Page 5 of Burned By My Mate (Twisted Oak Pack: First Responders #3)

FIVE

Emerson

I don’t like feeling helpless.

It’s an old wound, a leftover from years of moving from place to place, never reallybelonginganywhere. After my mom passed, and my dad, I was used to just relying on myself. I’ve always had to figure things out on my own, so relying on someone else—especially Logan—isnotsomething I’m used to. But after everything that’s happened, I don’t have much of a choice.

So, here I am, sitting in Logan’stoo-clean kitchen, staring at my phone, trying to come up with a plan that doesn’t involve me being acharity case.

I need to find a place to stay, a way to get back on my feet, because I can’t stay here forever, even if a small,treacherouspart of me kind of wants to.

I shake off the thought and stand, grabbing my coffee. The house istoo quietwithout Logan here, and the weight of everything is pressing down on me.

I need to do something—anything—to keep from spiraling.

I glance toward the door, debating if I should step outside for some fresh air. Maybe get a better feel for my surroundings. Logan’s house is on theedge of town, surrounded by thick trees and a gravel driveway that stretches far enough to make his place feel almostsecluded.

It’s peaceful, but it also makes me feelexposed.

I push down the unease bubbling in my chest and turn away from the door. I havework to do.

Or I would if my laptop wasn’tcurrently ash.

I sigh, rubbing my temples. Everything I had—my art supplies, my inventory, my commissions—went up in flames. My savings are gone, tied up in a house that no longer exists, and I don’t have a backup plan.

Ishouldbe panicking, but I can’t afford to fall apart. I need to be smart about this.

I move toward the counter, ready to start listing out my next steps, when I hear it.

Ascratching noisecoming from the front door.

I freeze, my heartstutteringin my chest.

For a second, I think I imagined it. But then?—

Scrape.

A long, slow drag against the wood.

I set my coffee down carefully, my breath catching as the scratching turns into alow thump.

Someone’s out there.

I reach for my phone with shaky fingers, my pulse hammering. Just as I’m about to dial Logan, aloud bangrattles the door.

I suck in a sharp breath, heartslammingin my chest.

Then, silence.

I stand there for a long moment, frozen, before forcing myself to move.

Slowly, I inch toward the window beside the door and peek through the blinds.

Nothing.

But my skin is crawling,every nerve on edge.

I don’t know what’s worse—the idea that someone wasjust there, or the fact that they’re gone now, disappearingwithout a trace.

I swallow hard and press the call button.

Logan picks up on the first ring.

“Emerson?” His voice is sharp, immediately alert.

“There was… someone outside.” My voice comes outsmallerthan I’d like, and I hate it.

Silence for a beat. Then?—

“I’m on my way.”

The line goes dead.

I stare at my phone, my pulse stillracing, and suddenly, for the first time since I got here…

I don’thatethe idea of Logan watching out for me.

Fifteen minutes later,his truck roars up the driveway. I barely make it to the front door before Logan is there,throwing it open like he’s ready to tear someone apart. He takes one look at me andhis entire body goes still.

“Tell me what happened.” His voice is rough,dangerous.

I swallow. “There was scratching at the door. Then a bang. When I looked out the window… nothing.”

His jaw tightens,blue eyes flashing.Heknowssomething. I hug my arms around myself,hatingthe fact that I feel vulnerable.

“You think it was them? Red Fog?”

He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face before stepping past me, checking the door and the locks. His whole body iscoiled, tense.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “But I don’t like it.”

I watch as he moves through the house, checking the windows, his entire presencebristling with control.He’s pissed. And beneath that?

Something else.

Something that looks a hell of a lot likefear.

The realization rattles me. I’ve only known Logan for a day, but already, I’ve learned one thing—he doesn’t rattle easily.

I step closer to him.

“Logan.”

He turns to face me, expression guarded.

“Tell me the truth,” I say. “How bad is this?”

For a second, I think he’s going to brush me off. But then, something in his posture shifts, and hesteps closer. Close enough that I have to tilt my head back to keep eye contact.

“I don’t know why they did it,” he says, voicegravelly, low.“But I know one thing—whoever torched your house isn’t done.”

A chill runs through me.

“How do you know that?”

His jaw clenches.

“Because if it was random, they wouldn’t be back.”

My stomach drops.

I don’t know what’s worse—the fact that he’s probably right, or the fact thathe looks like he’s ready to tear someone apart with his bare hands.

I shake my head. “So, what do we do?”

Logan’ssilent for a long moment. Then he says, “You stay here. With me. I’ll keep you safe.”

I exhale, gripping my arms tighter.

“For how long?”

He steps even closer, his presenceoverwhelming.

“As long as it takes,” he says. “Until I know you’re safe.”

I should say no. I shouldpush back, but something in his voice—something raw and certain—makes me hesitate. Logan isn’t just trying to protect me. He’sclaiming me, and I have no ideawhat to do with that.

Why does he feel so responsible, so protective of me, when he only just met me?

And why do I like it?