Page 49 of Bloom: Part 2

But what could I say? Logan had changed me too.

Gunner rode with me on the back of his bike, not the most comfortable position being behind another man, but for Logan, I did it. For the one not steering the hog, the ride brought back the sense of freedom I usually got on my own bike, the wind whipping at my clothes and ruffling my hair. Gunner navigated the streets with the confidence of an expert rider.

Soon, he pulled up to a dingy, out-of-the-way garage, the kind of place where nobody asked questions as long as the cash was right. Of course a place like this would have Logan’s car. Why hadn’t the cops found it?

A line of beaten-up cars sat scattered across the gravel lot outside, a few in pieces, others stripped down to the bones. A sour, oily smell hung heavily in the air.

Gunner cut the engine, and I slid off his bike.

“Stay close.” He swung his leg off the motorcycle with ease.

As we walked toward the garage, two guys working on a dented pickup straightened, eyes narrowing. They looked rough but skittish, like stray dogs eyeing fresh meat yet ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble. One of the guys—a wiry man with greasy hair and a nervous twitch in his left eye—dropped his wrench.

“Afternoon, boys,” Gunner said, his voice dripping with the kind of calm that made my pulse quicken. I heard the danger in his tone. They couldn’t have missed his cut or the president’s patch. “I called earlier about a car you had for sale. Spoke to someone named George.” He mentioned the make, model, color, and year of Logan’s car.

The guy with the twitch barely kept his hands steady as he wiped them on a rag. “Um, yeah. That’d be me. I’m George. It’s a sweet ride. Follow me this way.”

George led us farther into the yard to a small warehouse at the back. As we stepped inside, my eyes danced over cars in varying states of damage: some clearly stripped for parts, while others just looked abandoned.

George walked over to a vehicle covered with a dusty green tarp. He pulled it back, revealing the sleek lines of Logan’s car. Gunner glanced at me, eyebrow raised, and I nodded.

“Someone dropped it off here a couple of weeks back,” George said, his voice wavering. His gaze flicked to Gunner, then immediately away. “Paid upfront to have it serviced. Never came back to claim it.”

Gunner circled the car slowly, running his hand over the smooth hood, opening the driver’s side door, and peering inside. His face didn’t betray any emotion as he took in the pristineleather seats, the polished dashboard, and the keys still in the ignition.

“You sure that’s the story you want to stick with, George?”

The man stepped back toward the door. I shifted to put myself between him and his escape route.

“’xcuse me?”

“You stole this car from a friend of mine, and we’re here to get it back. I reckon you’ll drop the price mentioned on the call to free?”

George’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. He eyed the door behind me while wringing the greasy rag between his hands. I wanted to smash his face with a hammer. But I’d promised Logan to be good.

“Look, George, we don’t want any trouble,” I said. “You fucked up and took the wrong person’s car. You didn’t know, so we’ll overlook your mistake this time. We’ll take it off your hands.”

“Not so fast,” Gunner said. “We want to know how you got your hands on this vehicle. Who’s been selling contraband on my turf without my permission? I don’t recall allowing any such activities, do you?”

“Well, um, we—” George’s eyes darted between Gunner and me like a cornered animal. “Look, man, I—I didn’t know,” he stammered, taking a shaky step back, his hands twitching at his sides. “I just… I just took the car off this guy’s hands. He said he needed cash fast. That’s all!”

He lunged for the exit, shoving his entire body weight into me with a force that took me off guard. His shoulder drove hard into my chest, right where the wound was still healing. Pain exploded inside me, sharp and blinding, and my vision went white. It felt like my chest had split open all over again, the pressure crushing, my lungs seizing in shock.

I staggered back, gasping for breath, clutching my chest. The agony was overwhelming, radiating out in waves, each pulsehammering like a fist to my ribcage. A strangled sound escaped my throat as my knees buckled, and I hit the ground, struggling to stay conscious.

15

LOGAN

Alove hotel wasn’t the most convenient place to have a meeting, but it was the only option I was given. I steered clear of the bed, slowly turning around. The room was filled with mirrors, suitable for a couple who loved watching the reflection of their bodies intertwined. The gaudy decor aside, I saw the appeal of making love to Bloom in such a room. I would never miss a reaction to my touch. From every angle, I could study the contours of his beautiful body and the way we fit together.

Would he enjoy this room? I’d never thought of visiting a love hotel before, but Inconnu was a recent addition to Smoky Vale and was fast becoming an attraction to the curious and adventurous. No wonder Smoky Vale had attracted an influx of nonlocals recently.

A tap on the door startled me. The door opened, and the light from the hallway illuminated the figure who entered, closing the door behind him. Marshal Livingston was my handler, the man who’d handled my protection in WITSEC. Over a decade later and he didn’t look like he’d aged a bit. Same jet-black haircropped close to his skull, same icy-blue eyes that scrutinized everything around him.

He strode toward me, the red lamplight of the room casting long shadows that danced around his feet. “Dr. Collier. Sorry about our current location. It’s not exactly appropriate, but it was the only place I could think of on such short notice that would guarantee us confidentiality.”

“I understand, Marshal. I’m grateful you agreed to see me.”

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