25

Fear constricted her throat, making it impossible to speak.

This couldn’t be happening to her, not here.

Not now.

Yet it was.

With a strength that belied his five-foot-ten stature, Jane was being dragged into the shadows where nothing good was going to come of it.

She bucked, flailing her arms, trying to reach up and maybe stab him in the eyes with her fingers, but he was ready for this, dodging to avoid them.

Heart on fire, she sucked in a deep breath.

“LOGAN!! HELP ME!”

She cried out into the night, hoping her voice would carry over to him. She didn’t know if it had, as she couldn’t see anything but the dark, oblong shapes of the hedge that now surrounded them.

She twisted and bulked, making it as difficult as possible for him to move her, when footsteps crashed toward them as a figure hurtled into view.

She caught a glimpse of his face as it flashed beneath the light of a lamp.

Logan!

His fist smashed into Jon’s face. Jon’s head snapped back, pain clouding his vision. He released Jane immediately, cupping hold of the nose that must be broken. Jane stepped quickly aside as Logan threw Jon to the ground, straddled him and held him there by the shoulders.

Fury blazed from his eyes as he glared down at him.

“You don’t ever touch her!”

He punched him again and again as Jon started sobbing like a baby. More footsteps crashed toward them, someone big and heavy-footed, without any of Logan’s grace.

Stonewall.

His eyes assessed Jane quickly, but when he found her uninjured, he turned his attention to Logan and the cowering Jon.

“Logan, you can stop now.”

But Logan was far from hearing, driven by the terrible rage that laced his heart at seeing Jon’s hands on Jane, knowing he’d intended to do more than just grab her.

Lights flashed, illuminating the pair, as guests rushed over to see the commotion. Stonewall grabbed Logan by the elbows and physically hauled him off Jon.

“She’s fine, Son,” Stonewall said into his ear, the voice of reason. “You need to stop. You have an audience.”

It was another moment before he was able to see straight. With the threat now curled into a ball, wailing like a baby, Logan staggered to Jane, who fell, trembling, into his arms.

She felt as fragile as a bird.

Her face was drained of all color, even her lips. Some of her hair had escaped the French Twist and now fell around her in clumps. She looked disheveled and shell-shocked…

And it had taken every ounce of willpower not to kill Jon.

He hadn’t thought about what he was doing, wasn’t really conscious of it. All he knew was he had to save her and finally put that maniac in his place — even with all those cameras pointing at him.

He didn’t care about his reputation anymore. In that moment, only Jane’s safety mattered.

Blocking her from their view, Logan took hold of her hands. They were like ice.