Page 75 of Unspoken

Logan's gaze snaps to mine, his eyes strange, even a little cold. "No, Sasha. That's not who we are."

"But why not?" I press, unable to let it go. "Why follow the law when it's done nothing for you?"

"Because," he says firmly, his steely resolve shining through, "we're not Gods who get to decide who lives and who dies. We have to trust in justice, even when it seems impossible."

I admire Logan's unwavering conviction, even in the face of his own pain. As I sit back on the couch, my mind racing with thoughts of revenge and justice, one thing becomes crystal clear: sometimes, the hardest battles are the ones we fight within ourselves.

"Maybe you're right," I concede softly. "Perhaps the truest courage lies not in seeking vengeance, but in finding the strength to let go."

CHAPTER 26

LOGAN

I pull the Navigator up to the curb outside Moxy's, a low-key bar nestled between two small hotels somewhere off the Strip. The neon sign flickers to life as dusk descends, casting a reddish glow across Sasha's face. He's decked out in tight black jeans that hug his lean thighs and a deep green button-down shirt that makes his eyes glitter like emeralds. A silver chain glints at his neck. He looks good. Perhaps maybe even too good for someone like me.

"So where exactly have you whisked me off to for this secret date?" one eyebrow arched, Sasha asks as the valet attendant swings his door open.

"It's a surprise," I say, trying to keep my voice nonchalant even as my pulse quickens.

My mind is a battleground—loyalty to Vlad, to the job I was hired to do, warring with the irresistible pull of my growing attraction for his criminally sweet (yes, sweet!) younger brother. It feels like navigating a minefield, treading the razor's edge between professionalism and passion. One wrong step and it could all detonate in my face.

We climb out of the SUV and Sasha eyes my work attire of black slacks and button-down with an impish grin. "Pity you couldn't dress for the occasion."

We had to maintain appearances while leaving the house.

I pop open the rear door and grab my leather jacket, shrugging it on. "Who says I'm not dressing up?"

Sasha gives a low whistle of approval as he looks me up and down. Then he steps closer and undoes the two top buttons of my shirt. "Damn, Logan." His whisper caresses the side of my face. "If I'd known a little leather was all it took to transform you from stiff-necked security to sexy bad boy, I'd have insisted on it sooner."

His playful words send a jolt of desire through me but I tamp it down, steeling my resolve. I can't let myself get swept away in public, not when crossing this line with my boss's little brother is a one-way ticket to a shallow grave in the desert. But when Sasha looks at me like that, eyes smoldering with want, it's almost enough to make a man willing to sign his own death warrant.

"You already know I’m a sexy bad boy," I husk back out at him. "That’s why you keep coming back,mylash."

What makes it even harder to keep up this little charade going is the fact that Vlad’s been in and out of the house these past few days and Sasha and I didn’t really get a chance to spend any quality time together. Except maybe for a few heated kisses in the gym at night with the lights off.

Getting out of that place feels liberating.

The valet attendant gets behind the wheel and the vehicle drives off, leaving me and Sasha on the curb next to a small crowd of people laughing and smoking.

I guide Sasha inside, one hand resting lightly on the small of his back. The space is faintly lit, all dark polished wood, and plush crimson velvet. Candles flicker on the tables, casting dancing shadows on the walls. A stage dominates one end of the room, a glossy black baby grand piano nestled in the corner. The air hums with anticipatory energy as the crowd mingles, their chatter blending with the clink of glasses and bottles.

Memories surface of the last time I was here, back when I still wore a badge instead of a holster under my arm. Stan dragged some of us out for an open mic night to blow off steam after a rough case. For a few hours, we could forget the blood on our hands and lose ourselves in crappy poetry, off-key karaoke, and cheap beer. But that was a lifetime ago, before everything went to hell.

The place, however, has been stuck in my head all these years.

We claim a small couch tucked away in a secluded nook. I grab Sasha's drink from the bar along with water for myself—unlike last time in the city, I need to keep my head clear today.

As I settle beside him, Sasha immediately places a hand on my thigh, his touch searing through the fabric of my slacks. I suck in a sharp breath. He’s become so bold, maybe even too bold to the point of recklessness.

"Sasha..." I warn under my breath. "You need to be careful."

He leans in close, his husky murmur sending cold shivers down my spine despite the heat of his proximity. "Relax, Logan. It's dark, no one can see." His fingers inch higher, tracing maddening patterns. "Besides, I've been dying for some alone time with you. It's bloody torture, having to pretend with Vlad and his goons constantly hovering over us."

The sound of his brother's name is like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head, jolting me back to bitter reality. I grab Sasha's wrist, halting his exploring hand. "Let’s not talk about him or his hired army, huh?"

On the stage, a man starts talking into the mic, explaining what the deal is about.

"You’re right," Sasha agrees, staring at me through the intimate darkness of the club. "It’s our date."

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