Page 34 of Wicked Devotion
“Bad gut feeling,” Logan says, lighting a cigarette.
“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”
“That it isn’t safe here.”
“I’m pretty sure I can keep Lily safe, not to mention we’re on base.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he snarls.
“Do you know what’s going on with Rockwell and the others?” I try to switch the topic. “I mean, apart from whatever pissing contest you two seem to have.”
I guess I’m too loud for his liking because Logan puts his hand over my mouth.
“Quiet, you idiot. What’s between me and Rockwell is exactly that—between me and Rockwell.”
“I think it’s something about the old task force,” I say when Logan finally removes his hand from my mouth.
“Stop putting your nose in shit that doesn’t concern you, Max. Be happy you’re not involved, and don’t worry your pretty head about it.”
Something is up. It’s the way he smokes, two long drags without a breath of fresh air in between.
“All you need to know is that it has nothing to do withyou. No one is mad at you. You did nothing wrong apart from the shit you pulled with Lily, so please stop asking questions and focus on keeping your puppy alive and out of trouble.”
“If you say so,” I grumble, keeping my emotionally charged speech to myself. It’s pointless either way.
14
LILY
Logan’s room is the exact opposite of Max’s. Generic, with washed-out sheets on the bed and the smell of cold smoke lingering in the air. The walls are empty, and the only openly displayed personal item is a pair of dumbbells next to the couch.
The longer I let my gaze wander through the room, the more seemingly out-of-place items catch my eye. A sweater with the name Vaughn printed on it hangs over an uncomfortable-looking office chair, a glow stick bracelet peeks out from under the couch, and a half-empty bag of Max’s favorite sweets lies on top of a concerning collection of knives on the nightstand.
I make my bed, and when Max and Logan come back after what feels like an hour, I act as if I’m asleep. They go to the bathroom one after the other without exchanging a single word. It’s a loaded silence, not one out of consideration as not to wake me up. Loud in a way that makes no physical sense, and once everyone is settled, I still struggle to fall asleep.
The next morning,I wake up to the feeling of eyes on me. The offender is sitting at a small table, staring at me while he cleans a disassembled pistol. I close my eyes again and only open them once I’m facing the other way, where my gaze lands on a splayed-out Max.
His shirt has hitched up, exposing a dark blond happy trail, but before I can continue to mentally remove the rest of his clothes, Logan clears his throat.
“Wasn’t done looking at you yet, sweetheart.”
Biting down on the inside of my cheek, I turn back around. Logan grins, sharklike, as he lubricates his gun before reassembling it.
The way he’s handling the pieces feels weirdly sensual, and I don’t know enough about guns to tell if it’s supposed to look like this or if he’s doing it to make me nervous. If it’s the latter, it’s working.
“Ah,” Max says with a tired voice, glancing over at Logan. “Magic Mike: Gun Edition.”
That probably answers my question.
“Wanna lick them clean, sunshine?” Logan asks, wriggling his fingers.
Behind me, the mattress dips, and Max buries his face in the crook of my neck, letting out a satisfied groan before he answers Logan.
“I’ll pass. The last time we did that really fucked up my stomach, and Dr. Russo’s not gonna believe my dumb explanation a second time,” Max says with a chuckle.
“Slept well?” he whispers in my ear, and I nod.
“Did you know Russo’s with the weirdos from the third floor now?” Logan racks his gun, inspecting it one last time before he tucks it in his drop leg holster. “Task force Spirit Halloween. One day, Sam’s going to ask for a transfer.”
