Page 25 of Keeping Kasey (Love and Blood #3)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Logan

I know fear.

I’ve lived it, inflicted it, and wielded it to my advantage for years without hesitation or remorse.

But this chest-crushing, stomach-churning, mind-torturing fear has only hit me three times in my life.

The first was when my mother was murdered.

The second was when my sister was kidnapped.

I have been living in the third since getting the call about Kasey’s attack.

She was attacked in one of my bases—a place where she should’ve been under direct protection.

I had barely made it to the Chicago base before I booked a flight back to Detroit with nothing but my phone and the clothes on my back.

I take the two-hour delay and the hour flight as my punishment for failing her, because being forced to sit and do absolutely nothing while Kasey lies in a hospital bed is a cruel form of torture.

When I get to the hospital, Matteo is in the lobby, talking on the phone with his back to me, so he doesn’t have the chance to brace himself before I slam him by the throat against the wall.

“You had one job,” I practically snarl in his face.

Matteo’s phone drops to the ground, but he doesn’t raise his hands in defense.

He knows better.

“Ford was with her,” he wheezes. “I thought she’d be safe.”

“She wasn’t,” I bite out and squeeze tighter. “How could you let this happen?”

He doesn’t answer—either because he can’t, or knows I’ll be pissed at anything he says.

Once his face is bright red, I let go and step back. Matteo picks up the phone, but only to end the call and shove it in his pocket.

“What exactly happened?” I ask as we walk to the elevators.

“Aside from getting them both here, I didn’t ask questions,” Matteo answers. “Kasey was in shock, and I figured you’d rather handle the situation yourself.”

He made the right call, but I’m too pissed to give him that recognition.

The elevator doors open, and Matteo hits a button once we step inside.

“And the diagnosis?”

“Kasey has a concussion, some bruises, and a gash on her forehead, but that’s it.

” He takes a deep breath, and worry furrows his brow.

“Ford’s in critical condition from an abdominal gunshot wound.

The bullet hit his bowels, and the surgeons are working to remove it and repair the damage.

I haven’t had an update in almost an hour. ”

When we reach the right floor, I follow Matteo down the hall past a group of nurses who watch us with curious eyes but don’t intervene.

“Do we have any footage?”

“No,” Matteo says with a grimace. “The cameras were turned off.”

“What do you think happened?”

“I have no idea. The door was busted in from the outside, and Ford went down right in front of it, so I assume he left at some point and was shot when he came back,” he says. His next words echo my thoughts. “But that means Brandon was alone with Kasey for… I don’t know how long.”

We stop outside a door, and a painful lump forms in my throat, but I force myself to ask the question anyway.

“Was she assaulted?”

“I don’t think so,” Matteo answers, and though it’s not a confirmation, it lightens some of my panic. “The doctors didn’t mention any signs of assault in their assessment, but you should ask her yourself.”

I nod and step toward the door, but Matteo grabs my arm to stop me.

“Logan,” he says, and the look on his face brings back all the dread that’s plagued me since that call. “She’s the one who killed Brandon. I don’t know how, but she managed to get his gun and shoot him.”

I close my eyes as the heat of rage spreads over my chest, burning every inch of my skin.

I try to take in calming breaths, but I can’t catch a single one.

I can’t do anything but imagine Kasey fighting for her life and being forced to take another’s.

I push past Matteo, heart pounding as I open the door.

Kasey stares out the window with an expression that tears me to shreds.

Her usually sharp eyes are blank and unfocused. Her curls are matted and pulled back into a bun at the base of her neck, which gives me a clear view of the marks on her face. One cheek is bruised, and her forehead has a gash that’s held together by wound closure strips.

The moment our eyes meet, every lie I’ve told myself about only wanting her for her body flies out the window.

I want all of her.

The second I reach the bed, I pull her into my arms.

I realize then, as her face nuzzles into the crook of my neck, that I’ve never held someone in an embrace before. I’ve never felt this overwhelming need to comfort someone, to be their haven.

Holding Kasey in my arms—being here to protect her—feels exactly like the moment my father officially named me his heir.

Like I’ve been given a purpose .

I gently hold either side of Kasey’s face and inspect the marks that bastard left on her. They aren’t serious, but I still regret that he died so quickly. I would’ve taken my sweet time ending his life for what he did to her.

Asking if Kasey’s okay or telling her I’m sorry seems useless.

So, instead, I tell her something I know with absolute certainty.

“You are so beautiful.”

Her breathless laugh shoots straight to my chest.

She opens her mouth, but no words come out, and she eventually shakes her head incredulously.

“ That’s all it takes to make you speechless?”

“You’re an asshole,” she supplies with a wry grin.

I kiss her forehead. “That’s more like it, beautiful.”

“Sticking with that nickname?”

“I could go with Goldie if that’s better.”

Her eyes narrow, and I have never been so relieved to see that fiery spark as it replaces the hollowness.

“It most certainly is not.”

We’re both laughing softly when the nurse comes in.

She’s a woman in her mid-fifties with a kind smile and a gentle demeanor. “Hi, dear. My name’s Denise. I’ll be your nurse for the night. I’m going to take your vitals, and then we’ll get you something for that headache.”

Kasey absentmindedly brushes the small bandage on her arm with her fingertips. “I thought the other woman was my nurse for the night—the one with short black hair who gave me the antibiotic shot.”

The nurse’s brow furrows as she scans her badge to open Kasey’s chart.

“Is there a problem?” I ask.

“Of course not, Mr. Consoli,” she says with a slight shake to her voice as she scans the file. “I just didn’t see an order for an antibiotic shot come through—oh, here it is. Looks like one of the medical assistants administered the shot. One less thing for me to worry about.”

Denise’s shoulders visibly relax, and I’m certain she knows exactly who I am, what my expectations are concerning the care of anyone associated with my family, and how I’d react to the slightest neglect.

She’s extremely thorough in checking Kasey’s temperature, blood pressure, and oxygen levels—double-checking every number before putting the equipment away.

“When can I be discharged?” Kasey asks as Denise enters the updated vitals into her chart.

“That’s not up to me,” she answers with a sympathetic smile. “But I’ll put in a request for the doctor to come in and see what they think. If they do keep you overnight, it’s just to monitor the concussion and verify there are no other concerns.”

Kasey nods, and the nurse leaves us alone.

“How do you feel about pulling some strings to get me out of here?”

I lift an eyebrow. “And go against doctor’s orders? Not happening. If they want to keep you, you’re staying.”

“It’s just a concussion. I don’t have a single injury that warrants staying overnight, and you know it.”

I do know it. The hospital is only being so careful with her because of me.

“I’ll make you a deal,” I tell her, taking her hand. “If you tell me what happened today, I’ll have you discharged.”

She—predictably—pulls her hand from mine. “That’s not fair.”

“I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I need to know what happened.”

“Is there any footage?”

I shake my head. “Brandon must’ve turned off the cameras at some point.”

She stares down at her hands for several seconds.

“Is Ford alive?”

“He’s in critical condition. They’re doing everything they can in surgery right now.”

Her eyes close, and I cradle one side of her face in the palm of my hand. When she finally opens her eyes, they shine with unshed tears.

“I deal with the most dangerous men on the planet,” she whispers. “For years, I’ve been hired because what I can do is so valuable, they can’t afford to hurt me. I’ve always had the power—the leverage.”

For the first time since I’ve met her, Kasey freely drops the walls she so adamantly hides behind. She lets me see the parts of her that aren’t strong and untouchable.

Right now, she’s vulnerable, weak, broken.

And so beautiful.

“Today, I had no power… I thought he was going to kill me.”

There are no words I can offer to erase the fear in her eyes, so instead of trying, I wrap my arms around her and hold on tight.

“It’s all fuzzy,” she says. “I don’t remember everything.”

“That’s okay. Tell me what you can.”

She nods, and the words come out soft and measured. “Brandon told Ford that Matteo needed to see him. Then, Brandon locked the door, and he—he attacked me.”

“Did he assault you?” I ask, and it takes everything in me to keep my words steady.

She swallows, then slowly shakes her head before stopping with a wince. “He didn’t get the chance.”

Rage boils just beneath the surface, and I realize that holding her is the only thing keeping me from going on a murder spree.

“I tried to stall, but he got violent. He smacked me, and at some point, he hit me with his gun.” She swallows hard. “It’s all fuzzy from there, but I remember Ford coming in.”

She goes on to explain how Ford was shot when he finally got into the room, and how he was still able to distract Brandon long enough for her to grab the gun. She remembers hitting her head and crawling to Ford.

I have a lot more questions. What did Brandon say? Was he acting strange all morning or just when Ford left? Why did Ford leave? How long was she alone with Brandon?

But I don’t want to push her. As it is, her eyes are pinched like the retelling has worsened her headache.

We sit like that for a while—both of us slowly relaxing in the comfort of each other’s touch.

After several minutes, she asks, “Can we go home now?”

I gently press my forehead to hers and nod, but it’s not lost on me that it’s the first time Kasey refers to the manor as home .