape. His voice unrecognizable, like a monster out of a child’s nightmare. “You think you can leave me?! I am your husband! And you are my wife!” His angry voice carries through the air, and I scream. Kick. Hit. Bite.

But no, this can’t be how it ends because I escaped. I got away. He drags me across the cement floor.

No. No. No!

“Sora.” That voice. I know that voice. A hand lightly squeezes my thigh as I jolt.

I frantically scan around.

Logan’s truck. I’m in Logan’s truck.

I let out a breath, then glance at the back seat where Crew and Lana are sleeping. Lana with her head on the window and Crew with his facing down, muscled, tattooed arms crossed to his chest.

I breathe, then breathe again. I’m okay. Jason didn’t find me. I made it out.

“You good?”

My eyes snap to Logan, who holds a tight strain on his face.

“Sorry I… I must have had a bad dream.” I wipe a strand of hair from my clammy forehead.

“Do they happen a lot? And stop apologizing.”

“Right. Sorry.” Fuck. I shake the lingering feeling of Jason away. “They come and go I guess.”

“Do you need me to pull over?”

I contemplate the idea of needing a second to take in a breath of fresh air, but they’ve put up with enough and I just want to get there. “No. No, I’m okay.” Without realizing, I rub both hands down my legs in nervousness, Logan watching in frequent side glances.

It’s okay. Everything is fine. I’m fine.

“Is there anything you want to tell—”

“Look.” I point to the sign that reads my old town. “We made it.”

Logan nods, flicks on his blinker and merges off the highway, leaving my past in the nightmare.