Page 67 of Unspoken

"Hey, you're doing great," he reassures me through the phone, his words a small comfort in the midst of my terror. "Just hang in there." I can hear him speed-dressing in the background.

I nod, even though he can't see me, praying that he arrives before things go south again. Because I seem to attract danger.

I’m not sure how much time passes, and it’s probably no more than ten—fifteen minutes, because Logan doesn’t live far. But it feels like every second has stretched into a minute and every minute has become an hour before my phone finally buzzes in my hand. I look at it and Logan's name displayed on the screen has my heart rate dropping a little.

"I’m here," he says when I answer. "Go outside." Somehow, his voice is calmer than I remember it from our earlier conversation.

"Alright." Heart still pounding, I rush over to the entrance, scan the surroundings for any sign of danger, but all seems normal. Well, as normal as it can be when a casino is in the picture.

Outside, I’m slapped with the gust of air and a clamor of traffic. Lights are too bright and the smells are too sharp. And then I see it–Logan's Land Rover idling by the curb, windows rolled down, revealing his concerned face.

I dart over to the vehicle while the valet attendant is trying to get him to move.

As I slide into the passenger seat, Logan reaches over immediately, his fingertips hovering near my cheek. "What happened here?"

"You should see the other guy," I tell him with what I hope is a lopsided grin.

Logan ignores the cliche joke. "Are you hurt anywhere else?" His eyes are filled with worry and that makes my stomach flutter despite the shitty situation we’re sort of in.

"No, I’m good." I swat his hand away when he tries to cup my cheek.

"Fine." He puts the vehicle inDriveand hits the gas while I flip the sun visor to look in the mirror.

My reflection that stares back at me has a busted lip and an angry scratch marking my face. A wave of exhaustion washes over me, leaving me feeling hollow and drained. I can't even bother to concern myself with what Vlad thinks about my face if he sees it. Or maybe he won't be back for a while and I'll heal.

"Thanks for coming to get me," I finally mumble.

From the corner of my eye, I can see Logan smile gently while his attention is on the road. "I'd have come even if you were on the moon."

"You for real?" I raise an eyebrow, part of me pretending I don't believe him. But my belly is all fuzzy.

The sides of his mouth lift into a wry grin. "Yes, I’m for real."

Relief begins to seep through me, softening the edges of my fear. It's a small thing, his assurance, but it means more than I can say. "Where are we going?"

"Probably get you to the nearest hospital to look at that pretty face of yours."

"I’m not going to the hospital," I shut him down instantly. "You’re being extra."

"Then back to my place," he replies. "But I can’t promise my medical skills can match those of the real doctors."

"I’m sure between the two of us we can patch up this silly bloke, right?"

"We’ll give it our best."

I wince as Logan opens the door to his flat, my split lip still throbbing a little from the bar brawl.

"Come in," he says gruffly, holding the door open. I limp inside, my body aching, despite the insignificant damage. I think it’s in my head. Or perhaps, I like pretending to be way more incapacitated than I am because I like Logan taking care of me.

"Sorry, if it’s not up to your standards, Your Highness," he jokes, flipping on the light.

The space is small but tidy. Logan's minimalist style is evident in the sparse decor. A scratched hardwood floor, a simple gray corner sofa, bare walls except for a few framed photographs and a couple of floating shelves holding some very manly items.

"So this is where you live," I murmur, mostly to myself.

"Have a seat." Logan directs me to the sofa. Or a couch. Or whatever else they may call it. "I'll grab the first aid kit."

As he disappears through the door to what I assume is the kitchen, I sink onto the cushions with a groan. Bollocks, what a night. My eyes drift to the mantlepiece above a fake fireplace, drawn to the photos perched there. A smiling woman who’s definitely Logan's mum when she was young, a man in a copper’s uniform with Logan's strong jaw. And Logan himself, looking fresher and slimmer, sporting a graduation cap, pride shining in his eyes. There are a few more frames of Logan’s entire family on various occasions and they all look so happy together. It’s something I never had. Can’t even remember my mother and father being in one room.

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