Page 41 of Tortured Eyes

“You had my uncle killed, Red. I’m simply showing you the truth. Don’t fucking put this on me,” he says, sipping again.

“Well, who the fuck else is there, Logan?” I scream at him. I’ve given up fighting the tears. They are one fight I don’t have the will to win anymore. It’s too much. I can’t keep the raw emotion inside any longer, and something has to give. “You’ve had me beaten and tortured. I thought those men were going to rape me. I’m pretty fucking sure there’s a chunk of my memory that’s missing, and now you tell me this. Well,” I cough through my spluttered words. “Congratulations. You wanted to break me?” I stand with my arms outstretched, not caring about my near-naked state. “You’ve destroyed something inside of me. A part of me that I honoured and lived by. And that’s why I refuse to turn the other way or yield to corrupt bastards like you.”

Logan stops moving backwards and holds his ground.

“I’m going to kill you, Logan Cane.” I stab my finger at his chest.

“I doubt that.” He takes my hand in his, and I pull it back as if his touch scolds me. “You need to hate on someone right now. Believe me, I know how that feels.” He holds up his hands and I look over the cuts and bruises decorating his knuckles. It stops me in my tracks, and I stare at the marks, remembering the sounds that came from the room next to mine.

“Mortoni?” I whisper the name. Logan nods, and in that moment, an unspoken understanding passes between us. My tears still silently rain on my cheeks, but my body has calmed. I know it won’t last. It’s the calm before the storm, and Logan has just given me his permission. At least, that’s what I like to think he’s given me.

“Ahhh!” I throw my first punch in his direction, but he blocks it with his arm. It doesn't stop me, though, and I continue to slam my body against his. Fists, arms, hands. All the rage and anger from the last few days consume me and power me. Pure and unadulterated, they flow around my body, setting free any pent-up anger I’ve felt over the years since losing my dad. The guilt that I couldn’t do anything to save him, not being able to fulfil his last wish, and the betrayal that now mingles with everything else from the revelations today all leak out with each throw of my fist.

My knuckles hurt, they bleed, but Logan doesn’t hit back. He lets me have my outburst until my energy gives out and my hits are more slaps. The tears are louder, my lungs heaving and sobbing, but still, I’m standing.

Suddenly, Logan folds himself around me, containing my aggression in his strength. It envelops me in a way that soothes and comforts, but I can’t stand it. It’s an alien concept and one that I won’t accept from him, regardless of him letting me beat on him. I can’t.

As I fight to escape, Logan’s grip gets tighter, holding me closer until all I can feel is him. All I can smell is him, and the spark that was between us the first night catches again from the embers of our fight.