Page 33 of Unspoken

"Ah…he's alright," I mumbled.

Did Vlad want to fire Logan? Shit, I couldn't get a read.

Vlad just hummed, a cryptic sound that revealed bollocks all. Then back to his precious tea. Brilliant.

Now, days later and with him gone I'm lying in my bed and staring at the ceiling. I’m contemplating the sodding mystery that is my brother when a sharp rap on the door jolts me.

"Yeah?" I call out, voice croaky with disuse.

The door swings open and there's Logan, looking all proper. "Stateside's coming to town," he announces like I’m supposed to know what that means. "Get up and get ready. It's almost noon."

I squint at him. "Stateside? The hell you going on about?"

"Stateside BBQ. Best barbecue food truck in the country. They're only in Vegas today."

Food truck? I snort but on the inside I’m all giddy. "I think I'll pass on questionable meat served out of a lorry."

Logan rolls his eyes. Damn, it’s fucking cute. "Don't be a snob," he says. "You ate tacos from the food truck and you’re still alive. This is the real deal. Brisket so tender it falls apart and ribs that melt off the bone. Trust me, it's amazing. You have to try it."

I’m not exactly feeling like getting up. I’ve been all up in my head, going over what I could have done differently for Alfie to still be alive, but spending time with Logan in the city has become my new drug. It helps me forget about the fact that I’m a Solovey and I killed my best friend.

"Come on, get your ass moving, Sasha!" Logan shouts on the way out of my room as if he’s the boss here and he makes the decisions where we go and what we do. "The brisket awaits!"

"Oi, enough of that," I warn, chucking a pillow at him when he’s at the door. He ducks it easily, the wanker. "Fine, I'll come to your little lorry meat party. But if I get food poisoning, you're cleaning it up." I don’t really mean it. I just feel like playing hard to get with Logan.

"Nope. Not gonna happen," he replies with a poker face. "That’s not part of my job and you’ve got staff to do that." With that, Logan pivots and exits, leaving me no choice but to haul myself vertical.

As I stumble to the loo, I note the change in Logan. The serious, stoic man has been replaced by someone a little bit more human, someone who cracks a smile from time to time or saysa joke. I shake my head at my reflection, splashing water on my face.

Down, mate. Let's not get ahead of ourselves.

An hour later, Logan and I approach a bloody chaos surrounding a colorful truck parked by the curb somewhere just right off the Strip.

"Fucking hell," I mutter under my breath, trying to understand where the line begins. It’s all just a sea of people, carrying food or eating right off the plate while standing by the curb or under a tree. Sadly, this particular area lacks vegetation. Mostly buildings, so the sun beats down on us without mercy.

It’s not summer yet but I can feel that famous Las Vegas heat coming.

Logan navigates this mess with ease, his tall frame parting the crowd like Moses the Red Sea.

"Bet you hundred bucks you'll love it," he supplies.

"Someone's rich and ready to lose."

"We’ll see."

"Fine. You're on," I agree as we move along with the line.

"Two brisket plates," Logan calls out when it's our turn. He holds up two fingers in case the cashier hasn’t heard because of all the noise. "Extra sauce."

"You got it, man," the bearded bloke in the truck replies, already assembling our meals.

I hang back and watch Logan pay for the food. He seems in his element here, relaxed. Happy, even. It's a good look on him. Like I'm finally seeing him being in his own skin.

"This is better than anything you've had in London." Logan hands me a plate piled high with meat and fixings when our order is called.

"Quite confident, aren't we?" I raise an eyebrow, but can't hide my smile. It’s like my mouth has a life of its own.

"Oh yeah. I’m confident food made by real people and not robots like those chefs that come around is much better."

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