Page 58 of Logan

“Hey, get the hell out of here,” the man who led her to the bathroom entered the room, walked to her and grabbed her arm. She tried to jerk away from him, but he was too strong. He pulled her from the room, and she keptlooking back at Logan with tears rolling down her face.

Chapter Ten

The room was dark and musty, with a single window shedding a small beam of light onto the worn carpet. Logan’s heart raced as he watched the man drag Dixie out of the room, fear gripping his chest and making it hard for him to breathe. He struggled against the ropes binding his wrists, but they held tight, cutting into his skin.

Desperate to escape, he scanned the room for anything that could help him break free. His eyes fell upon a letter opener on the desk next to the wall. Swearing under his breath, he tried to scoot his chair closer to the desk, each movement sending waves of pain through his body. His ribs screamed with agony from being shot, and since being beaten, he was sure they were now broken. He forced himself to be still when he heard footsteps downstairs, knowing that Dixie was being taken to her house.

With a determined grimace, Logan continued to maneuver the chair toward the desk, pausing frequently to catch his breath and ease the searing pain in his body. When he was finally close enough to reach for the letter opener, he swore.

“Now what the hell do I do?” he whispered to himself as he used his head to nudge the tool closer to him until it fell onto the floor behind him.

Frustration boiled within him as he realizedhe couldn’t reach the opener with his bound hands. He had to make the chair tip over in order to reach it. Taking a deep breath, he rocked the chair side to side until the chair toppled over with a loud thud. Gasping for air, Logan stilled himself until he was sure no one was coming up the stairs.

Sweat beaded on his forehead as he reached out with unsteady hands and finally managed to grab hold of the letter opener. With shaky fingers, he brought the sharp blade against the rope and began sawing at it frantically. It felt like an eternity, but finally the rope gave way and fell from his wrists, then he untied his ankles.

Gasping for breath, Logan slowly rose to his feet and clenched his teeth against the throbbing pain coursing through his body. He knew he had little time before his captors returned, so he frantically searched the room for any useful items. Disheartened by his findings, he hurriedly left the room, determined to find Dixie and rescue her at any cost.

As he cautiously descended the stairs, Logan scanned his surroundings for any signs of danger. He couldn’t see anyone else in the house.

Pressing himself against the wall as he heard approaching footsteps, Logan breathed a sigh of relief when the man entered another room and closed the door behind him. His mind raced as he considered his options without a weapon. He had lost his gun at Dixie’s house during the attack. Did the attackers take it or was it still lying somewhere? He couldn’t besure.

Making his way down the rest of the stairs, Logan spotted a flower vase and quickly grabbed it, using it as a makeshift weapon. He waited for the man to reemerge from the other room before striking him over the head with all his might. The man crumpled to the floor and Logan wasted no time in disarming him, grabbing the gun from his waistband and aiming it at him.

“Get up,” Logan barked as he kicked the man’s side.

The man groaned and swore under his breath. “Son of a bitch. I’m a dead man now.”

“Do I look like I care?” Logan retorted coldly as he kept the man at gunpoint. “Who else is here?”

“No one. There are only three of us besides Cortez.”

“So, they all left you here with me, thinking I was helpless with my hands tied?” The man nodded and Logan couldn’t help but smirk. “How did that work out for you?”

“Man, he’s going to kill me.”

“I can’t help you there. Now get upstairs.” Logan gestured with the gun and followed the man up the stairs and back to the room he had been held in. He made the man sit in the chair, tied his hands and ankles, and picked up the letter opener from the floor. A wicked grin spread across his face as he walked out of the room with it, ready to take on whoever dared to stand in his way.

****

Dixie sat in the back of the car; her eyes glued to the passing scenery as fear gripped her. She couldn’t stop thinking about what might happen to her and Logan. When a sheriff’s SUV cruiser drove by them in the opposite direction, she held her breath, but he kept going.

“Is he turning around?” Cortez asked from beside her.

“No, we’re safe,” reassured the driver.

But Dixie couldn’t shake off her terror. Why hadn’t they turned around? How was she going to get out of this situation? Her main concern was for Logan’s safety.

As they pulled into her driveway, Dixie could feel herself hyperventilating with fear. She couldn’t move until Cortez signaled for her to get out. The driver warned her not to try anything, threatening to kill her if she did.

With trembling hands, Dixie stepped out of the car, looking around for any sign of help, but no one showed up. A single tear rolled down her cheek, which she quickly wiped away in anger. The yellow crime scene tape surrounding her house only served as a reminder of the dangerous situation she was in and whether or not she would ever see Logan again.

When the driver grabbed her elbow, Dixie instinctively jerked away, but another man immediately caught hold of her and led her inside.

Once they were all in the house, Dixie stood against the wall as they rummaged through every room. One man kept a close eye on her, making it impossible for her to even considerrunning away. She noticed that his hand was always hovering near his gun.

Meanwhile, the others were tossing things around and flipping over furniture. Dixie silently prayed that they wouldn't find the journal, but if they didn't, what would they do to her?

When she finally moved away from the wall and walked into the living room, she saw that the desk had been overturned and its drawers were scattered all over the floor. But they quickly moved on, and Dixie couldn’t figure out where or how the journal could have remained hidden.

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