Page 28 of Pretty Vengeful Queen

His gaze snaps back up to meet mine. “Yeah. I’m pretty sure I do.”

My breath hitches in my throat. I don’t know who moves first, I only know that Maddoc’s hands are suddenly on my ass, lifting me against him, and I’ve got mine wrapped around his shoulders as I drag him down where I need him.

I have to fucking taste him.

I want to do nothing but justfeelfor a while.

Logan walks back into the room before I get what I need.

“You’re hurt,” he says in a flat tone that I’m starting to understand is just another form of armor for him.

Logan is no stranger to inflicting pain, but when it’s been done to me, done by someone other than him, he fucking hates it.

Maddoc’s arms instantly loosen at the interruption, and he gently moves me away from his body, frowning as his eyes rake my torso. “That motherfucker hit you.”

It’s not a question and doesn’t require an answer, but apparently both men are going to insist that we address it before anything else happens.

I’d rather not think about Austin at all right now, so I try to divert them. “I’m fine.”

Maddoc shakes his head, pushing me toward Logan. “Take care of our girl,” the overprotective bastard says. “And be sure to catalog every fucking scrape, bruise, and laceration.”

Logan nods. “He’ll pay for every one of them.”

The two of them share a look, and even though the heat still simmering in my core makes me want to bitch about being cock blocked, there are worse things than being coddled by two overprotective bastards. Or three, since I’ve got no doubt at all that Dante would back them if he were here too.

As much as I want their hands on me for dirtier reasons right now, the feeling of being cared for by these men makes something just as sweet and addictive as the lust I feel for them unfurl inside me.

10

RILEY

Logan doesn’t speakas he leads me up to his room, but I’m used to his silences by now. He’ll probably never be the most expressive person, but he wants me here. I can tell.

“You missed me, didn’t you?” I tease him, something I never would have had the guts to do when we first met.

He doesn’t answer, but he flashes me the small, private smile that’s starting to come to mean the world to me as he opens the door and ushers me through.

His room is just as orderly and pristine as every other time I’ve been inside it, but this time, it doesn’t feel as weird to be here as it has in the past. I don’t feel like I have to walk on eggshells because of how volatile he can be. I’m not sneaking or snooping, and Logan’s not just putting up with me, either.

“Sit,” he says, nodding toward the edge of his bed where he’s already got medical supplies laid out. He turns away to grab the chair from his desk, trusting me to obey him, and knowing it doesn’t stress him out to have me in his space anymore tells me more than any words could how he actually feels.

He positions the chair in front of me as I pull my hair back and wind it into a knot to keep it out of the way. I get that tiny smile again in approval, then Logan grips my chin with his elegant fingers and starts carefully looking me over, his gaze skimming over all the aching areas on my face and throat from Austin beating on me.

I’ve finally figured out that the less expression Logan shows, the harder he’s working to keep it suppressed inside, and as he catalogs each injury, his eyes go completely flat, his face as expressionless as stone.

He’s furious at Austin, the kind of fury that only death and dismemberment will satisfy, and the darkness inside me responds to that fury with a rush of heat that makes me squirm.

“Be still,” Logan says, tightening his grip to exert the control that’s so necessary for him.

And that I find so damn arousing.

His fingers brush over a stinging cut on my cheek. “This one will scar.”

I didn’t even realize the cut was there until Logan touched it, but Austin was wearing one of those gaudy gold West Point Gang knuckle rings when he backhanded me, so I’m not surprised.

I can’t hide my wince as Logan starts to clean it, and I feel the slightest tremor in his fingers as he closes it with a couple of butterfly bandages.

“It’s fine,” I whisper.

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