Page 120 of Pretty Dark Vows

I close my eyes, already anticipating the pain of the stitches.

He doesn’t warn me, doesn’t pause at all when he first threads the needle through my skin.

“Fuck!” I hiss, my body tensing at the sudden bite of pain.

That gets a reaction from him—or a pause, at least, if only for a split second. Then he goes right back to it, stitching my torn flesh back together with an intensity of focus that I can only remember feeling from him one other time.

So many things about this moment remind me of that night. The way he was utterly silent and completely terrifying when he came into my room and sliced the clothes off my body. The sharpness, care, and precision he must’ve used as he cut up all of my things, leaving only tatters and shreds.

I can still feel the touch of that knife… and I’ll always bear the scar.

A shiver passes through me, and a small sound almost like a moan escapes my lips before I can stop it. Logan pauses again, his eyes lifting to mine for a moment. Then, as if he can read my mind and knows what I’m thinking about right now, he looks down at my chest.

His gaze traces the red line where he cut me, right between my breasts.

Then he lifts his hand, his finger following the same path.

I suck in a breath, my body suddenly desperate for oxygen as if I’m drowning. But the deep inhale only has the effect of making my chest press harder against the gentle touch of his finger. His gaze leaves the thin scar, darting to my face, and the air in the room seems to thicken.

“Admiring your work?” I rasp out, my voice oddly husky.

He stiffens, as if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t, and he jerks his hand away.

“Hold still.”

His voice is a cool monotone like always, but there’s a raspy quality to it just like there was in mine.

Silence falls between us as he finishes stitching up the gash at my waist, and although the first push of the needle hurt like a bitch, my body starts to get numb to it after a while. Even though I feel every thrust of the needle, every tug of the thread, I’m barely aware of those sensations. I’m too caught up watching Logan. Too confused by the way my body remembers the pain he’s inflicted, twists it up with the pain he’s causing me right now, and still feels drawn to him. Attracted on some truly fucked up level that should probably repel me.

It doesn’t. And his silent intensity just makes me feel like the two of us are trapped in some sort of strange bubble together. One of pleasure and pain. Attraction and anticipation. The feel of his hands on me, the way he pierces my skin and controls my body as he puts me back together, is both invasive and intimate.

Logan is dangerous. I’ve sensed it from the start, but even knowing how easily he can hurt me and that a part of him clearly wants to, it’s almost impossible to fight the part of me that’s drawn to that.

Tohim.

His fingers brush against my skin, a smooth counterpoint to the line of pain he’s stitching into my flesh, and goosebumps erupt across my body.

He notices.

Of course he notices.

This man noticeseverything.

His gaze roams over them, a look of utter fascination on his normally blank face, as if he’s never seen anything like this.Then he blinks, shifting his focus back to the stitches. He ties off the thread and cuts away the extra before rising smoothly to his feet.

“You’re done.” he says flatly, looking away.

He picks up my shirt and holds it out to me. I take it from him, then wince a little as I pull it over my head and the raw line of stitches—another mark I’ll always bear from him—pull at my waist. Logan stands at a distance, keeping his gaze averted.

He’s always seemed so enigmatic and terrifying, but now he seems almost afraid ofme, as if he’s scared to let me get too close, or even to look at me. For some reason, that thought makes me feel less anxious than I did when I arrived. I may be completely off-balance here, but at least I’m not alone in that.

“Thank you,” I murmur as I tug down the hem of my shirt. “For the stitches. But also for Chloe. For helping to get her back tonight.”

I really mean it. I’m grateful from the bottom of my heart that they actually got her back. I owe a lot to all three of the men in this house, but Logan is the one who planned it, who made sure all bases were covered despite the variables he couldn’t account for, who thought everything through and left no room for mistakes. And then he took out the Capside men as easily as he flipped the French toast he made me the other day.

Smoothly. Effortlessly. Precisely.

I draw in a breath, fighting back my emotions, and Logan looks up in time to see me blink the tears from my eyes. His brows draw together, and he takes a small step closer to me.

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