Page 25 of Unspoken

Also made me realize that underneath that gruff exterior, he's human too.

Fuck.

This is beyond terrible.

Not only is this arsehole incredibly attractive, but I can also feel a sickening twist in my gut as I realize he's a secret softie.

I sigh heavily and roll onto my side, hugging a pillow to my chest. I need to get a grip. He works for Vlad. And if Vlad ever finds out that I'm...the way I am… I squeeze my eyes shut, shoving the thought away. I can't ever let that happen. I won't.

I punch the speed higher on the treadmill, my feet pounding out a punishing rhythm as sweat trickles down my spine. Running outside like I used to is not an option anymore. Vlad forbids it because of what happened back in London. So this is what passes for freedom now—a private gym with a state-of-the-artkit and fancy bottled water in the basement of my brother’s house. Vlad's version of keeping mesafe.

My lungs are burning, muscles screaming for oxygen as much as they scream for a break, but the pain is a distraction from the thoughts churning in my head. The thoughts I haven’t been able to push down. The flashes of memory—Mama singing me to sleep in her soft lilting Russian. The wrenching grief when she vanished from my life is lingering. Still there after all these years. And now Logan's mum, the naked terror in his look as he rushed to get to her...

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block it all out, the thud of my pulse drowning everything else. I'm so lost in the zone, I almost miss the sound of the door opening. Almost.

I glance toward the noise and nearly stumble as I see Logan shuffling on the fringe of the room, hesitant for a moment. Then he strides over, all six two of solid muscle and coiled grace.

Bloody hell. The man can wear his clothes. Black trousers hug his lean, toned thighs in a way that makes my mouth dry. The plain black T-shirt stretching across his broad chest highlights the perfect form of his sculptured upper body. And then the tats on his arm. If he passed me on the street, I would have thought he was some bloody thirst trap TikTok model.

Fuck. My thoughts are a mess.

I’m proper embarrassed for calling him an old man.

I force my eyes up to his face, catching a flicker of something in that cool gray gaze.

"Impressive commitment," he remarks blankly, nodding at the treadmill display. His voice is dry as the Sahara, but there's a hint of warmth buried in there somewhere, and I can sense it. Strange thing. "You know, most people would take it easy after trying to run away from their security detail as many times as you did."

I bark out a breathless laugh, hitting the stop button. "Well, I'm not most people, am I?" I say as I grab my towel and swipe at the sweat coating my face, attempting to get my hammering heart under control. "Besides, gotta keep in shape if I'm gonna outrun you next time I try."

He doesn't smile, but I swear I see a muscle twitch in that chiseled jawline. "Let’s be honest, we both know you won’t outrun me while you’re on my watch." He says it with absolute conviction, immovable as a mountain.

For a second I let myself believe him, let myself imagine those strong arms wrapped around me, shielding me from everything in this fucked up world that wants to break me.

Then I mentally slap myself and step off the treadmill.

Get a grip, Sasha.

This is just your abandonment issues latching onto the nearest warm body. He's your bodyguard, nothing more. A really bloody fit, heroic bodyguard with quicksilver eyes and hands that could probably snap you in half.

Fuck. I am well and truly screwed.

I clear my throat, feeling the tension crackling between us in the air. "Look, about your mum..." I trail off, unsure how to broach the subject. I don’t even remember what I wanted to say.

"You didn't have to do that," Logan says quietly, his gaze boring into me. "Pay the hospital bills, I mean."

I shrug, aiming for nonchalance. "Consider it a present from an entitled, spoilt brat." I infuse a little bit of sarcasm into these words, but not too much. I don’t want to sound like a complete knob. The situation doesn’t allow.

Logan is silent for a long moment, his eyes searching my face like he's trying to piece together a particularly challenging puzzle. The air feels charged, heavy with things unsaid.

I fight the urge to squirm under the intensity of his scrutiny.

Finally, I can't take it anymore. I step back, putting some much-needed distance between us. "Right then, I'm absolutely famished." I force a grin, trying to dispel the weird energy. "You hungry? Fancy grabbing a bite?"

Logan doesn't take the bait. "I'll take you wherever you want to go."

An idea strikes me. "You know, I've never actually had a proper taco." His eyebrows shoot up, and I press on, "If you know a good spot, I'd love to try it. The real American experience and all that, since it looks like I'll be sticking around for a while."

The corner of his mouth twitches, almost a smile. "Trust me, the best tacos aren't served in the places you're used to."

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