A Reputation Dark & Deadly (A Dark & Deadly Series Book 2)

by Heather C. Myers

  "I told him I didn't," Peyton finally said. She wondered if Logan could hear her heart the way she could, revealing just how intense the moment between them really was. "It's not like you to share what's yours."

  "And are you mine?"

  Another lingering question Peyton couldn't answer outright. A question she wanted to answer but was afraid of the repercussions. Afraid to want to belong to him. Afraid if she did, her days would be numbered.

  "I didn't want to come between the two of you," she mumbled. She was chicken shit and she knew it. She couldn't even look at him. Instead, her eyes were on her hands. They had a dull, dark shade to them - she was cold.

  Logan was silent for a moment. Then: "I need to go."

  No walking her to her door. No asking if she was okay. Somehow, she had ruined everything and she didn't even know how to fix it. If this could be fixed. If it was worth fixing.

  So Peyton unbuckled her seatbelt and stepped into the pouring rain. She headed for the entrance and didn't bother to turn back to look at him. It wouldn't have mattered anyway. Logan was already gone.

  Chapter 10

  A loud pounding at her door just before three o'clock in the morning woke Peyton up. Her heart started to race as she threw off the covers and padded over to her front door. Who the hell was knocking this loudly this early in the morning? She rolled up onto her toes and checked her peephole. A small sigh of relief left her nostrils and as she placed her heels back to the floor, confusion began to twinge in her stomach.

  What was Logan doing here? And why did he seem so irate?

  She unlocked her door and slid out her security lock before opening the door and stepping aside, letting him in. He walked in without saying anything to her. The first thing she noticed was how strongly he reeked of alcohol and she realized in that moment that he was drunk. Logan Jeffrey was drunk. Which meant he had to have consumed a ton of alcohol, considering the guy was a solid six foot two. Logan didn't seem to be the type of guy to be undisciplined when it came to drinking. She didn't think he was the type of guy that favored getting drunk at all. Enjoy his alcohol? Absolutely. But not let his senses get hazy and lose all cognizance of his environment and what was going on.

  She closed and locked the door behind her after checking to make sure no one else had woken up. She knew it was common for him to meet the TA's in their dorm rooms late at night but that didn't mean she needed her neighbors and fellow crim students believing she fell into that category. Because she didn't. She had no idea why he was here in the first place.

  Her eyes followed him as he made his way to her bed. He had on his leather jacket, unzipped to reveal a plain grey t-shirt and faded black jeans. He still wore his motorcycle boots, and while his hair was slicked back, it was messier than usual. Instead of sitting on the bed, he turned to face her. He still somehow walked relatively straight, considering how drunk he was, and even though he was slightly hunched over, he still towered over her. It was only after he turned to face her did she notice he seemed to be cradling his right hand with his left one. Her eyes narrowed. Maybe he hurt himself knocking so loudly. But that wasn't it and Peyton knew it.

  She shot her eyes up to him. "Logan," she said, trying to keep her voice both calm and steady. "Are you all right?"

  That question seemed safe enough. She was concerned and it didn't come across as though she was interrogating him, either. Once he answered this question, they could move on and Peyton could attempt to figure out what was wrong and why he was here. Did this have to do with what she confessed to him earlier today? It wouldn't surprise her in the least but that still didn't explain his injured hand, his drunken state, and why he was here.

  Logan still didn't say anything. Peyton pressed her lips together and dropped her eyes to his hand. Since he didn't seem to be in a talkative mood, she decided to shift focus.

  "Your hand," she told him, nodding at it. "What happened to it?"

  "I broke it," he got out. His voice was rougher than usual due to the alcohol but somehow, it didn't come out slurred.

  Her eyes shot up into his. "You broke it?" she questioned, furrowing her brow.

  "That's what I fucking said," he told her. His tone was defensive and she felt her own body start to respond to his attack. She closed her eyes and loosed a breath, trying to remind herself that he was drunk and upset about something. If she lashed out at him right now, he would close up entirely.

  "Okay," she said slowly, trying to keep the attitude out of her tone, "how did you break it?"

  "You told me," he said, his breathing heavy. His eyes sliced over to Peyton and she watched as he eased into a sitting position on her bed, the same way he had a few weeks ago when she was sick and he had pounded on her door, rudely announcing his presence. That seemed so long ago... "You fucking told me what Brandon did. What he said."

  Peyton furrowed her brow. "Yes..." She let her voice trail off, taking a seat next to him but ensuring the distance between them was still solid. She didn't want to touch him if he didn't want to be touched. "What does that have to do with you and me right now?"

  "Everything," he snapped. He caught sight of Peyton's since and looked away, shaking his head. His eyes fell into his lap, resting on his broken hand. "He tried" -

  "But he didn't," she told him quietly.

  His eyes cut back to her. "But he tried," he said through gritted teeth. "If you hadn't..." He clenched his jaw together and narrowed his eyes. "Why the fuck didn't you tell me this before? Why keep your fucking mouth shut? Were you protecting him?"

  "Hold up," Peyton said, her eyes flashing emerald as she looked at him with narrowed eyes. "Before you say one more thing, you better think really hard. Because it sounds like you're accusing me of protecting my attacker and I know someone who holds consent up as one of his most important values would never do that."

  Logan clenched his teeth together, his eyes the color of fire. "Fuck," he breathed out, shaking his head. "You're right. Fuck. I'm sorry."

  Peyton's eyes widened. She hadn't expected that. She pushed her brow up and looked at his hunched form. She knew he needed reassurance but she wasn't sure how to give it to him. She knew the last thing he wanted was pity.

  "You can tell me about it on the way to urgent care," Peyton said, standing up. She grabbed Logan's left hand and tugged him into a standing position. "Come on. Let's go."

  "What are you talking about?" he asked, allowing to pull him into a standing position.

  "You broke your hand," she said slowly, making sure to enunciate every word. "We need to get you checked out, probably at the emergency room since it's past nine and I'm pretty sure urgent care is closed."

  "They're not going to do anything about it," he told her through a growl. He reminded her, in that moment, of the petulant beast from Beauty & the Beast, and how immature he was reacting to her words. Maybe it was the booze. Maybe it was something else entirely.

  "You still need to get checked out," she told him. "Don't you like to bat or play baseball or something?" When Logan shot her a curious look, she shrugged her shoulders. "I noticed the bat in the trunk of your car the other night. I didn't see a glove so I just assumed you like to hit things." Her eyes shot to his hand and she pushed her brow up to make her point.

  He clenched his jaw. "If I refuse?" he asked, slowly raising a brow and trying to keep his voice controlled. It came out restrained, if anything.

  "Feel free to refuse," Peyton said, "but get out of my dorm then. I'm not going to have you actively prevent yourself from medical care under my roof. Plus, if you really like to bat, you should do yourself a favor and get that checked out as soon as possible. God forbid you damage a ligament and can't hold a bat the same way again."

  Logan shot her a look. "Do you have any idea what you're fucking saying?" he asked but she did note he didn't immediately refuse her.

  "Not really." She shook her head and gave him a smile. "But I know I'm fucking serious." She stood and offered him her hand. "Come on, Professor. D
on't be so stubborn." He allowed her to pull himself up and kept his hand in hers despite the fact that the was standing already and had no reason to still hold onto her. "I'll drive."

  "I don't fucking think so, sweetheart," he said.

  She turned to give him a challenging stare. "I'm not getting in your car where you're only capable of driving with one hand," she pointed out, shooting her brows up as though daring him to argue. "It would be good for you, you know."

  He arched a skeptical brow. "What?" he asked.

  "Letting go of control once in a while," she said and then slowly interlaced her fingers with his before gently tugging on him once more. "Come on. Trust me, okay?"

  Logan said nothing but allowed her to tug him to the front door. After she grabbed her purse and her keys, they walked out of her room and locked the door behind them. Peyton made sure they weren't touching when she led him to her car in the front lot; she didn't want anyone to get the wrong idea. He already had a notorious reputation, after all.

  When they reached her 2003 Nissan Maxima, Logan arched his brow once more. "This is your car?" he asked drolly.

  "This is my baby," Peyton corrected with a proud smile on her face. She placed her hand on the top of the sleek white car and rubbed it affectionately. "This is B. Whizzle."

  Logan furrowed his brow, shooting her a look from the passenger side of the car. "Fuck you say?" he asked.

  "B. Whizzle," she repeated, unlocking her door and sliding into the passenger seat. Logan followed suit and sat in the tan leather seat. He reached for his seatbelt with his right hand and grimaced before using his left to snap it into place. He reached across his body and shut the door. "I named her after my grandma, who gave me the car after she died. The car is white, so her real name is Betty White but she has street cred, so I call her B. Whizzle."

  Logan rolled his eyes and shook his head. "You're so fucking weird," he muttered more to himself than to her.

  She smiled at him. "You like it, though," she told him.

  He harrumphed but didn't deny it. Her smile got even bigger.

  "So," she began, trying to sound innocent but knowing she was failing at that. She was backing out of her parking spot and after a quick glance around the lot, hoped she would have the spot when she came back just because it was so close to her dorm room. "What happened?" She glanced at him quickly before reverting back to the road. "And don't say nothing. Or remain silent. Logan Jeffrey doesn't get a broken hand and doesn't show up to his student's dorm room drunk. Are you okay?"

  Logan sighed through his nose. "I broke my brother's jaw," he told her quietly.

  "You what?" Peyton exclaimed, her eyes wide. She nearly slammed on the breaks but she got a hold of herself. Still, she shot him a look. "Why would you break his jaw?"

  Logan clenched his jaw so it popped and glanced out the window and into the black sky. "What do you want me to say?" he asked. His voice was still low but it was poignant and direct.

  Peyton wanted to strangle him for his riddles. Why couldn't he be direct and just tell her what happened? Couldn't he tell she was being sincere? "The truth," she told him as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

  "What he did to you was unacceptable," Logan finally said, his eyes on Peyton's profile, intense and steady.

  Peyton felt her cheeks get red at his explanation and she hoped he couldn't make out how red she was in the shadows. She shifted in her seat and cleared her throat. "I know," she told him. "He's still your brother."

  "You think that fucking excuses what he did?" he said, twisting in his seat so he faced her. She could feel the raw anger radiating off of his body in waves.

  "Of course not," she told him defensively. "But just because he was an asshole doesn't mean you need to break his jaw."

  "I should have done more," he murmured under his breath. Peyton was almost positive she wasn't supposed to hear but she did. She brushed it off and focused on the road ahead.

  "That doesn't explain why you're drunk," she pointed out.

  "I didn't say it did," Logan said defensively.

  Peyton rolled her eyes, pressing her lips together to keep the retort from coming out of her mouth. She took a deep breath, trying to figure out what to say so as to not start a fight with him. He was drunk, in pain, and somehow wound up at her door after breaking his brother's jaw. It felt like forever ago when they were arguing on the side of the road in his Suburban under the moonlight but, in reality, it had only been a handful of hours.

  "Fine," she got out, not bothering to hide her annoyed tone. She didn't look at him as she continued. "Be a baby about it. I didn't realize you got all butt hurt about whatever it is that caused you to get drunk. The scary and intimidating Logan Jeffrey never loses control and, somehow, he winds up at my door in the middle of the night, drunk and injured and suddenly, unable to speak." Peyton rolled her eyes and shot him a look. "You're a real piece of work, you know that?"

  "Excuse me?" he shot at her, taken aback.

  "Did I stutter?" She pulled into the small emergency room just off campus, thankful the lot looked relative empty for a Saturday night. She didn't want anyone to see her and Logan together, especially since Logan would have to explain his injury in class. "I asked you a question and you got defensive. If you don't want to talk about it, just tell me that. Don't be a baby about it." She slid into a parking stall and once she parked her car and turned off the engine, unbuckled her seatbelt and shot him a look. "Now, come on. Let's go check out your hand."

  "Excuse fucking me?" he repeated, his eyes two balls of flames.

  "You heard me," she told him, matching his burning stare with one of her own. "Logan, it's okay to let down your guard every once in a while. I'm here for you, okay? I'm here for you. It's okay. Stop being this arrogant asshole who doesn't need anybody. Stop pushing me away. You don't have to be tough anymore."

  Logan's eyes softened to a degree but he didn't fully relax. Instead, he searched her eyes for something, something she couldn't figure out. Maybe he was looking for proof. Maybe he was looking for a reason to believe her. So she decided to give him one.

  Without stopping to think about what she was doing or consider the implications of her actions, she leaned over the dashboard and gently placed her lips onto his. It wasn't passionate and deep and it wasn't long and intimate. It was a simple peck on his lips that told him she cared about him. It was more than just friendly but less than lustful. It was filled with feeling and she hoped he understood that. Just as he was starting to kiss her back, she pulled away and looked at him, hoping her eyes were soft and honest.

  Peyton broke from the kiss slowly, opening her eyes so she could lock with his. Before she could even relax against the seat, Logan reached out and pulled her to him, kissing her again. This time, the kiss was passionate. He ran his tongue along her bottom lip, demanding entrance without forcing it on her. She gladly gave it to him, reaching up to lose her fingers in his hair. She loved the feeling of her fingers running through his silky hair and she opened her mouth wider, letting him have full access to her mouth. He couldn't hold her like he usually did during a kiss because of his hand but that didn't hinder it in any way.

  When they both had to breathe, they pulled apart. Logan didn't let her go far, however. Not with his left hand on her face, cupping her cheek. He rested his forehead on hers, closed his eyes, and breathed.

  "I lost it when you told me," he finally said, his voice above a whisper but just as gravelly, if not more so. He slowly opened his eyes so he could lock eyes with her, serious. He didn't look drunk anymore. Now, he looked ashen, stone-cold sober. "I fucking lost it. I wanted to rip him apart limb from limb. Before you say anything, Brandon and I barely fucking speak. He's always felt animosity towards me because my father fucked his mom and came back to mine. I like to tell him that at least his is still alive. If anything, his mom escaped from my dad. Mine sure as shit isn't."

  "Then why did you take me to Old Newport?" Peyton asked through a breath,
her voice soft and yet so loud in the silent car.

  "Because it made you happy," he told her as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I'm not a fucking romantic but I know how to make you happy. And seeing you smile was fucking worth seeing Brandon." He clenched his jaw. "I never should have fucking left you alone with him." He curled his left hand into a fist and was going to do the same with his right when he hissed in pain.

  Peyton pulled away from him, the reminder that they were at the emergency room for a reason slapping her across the face.

  "Come on," she urged, this time more gently. "We really need to get your hand checked out."

  He didn't argue and followed her out of the car.

  The emergency room was practically empty, which was perfect for Peyton and Logan. She checked him in and after he was issued a wristband, they were escorted from the lobby and issued a room where all of Logan's vitals were taken. Peyton filled out the paperwork, which she felt was a privilege considering there was a lot of information she never would have known about him, like the fact that he had had his appendix removed when he was thirteen and he had a birthday in October.

  They weren't there for more than two hours.

  Logan was recognized by some of the staff and he was rushed inside. Peyton had planned to wait in the lobby but Logan didn't tell her to leave and the nurses didn't either. So she stayed. She stayed through the long wait, the vital signs, the annoying heart rate machines. They still drew blood and Peyton had to look away. Logan smiled at that, a smile Peyton caught from the corner of her eye.

  "You don't like needles?" he asked once the nurse left.

  Peyton shook her head. "I don't like watching them piercing the skin," she told him. "It freaks me out."

  He shook his head, still smiling. "So fucking weird," he muttered but not in a bad way.

  The doctor returned and examined his hand. It was determined the hand wasn't actually broken but fractured and required a cast, which pissed Logan off since he wouldn't be able to bat for several weeks. Peyton wanted to tell him that he shouldn't go around breaking jaws but she decided it would probably be best if she kept that thought to herself for now. After they placed a splint on it, they discharged him and handed him a small instructional packet Peyton had a feeling Logan wouldn't even glance at.