Page 52 of Logan (The Valeur Billionaires #1)

Chapter Thirty-Nine

SLOANE

“ L ogan! No!” I scream, my voice cracking with panic as Johnny slams the shovel into Logan’s head with a sickening crack. Logan crumples to the ground before my disbelieving eyes, his body going limp like a puppet with its strings cut.

For a moment, the world seems to freeze, everything moving in slow motion as my brain struggles to process the horror unfolding in front of me.

Logan lies motionless on the grass, his face slack and pale.

And then I see the blood, the dark crimson staining the dirt beside his head, and time snaps back into focus with dizzying speed.

Johnny killed him. He killed him. He killed him. The words loop in my head, a nightmare chant I can’t escape.

“What the hell did you do?” I scream, my voice high with hysteria. Johnny just stands there, his nose gushing blood, the shovel still clutched in his white-knuckled grip. He looks like a scene from a horror movie, a crazed killer caught red-handed.

“He started it,” Johnny mumbles. He stares at Logan’s prone form with wide, glassy eyes. “He broke my nose. He started it.”

“You killed him!” I can’t stop screaming. The commotion draws a crowd, neighbors pouring out of their houses to gawk at the horrid scene.

Someone grabs me from behind, trying to pull me away from Logan. I fight against their hold, kicking and clawing, desperate to get to him. I have to help him, have to save him, have to?—

Several men tackle Johnny to the ground, pinning him and wrenching the shovel out of his grasp.

“I’m a doctor, ma’am. Let me treat him.” A slim, white-haired man appears in front of me, gripping my shoulders and forcing me to meet his steady gaze. His calm authority cuts through the fog of terror, and I nod, allowing him to guide me a few steps back.

I stand there, my hands clenched into fists so tight my nails cut into my palms. I barely feel the sting, all my attention focused on Logan’s motionless form.

“Bring me a towel!” the doctor barks, and one neighbor sprints inside to comply.

The doctor kneels beside Logan, his hands gentle but sure as he checks for a pulse. “Sir? Can you hear me?”

Logan remains unresponsive, his face chalk-white beneath the slick of blood. The neighbor returns with a towel, and the doctor presses it to the gash on Logan’s head, trying to stem the alarming flow.

Oh God, this is all my fault. I shouldn’t have made Logan promise not to hurt Johnny. If I hadn’t interfered, if I had just let him handle it his way...

A low groan snaps me out of my spiraling thoughts, and I jolt forward, hope surging in my chest. “Logan?”

His eyelids flutter, his hand lifting to grope at the air. “Sloane,” he rasps, his voice weak. “Where are you?”

I drop to my knees beside him, taking his searching hand in both of mine. “I’m here, baby,” I choke out through my tears. “I’m right here.”

Logan tries to sit up, his face contorting with pain and effort, but the doctor stops him with a firm hand on his chest. “Sir, you need to lie still. You likely have a concussion, and that head wound needs attention.”

“I’m fine,” Logan grits out, ignoring the warning and struggling upright. His face contorts for a moment as he replaces the doctor’s hand and presses on the wound himself. “I’ve taken worse hits than this.”

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?”

“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.