Page 37 of Bound in Blood

Logan sighed, running a hand down his face. That had been fuckingawful.

And then he turned back toward the building, and it got even worse.

Vik stood in the doorway of the bar, staring straight at Logan, cigarette half hanging out of his mouth like he’d forgotten to light it.

He said nothing, did nothing. Just stood there like he was frozen.

Logan’s stomach dropped.

The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. It was like they were playing the world’s most nerve-wracking game of chicken. Vik with his almost smoke break, Logan with his wide eyes, thoughts racing through every way to spin this to make the situation seem normal.

Nothing came to mind.

Vik watched him, his steel eyes unreadable as they assessed Logan. His gaze showed no fear, no shock, not even anger. Logan, however, was fuckingterrified.

Vik looked like he was weighing something.

Worse—like he was confirming something.

“Adrenaline’s a hell of a drug, man.” Logan laughed shakily, “Thought he was really going to kill me for some crumpled up ones.”

Vik nodded without saying anything, moving out of the doorway so Logan could come back inside, tucking his cigarette back into his pocket. He watched Logan carefully, even as he shut and locked the back door behind him, like Logan might crack under the weight of his scrutiny and confess all his vampiric sins.

“Glad you’re okay, kid,” Vik said, finally, as he turned back toward the cash register. “Now, let’s finish closing. I’m ready to get the fuck out of here.”

Chapter

Fourteen

LOGAN

How fast do symptoms of PTSD set in?

Logan considered Googling it as he watched Vik load money into the safe, slower than anyone had ever moved in the history of ever.

God, Logan just wanted to go to bed. Things had been fine until someone tried to mug him, and now the reminders surrounded him, turning him into a nervous wreck.

He could still see the fear in the man’s eyes. Could smell the coppery tang of blood mixed with the distinct smell of someone in desperate need of a bath. He was pretty sure he could still hear the sound of bone snapping, even though it sounded much farther away than when Logan had snapped the man’s wrist himself.

He hadn’t been able to think, just react. Too fast. Too strong.

ThankGodVik hadn’t seen. That he’d opened the door right when he did, and not a moment earlier. Honestly, he’d already seen too much. Logan had half a mind to compel him, but decided against it. It felt wrong to compel his boss, and even if he’d wanted to, he wasn’t sure he could do it outside of the panicked state he had been in earlier.

Logan inhaled deeply, trying to push the unease down, and immediately regretted it. The smell of money, stale beer, Vik’s cologne… it all felt overwhelmingly strong in a way Logan still wasn’t used to.

“You good?” Vik asked without looking up, voice casual but fingers stilling against the safe.

Logan startled. “Huh? Oh, uh… yeah. Just tired.”

Vik locked the safe and stood, stretching his arms over his head. “Still shook up over the mugger then?”

Logan forced a laugh, dragging a hand down his face. “Yeah I guess you never expect something to happen to you until it happens, right?”

Vik watched him for a moment before grabbing his jacket off the back of a nearby chair. Ah, sosomesleeves were acceptable. “Let me walk you home.”

Logan hesitated, not really sure how to tell him that ‘home’ no longer meant his shitty studio apartment. “You don’t have to do that.”

Vik gave him a flat look. “Just humor me, Logan. In case the guy comes back around. It’s not like I’m asking to sit at your front door with a shotgun all night.”