Page 138 of Logan

“I need you to do something for me,” he slurs, his words running together. “Go in and...and ask for Dr. Oron. Can you do that? Tell her... Tell her it’s for me.”

“You’re not coming with me?”

“Don’t freak out, baby, but I’m about to pass out. Hurry.”

Then I’m wrenching myself away, stumbling across the parking lot and bursting through the doors of the clinic.

I must look like a total mess, wild-eyed and splattered with Logan’s blood, because the receptionist’s eyes go wide with alarm as I rush up to the desk.

“I need help,” I gasp out, adrenaline and fear making my words tumble over each other. “It’s Logan Valeur, he’s hurt, he needs a doctor. Please, I’m looking for Dr. Oron, he said... He said to ask for her...”

The receptionist blinks at me, her mouth opening and closing for a moment before she pulls herself together. “Dr. Oron? Yes, of course, I’ll page her right away. You said it’s Mr. Valeur who’s injured?”

I nod. “Yes, he’s out in the car, he’s bleeding really badly from a head wound. Please, we have to hurry!”

Something in my voice, in the desperate, manic look in my eyes, must convey the urgency of the situation because the receptionist is already reaching for the phone, punching in a code and murmuring rapid-fire instructions.

A team comes rushing out from the back, a gurney rattling between them. They converge on me in a whirlwind of green scrubs and focused intensity.

“Where is he? Where’s the patient?” one of them barks, his eyes scanning the empty waiting room.

“In the car,” I blurt, already turning to race back outside. “He’s in the car, please, help him...”

I lead them at a dead run across the parking lot, skidding to a halt beside Logan’s Porsche. He’s slumped over the steering wheel, his eyes closed. For a moment, I’m sure we’re too late.

But then the medical team is swarming the vehicle, yanking open the door and extracting Logan’s limp form. They transfer him to the gurney, strapping him down and barking out vitals and observations that mean nothing to me. All I can focus on is the steady rise and fall of his chest, that he’s still breathing, still alive.

I try to follow as they rush him into the building, but a firm hand on my arm halts me in my tracks. I look up to see a doctor, a tall, imposing man with kind eyes, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry, Miss, but you can’t go back there. We need room to work on him, and it’s staff only beyond this point.” He must see the devastation, the utter helplessness on my face, because his expression softens. “I promise we’ll take good care of him. Dr. Oron is the best there is. Mr. Valeur is in excellent hands.”

I can only nod, my throat too tight to force out words. I watch as they disappear through the double doors leading to the back, my heart trying to claw its way out of my chest to follow.

And then it’s just me, standing alone in the middle of the quiet clinic, the adrenaline that’s been keeping me going crashing in a dizzying rush. I sway on my feet, black spots dancing in my vision, and it’s only the receptionist’s quick reflexes that keep me from crumpling to the floor in a boneless heap.

“Whoa there, honey. Let’s get you sitting down before you fall down.” Her voice is gentle but firm as she guides me over to a small couch in the waiting area, urging me down onto the cushions. “Put your feet up, come on now. Nice and slow, that’s it. We don’t need you passing out on us too.”

I obey, too numb to do anything else. My whole body is shaking now. I feel cold, my teeth chattering and my fingers tingling.

The receptionist disappears for a moment, reappearing with a blanket that she drapes over my shoulders and a small cup of orange juice. She presses the cup into my hands, wrapping my numb fingers around it.

“Drink this, it’ll help with the shakes. Your blood sugar is probably tanking after a shock like that.” Her voice is calm, her eyes warm with sympathy. “Don’t you worry now. Mr. Valeur is in the best possible hands. Dr. Oron is a miracle worker. She’ll have him fixed up in no time.”

“Thank you,” I whisper. I take a sip of the juice, the sweetness cloying on my tongue. “I just... I can’t lose him. I can’t.”

“You won’t, honey. I’ve seen Dr. Oron pull people back from the brink more times than I can count. She won’t let anything happen to him. You just sit right here and try to relax. I’ll come get you as soon as there’s any news.”

I nod, clutching the blanket tighter around myself as she walks back to her desk. I stare at the opposite wall, the muted beige paint and bland, inoffensive artwork blurring before my eyes.

He has to be okay. He’s Logan Fucking Valeur, The Dark Lord. He’s unbreakable. He has to be.

Chapter Forty

SLOANE

“Logan.” I hurry to his side, burying my face in his chest as I sob. “I was so worried.”

“Don’t cry, baby. I’m perfectly fine.” He strokes my hair.