Page 63 of Unspoken

My hands tremble as I hastily pull on my underwear, and then my pants and my T-shirt. Logan's eyes follow me as I stumble into the bathroom to clean up.

"Let me drive you home," he offers when I return. "It’s best we navigate this together."

"Isn't that...worse?" I ask hesitantly. My pulse is wild and loud and won’t let me think.

"I don’t want to leave you alone with him."

My heart all but turns into mush.

"Better for Vlad to think we were out at the casino or doing something together than for you to have been alone all night," Logan reasons, and I can't argue with his logic. But there's one thing bothering me.

"You're not dressed for work," I point out, my eyes flicking over his half-naked form as he picks up his T-shirt from the floor.

He puts it on and grins. Yes, he bloody grins. In this fucking situation. And there’s a devilish glint in his eyes. "Don't worry about that. I've got it covered. Be right back." With that, he exits the room, leaving me to wonder what other tricks he has up his sleeve.

When Logan returns a couple of minutes later, he's holding a pristine suit that he claims he retrieved from his car. As I watchhim change into the work clothing, I'm struck by the symbolism of his transformation: from lover to protector, the tender intimacy of our night together giving way to the harsh reality of our situation. He fastens each button with determination, his gaze never leaving mine as if to reassure me that he's ready to face whatever challenges wait ahead.

"Alright," I breathe, finding a little peace in the sight of him fully dressed and prepared, wondering what other things he’s still hiding from me. "Let's do this, luv."

CHAPTER 21

LOGAN

The gravel crunches beneath the tires of my vehicle as I pull into the shadow of Vlad's mansion. Its towering silhouette is like a silent guardian against the bright morning sky. Sasha's hand hovers near the door handle, eager for escape but hesitant to step out into the uncertainty that waits for us.

"We’ll be fine," I whisper as I throw a glance at him.

He seems so young and so scared all of a sudden and I doubt myself, doubt that what I've done is right, doubt that I'm thinking clearly. A part of me keeps on saying to stop this before it's too late, but another part of me wants nothing more but to hold Sasha in my arms, press his head to my chest, and tell him that it’s all going to work out. Not just us, but the rest of the hell he’s been living in.

Unfortunately, I can’t.

Ivan’s watchful eyes are on us as he walks up to the Land Rover.

"Must use Navigator if you leave this house," he says, materializing beside me with the stealth I didn’t know a big guy like him could have. His words are thick and accented and weighted with assumed accusations. And he’s right. It looks bad that I’ve taken Sasha out in my own vehicle. It’s not bulletproof.

"Right," I manage through gritted teeth, nodding to Ivan while trying to mask the panic in my voice.

At the same time, fear coils in my stomach, big and stifling, at the thought that Vlad might know. Know about the night his little brother and I spent tangled in each other’s arms, know about our secrets whispered between breathless kisses.

Ivan continues to size us up with his sharp as shards of glass stare. Then he turns on his heel, leading us toward the mansion. Sasha is one step ahead, hands in the pockets of his pants, and I imagine they are wrapped into tight fists under the disguise of fabric.

Inside, the doors to Vlad's office swing open, and there he is—a man who commands fear and respect with equal measure. He stands in the center of the room; the same hands-in-pockets pose as Sasha, and the familial resemblance only makes it worse.

"Alexander," Vlad greets in a deceptively calm voice.

"Brother," Sasha replies. There’s tension that lines his frame as he halts to a stop opposite Vlad.

"Care to share where the two of you were all night?" The question slices through the silence, sharp and demanding, as soon as Ivan shuts the door behind us.

"Out." Sasha’s response is clipped and vague.

Vlad’s gaze sweeps over to me. "You took your personal vehicle."

"I thought it’d be wise considering the people who are after Alexander would be looking for your car," I lie as I grapple with the need to protect Sasha from whatever wrath we've stirred.

"You thought?" Vlad echoes, his tone rising like the crescendo of a symphony of rage. "I do not recall giving permission for a joyride, especially not at night. Your car is not bulletproof."

"It won’t happen again," I offer.

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