Page 38 of Keeping Kasey (Love and Blood #3)

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Kasey

I hate this stifling house almost as much as the men living in it.

After storming out of Logan’s office, I came to the back porch. The wind is freezing, but I prefer it to being inside that stuffy manor.

I expected to be followed and dragged back—maybe locked in my room or forced to watch Ryan torture Mark—but no one came to bother me.

I lean my elbows against the porch railing and drop my head into my hands.

This time yesterday, I was browsing booths at the flea market, debating whether I should cancel my date with Mark.

Now he’s in a hospital bed with a gunshot wound and the shadow of death looming over him, and I’m being held hostage by the very people who sent me running in the first place.

Guilt and regret churn in my stomach, making me feel physically ill. I never should’ve let Mark get close to me.

I bring death and ruin everywhere I go.

My stomach turns again, and I wrap my arms around my midsection.

When my mouth waters, it’s already too late.

I run to the porch stairs, just barely making it to the bushes before I throw up everything in my stomach. Sweat beads on my forehead, and my hands shake uncontrollably. The pounding in my ears is deafening, and I take long breaths that don’t make me feel better.

I stumble back, and a strong arm catches me, helping me sit on the porch steps.

“Don’t touch me,” I mumble, shaking off Logan’s hold, but when I turn to look, it’s Damon who releases me and holds out a cup of water.

“Hey, Goldie.”

I ignore him and drop my head to my knees.

I have no idea where I stand with the Consolis now. Even if they do believe me, that doesn’t mean I’m free. For all I know, the only reason Logan hasn’t come after me is because he’s too busy arranging my torture session at the base.

“You’re dehydrated,” Damon says.

“Go away,” I whisper.

“What are you going to do? Lock me in the bathroom again?”

I lift my head and find his half-smile, triumphant for getting my attention. He holds out the water, and this time, I take it.

Rinsing out my mouth and spitting into the bushes isn’t the most ladylike thing to do, but I can’t bring myself to care.

“You never did explain why you did that,” he says.

“Is this part of the interrogation?”

“Do you feel threatened?” His tone is light and teasing, the same way it always is, and I have no idea what he wants from me.

I look over my shoulder, but it’s just us out here. “Where’s Logan?”

“Still in his office,” he says, then stands, holding out a hand to me. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

I ignore his hand and stand. His lips pull into a broader smile that I also ignore.

“I can take care of myself.”

He nods, not seeming at all bothered by my dismissal. “What do you want for breakfast?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I’ll go with eggs and sausage. Would you rather eat in the dining room or your room?”

I just stare at him, searching for the ulterior motive, but I can’t find anything. When it comes to Damon, it could be that he’s just that good at hiding his emotions, or simply has nothing to hide at all.

“What are you doing?” I finally ask.

“Right now? Trying to distract myself from the puke all over the bushes. Seriously disgusting, Goldie.”

“Blame the bastard who made me eat mushrooms,” I mutter, pushing past him to go to my room.

It’s faint, but I could swear I hear him chuckle before he calls after me, “If you don’t come back down in thirty minutes, I’ll assume you want to eat upstairs.”

I ignore him, mostly because I have no idea how to handle Damon.

Logan is easy—he wants my submission and obedience. James doesn’t necessarily want me to suffer, but if it means getting what he needs from me, he won’t hesitate.

But Damon is the same goofy guy I used to spend the day with, and after everything, I have no idea how to react to him.

After rinsing off in the shower, changing clothes, and brushing my teeth, I make the calculated decision to go back downstairs.

The cards in my hand are limited, and while hiding away in my room is the safest option, it won’t gain me anything. I have no idea what my goal is for going downstairs, only that it has to give me some better insight than I’d get in my room.

The only strategy I have right now is observation.

When I enter the kitchen, wearing leggings and a sweatshirt two sizes too big, Damon is at the stove, plating eggs and sausage.

“Perfect timing,” he says with a smile, holding a plate in either hand.

Despite having just emptied the contents of my stomach, my mouth waters at the scent. Aside from the pasta yesterday, my last meal was a muffin and a cup of tea from a vendor at the flea market.

Real food sounds delicious—even at the cost of sitting across from Damon.

“Feeling better?” he asks as we sit.

I cannot think of a single reason Damon has for trying to start a conversation, but in any case, I’m not interested. I barely wanted to talk to him when we were on good terms.

A blissful two minutes pass before he tries again.

“So, are you going to answer me?” he asks, lifting an eyebrow. “About why you locked me in the bathroom?”

Silence is the only answer I offer him.

I’m down here for observation, not conversation.

He huffs a dramatic sigh. “Come on, Goldie. I’m just going to keep badgering you.”

I take one bite after the other, regretting my choice to be down here at all. Although, knowing Damon, he probably would’ve stayed to eat with me in my room.

“I was stuck for three hours, you know,” he says, shaking his head. “Do you have any idea how boring that was?”

He means to lighten the mood, but his words have the opposite effect. Hearing him act like three hours of being trapped was some burden only reminds me of the months I spent running. If he wanted to make me sympathize with him, it was a failed effort.

My appetite vanishes, and I take my plate back to the kitchen.

I shouldn’t have.

Logan is leaning against the counter, arms folded over his chest. His expression is neutral, devoid of hatred for the first time.

James is pouring himself another cup of coffee, and the normalcy of the action pisses me off.

I stop in the doorway, wishing I’d just endured Damon’s chattering. It’s torture in its own right, but still more bearable than sharing any space with this man.

Logan must see that in my expression because he lifts his hands. “White flag.”

“Define white flag,” I say, not moving.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, and when I narrow my eyes, he rolls his and adds, “or Lover Boy .”

“And I’m supposed to believe that?”

“I doubt it means much, but you have my word.”

“You’re right. That means nothing to me.”

After what he’s put me through, he thinks saying white flag could make up for everything?

Logan takes off his jacket and tosses it over the kitchen counter. He lifts his hands and makes a show of turning in a slow circle.

“I’m unarmed,” he says, but I don’t hear those two little words—I only hear one.

Charge .

I take three steps toward him with my chin raised so I can look him in the eye as I slam the plate as hard as I can against the counter. The glass shatters around us, but I hold tight to a single jagged shard and bring it to Logan’s neck.

His eyes are wide, but they meet mine even as I dig the glass into his skin. It scrapes, leaving white lines but not quite breaking the skin—yet.

The glass cuts my hand as I grip it in a tight fist, but I’m too hopped up on adrenaline to care.

“If you ever treat me that way again, I will kill you. I will slit your throat and watch you bleed out with a smile on my face.”

Without breaking eye contact, Logan slightly angles his chin toward the kitchen.

“Put it away,” he orders.

I dig the glass in deeper, but realize when the sound of rustling comes from the kitchen that he wasn’t talking to me.

James pulled a gun on me.

“ Unarmed , huh?”

“You ran,” Logan says, matching my glare. “Innocent people don’t run.”

“They do when they have no other choice.”

“Your other choice was telling me the truth .”

“ I tried ,” I say through gritted teeth and lift the shard into his chin for emphasis. “I begged you to hear me out.”

“James, if you touch her, I will kill you,” Logan snaps, and I have no idea how he knows his brother is doing anything because his gaze has stayed firmly locked with mine.

“What did you expect me to think when you ran and the list was gone?” he asks, and I hate that his tone is gentler now.

It’s too familiar.

“I expected you to trust me.”

“You never gave me a chance to.”

“ Run as fast and as far as you can, because when I find you, I am going to kill you. ”

He lifts his brow. “You’re alive, aren’t you?”

“Now I’m supposed to believe you aren’t a man of your word?”

“You’re supposed to believe I came to the only logical conclusion from the bits of the truth that I had.”

“If you’d put your pride aside for two seconds, you would’ve had the whole truth.”

“And if you’d put your fear of abandonment aside for two seconds, you never would’ve lied to me in the first place.”

I laugh, and the sound is bitter. “Because you’ve been such a good listener up until now.”

Logan takes a deep breath. “What’s done is done.”

“You think we’re even?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Then you expect me to forget that you’ve dragged me to hell and back?”

“I expect you’re smart enough to make a deal so we can both get what we want.”

I shake my head. “Why would I help you?”

“To get rid of me,” he says with a ghost of a smile. “I want the traitors out of my family; you want to get as far from me as possible.”

“Sounds like I can get what I want without lifting a finger to help you.”

“Maybe,” he says with as much of a shrug as he can manage. “But you’ll always be looking over your shoulder, wondering how we found you and if we’re going to do it again.”

“How did you find me?”

“I’ll be happy to answer that when the list of traitors is in my hand,” he says.

I glare at him—all of the anger I’ve suppressed rising to the surface. I want to hurt him, to make him pay for everything he’s done to me.

It would be so easy to slice his throat with the simple swing of my arm. He deserves it—he deserves worse .

But he’s right. Until I know how the Consolis found me, I’ll never feel safe.

“If we do this, I am your partner . There will be no threatening me—or Mark. I am not your prisoner, and you do not get to push me around.”

“Deal,” Logan says without hesitation. “We’re equals.”

“Almost,” I say, then remove the glass from his throat before slicing his left arm as hard as I can.

He hisses, grabbing his arm to slow the bleeding as he steps between me and James, who at some point pulled out his gun again.

“ Now we’re equals.”