Page 137 of Logan

The doctor stares at him with wide eyes, and so do I.

“I’m a Taekwondo fighter,” Logan explains. “Or I was. I’ve taken my share of hits. I know what a serious concussion feels like, and this isn’t it.”

The doctor frowns, unhappy with this assessment. “You still need proper medical attention. You lost consciousness, and that laceration is deep. You’re going to need stitches at the very least. I must insist we call an ambulance.”

But Logan isn’t listening. His eyes find mine, and the intensity in them steals my breath. “Johnny,” he says. “Did he hurt you?”

I shake my head, fresh tears spilling down my cheeks. “No, no, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. We need to get you to a hospital.”

But Logan’s already struggling to his feet, shrugging off the doctor’s restraining hands.

He staggers over to where Johnny is still pinned to the ground.

“Where’s the original video?” Logan demands, his voice low and deadly calm. “The one you sent of me and Sloane. Where is it?”

“Logan, please,” I plead, trying to tug him away. The towel he has pressed to his head is already soaked through with blood, the crimson seeping between his fingers. “This can wait, you’re badly hurt?—”

“It can’t wait,” he snaps, not taking his eyes off Johnny’s cowering form. “This is the only thing that matters right now, Sloane. I won’t let him hold this over you for one more second.” He leans down, getting right in Johnny’s face. “I won’t ask again. Where. Is. The. Video?”

Johnny licks his lips, his eyes darting left and right like a cornered rat. “Okay, okay! It’s... It’s on my phone.

“Is it anywhere else? Did you make copies, upload it anywhere?”

“No, I swear!” Johnny’s voice rises with desperation. “It’s just on my phone, nowhere else.”

“Give me the phone.” Logan holds out his hand. “Now.”

Johnny hesitates for a split second before reaching into his pocket and producing his cell phone. He holds it out like it might explode, and Logan snatches it from his grip.

Without another word, he turns on his heel and starts striding toward the street, ignoring Johnny’s feeble protests and the shocked murmurs of the onlookers. I scurry after him, my legs shaking as I can barely stay upright.

We reach Logan’s car, and he stops, turning to face me.His eyes bore into mine. Without a word, he wrenches open the driver’s side door and slides behind the wheel.

“Logan, wait!” I scramble into the passenger seat. “You can’t drive like this. You probably have a concussion. We need to get you to a hospital.”

He shakes his head, jamming the key into the ignition. “No hospitals,” he grits out between clenched teeth. “I know a place that’s private, and it’s close. Just... Just trust me, okay?”

“Okay,” I whisper, reaching out to lay my hand over his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. “Okay. I trust you.”

He throws the car into gear and peels away from the curb, leaving the chaos of Johnny’s front yard behind.

I keep my eyes glued to Logan as he drives, my heart in my throat.

His face is ashen, his jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscles jumping beneath his skin. The towel he has pressed to his head is completely saturated now, the blood dripping down his neck to soak into his collar.

It’s too much blood. Way, way too much. My stomach churns with fear, and I have to swallow hard against the urge to be sick.

“Logan,” I venture after a tense moment, my voice wavering. “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive? You don’t look?—”

“I’ve got it.” The words are a pained hiss forced out between gritted teeth. “We’re almost there. I just need you to stay calm, okay?”

It feels like an eternity, but it’s only a handful of minutes before Logan turns into the parking lot of a nondescript medical building.

I frown as I take in the generic sign proclaiming it to be the “Serenity Clinic.” Why would he come here instead of a hospital?

Logan puts the car in park but makes no move to get out. His hands are trembling visibly now, his face shining with a sickly sheen of sweat.

“Logan?”