by Layla Nash
Logan retrieved a giant black duffel bag, no doubt Edgar's supplies, and crouched in front of me. He examined my bruised and bloodied knees, the egg-sized lumps on each, and probed them gently before glancing up at me. "How bad do they hurt?"
"Not so much any more," I breathed, mesmerized. His eyes were definitely not brown. They were brilliant gold, almost reflecting the sunlight from the east-facing window back at me.
He smiled and that rumble started in his chest again. "That's good."
Logan smeared cool antibiotic cream across the scrapes, careful not to get any on the sheets, then covered them with gauze and stretchy wrap bandages. The only sound was the hush-hush of his breathing and that crazy purr as he picked up my hands, examining my wrists and elbows for any other evidence of violence. My breath hitched and he looked at my face, worry in the lines around his eyes, but the purr grew louder and I smiled, a little puzzled.
His fingers slid under my chin and he tilted my face, peering at my cheek and jaw. Logan spread more of the cream across a scrape on my jaw, near my cheek, then plastered a bandaid across it. He still held my jaw.
Time slowed to a crawl, and I leaned forward, searching his eyes for a hint of why he helped me. Why he cared enough to give me a bandaid for a tiny scratch. He stopped breathing as my lips brushed his, as my palms rested on his cheeks, drew him closer. I closed my eyes, pressed my mouth against his soft lips again. His hand slid to the back of my neck, drew me closer. I melted against him.
An eternity passed in a blink, and he retreated, stroked my cheek and my throat and across my bare collarbone. Logan took a deep breath and kissed my forehead, my jaw, behind my ear. Made a strangled noise in his throat before holding my face carefully. His eyes were definitely gold, radiating their own sunlight at me. "There's time for more of that later."
"Now is a good time," I said. Drunk on him, on everything about him.
He smiled, ducked his head to hide it but couldn't as he looked back at me. "Not when you're wearing just a towel, baby. And you need to rest. You should take some ibuprofen for sure, and I have painkillers if you want them."
He was right. Everything felt strange and off, as if I moved under deep water. Kissing him on my bed was not a good idea, even worse when I was naked. My voice still came out hoarse. "Just the ibuprofen."
Logan retrieved a glass of water and a bottle of pills, shaking a few into my palm and watching as I swallowed them. He nudged me to lay back but I frowned, rubbing my sore shoulder. "Clothes. I need something to wear."
He glanced at his phone as it rang, then pulled another t-shirt, sweatshirt, and enormous sweatpants from the duffel bag. "These?"
I laughed, holding the towel with one hand as I held up the t-shirt. "Seriously?"
"I like the thought of you wearing my clothes," he said, then ducked to kiss my forehead. "Only if you want to. I have to take this; it's Edgar. I'll be right outside, just shout if you need anything."
He strode for the door, a completely different man as he barked into the phone, "What?" and closed the door solidly behind himself.
I looked at where he'd gone, swallowing hard. Then I staggered to my feet, holding the towel against my chest as I hobbled to the dresser to retrieve panties and sports bra and yoga pants. But I pulled on his shirt, because I liked the idea of wearing his clothes, too.
Eight
Logan stood in the hall outside Natalia's apartment, scowling enough he thought all the bones in his face would break. "Say that again."
Edgar's laconic voice only made him want to put his fist through the wall. "The manager was laundering money through the restaurant. Something about the deliveries being used to cycle cash through the kitchen. He's in deep with a loan shark or two, from what I can gather. The former owner claims he knows nothing about it, but I don't believe him. I can push harder if you want."
When Edgar said push harder, that usually meant people ended up in the hospital. Logan pinched the bridge of his nose, wanting only to be curled up around Natalia in her bed. "Not yet. Which loan sharks does he owe?"
"Bridger and Hanover so far. He won't admit to anyone else."
"We have a meeting?"
"Yep." Edgar spoke to someone in the background, then returned his attention to the phone. "At the restaurant in half an hour. If you want to handle this yourself, great. If not, I will make our interest in the restaurant and the chef's personal safety abundantly clear."
"I'll be there." Logan glanced at Natalia's door, wishing he had time to put new locks on it. "Make sure the manager is there as well. I want to make sure he understands the message. Have Carter pick up new door hardware. Deadbolts and a chain at least."
"Locking someone in somewhere?" The laugh in Edgar's voice would have gotten anyone else punched through the phone.
As it was, Logan only gritted his teeth. "She lives in a shitty part of town. Until I can convince her to move somewhere safer, the door gets reinforced. I'll buy the damn building if I have to. Have Carter wait until I'm back at her place, then he can start work."
"Good enough. See you in a few." The line went dead.
Logan listened at the door for a moment being entering the apartment. Natalia lay curled up in her bed, the careful nest he'd constructed around her disassembled. She was completely covered from head to toe, from socks all the way to the towel still wrapping her damp hair. He refilled the glass of water and left the bottle of pills on the small table next to the bed, crouching to rest his chin on the mattress. She opened her eyes and smiled drowsily. "You're back."
"I'm back." He stroked her cheek, trying to memorize every detail of her face. "But I have to go take care of some business, okay? I'll be back in an hour. You rest. And use this if you need anything." He took the burner phone from the duffel bag and left it on the mattress right next to her hand. "My number is programmed, so are Edgar's and Atticus's. If you need anything — anything, Natalia — call. Any of us."
"Sure," she sighed, eyes drifting shut again. He knew perfectly well it was the adrenaline crash and the cold and just a bad morning that made her so tired, but it still sparked concern in his chest.
He would have given his entire fortune just to crawl in next to her and keep her warm. But the only way to guarantee her safety and the safety of that restaurant was to make it clear to the loan sharks that Logan Chase would not tolerate anything untoward. So he forced himself to walk out and lock the door behind him.
Every mile he drove away from her made his skin crawl. By the time he reached the restaurant, he verged on a shift. It took several minutes in the car, concentrating on breathing exercises, to make sure he didn't go full lion in the back alley. Benedict waited patiently on the loading dock, carrying the folio of legal documents he wielded as effectively as Atticus used his fists. Logan forced himself to get out of the car, ignoring Benedict's raised eyebrows at his attire. Normally Logan wouldn't be caught dead outside a gym in sweatpants, but his jeans still occupied a corner of Natalia's bathroom floor. And he didn't mind for a second that his clothes marked her apartment as part of his territory.
"Well?"
Benedict glanced at his papers. "The only complication that might arise is whether any of the illicit funds benefited the soup kitchen. It looks like our friend Joseph was a fairly incompetent money launderer, but I don't think either Bridger or Hanover knew how bad he was at it."
"Are they here yet?"
"Not yet."
"Good. Let's go." He stormed across the loading dock and into the back of the restaurant, through the kitchen to the dining room. Atticus stood over the manager, who looked much the worse for wear, while Edgar taped a sign to the door that said the restaurant was closed for two days.
Benedict nodded to his brothers and spoke quietly to Edgar before returning to the manager's office, no doubt to start calling employees. Logan paused long enough to tell him to assure the employees they would still receive their full pay for the two days the restaurant was not operating, then turned his attention t
o the dirtbag manager.
Cold fury turned his insides to ice, and it took every ounce of control in him to keep from just killing the man. The manager's lank hair fell across his forehead, almost obscuring the bruises and cuts from Atticus's attention, and his hands were bound to the legs of the chair. He still looked pretty self-assured, despite the rough treatment.
The manager grunted. "So you're the bankroll? Look, dude, whoever you are —"
"Don't speak." Edgar said it absently, as if he'd repeated it several times already, and didn't look up from where he reviewed the night's reservations.
Logan cracked his knuckles. "They coming to the front or the back?"
"Front." Edgar glanced up, then canted his head for Logan to join him at the maître d' station. He tapped the stack of schematics he examined, and it took Logan only a moment to recognize a security plan. "They'll be here any second. I don't anticipate either giving us trouble. But in anticipation for this idiot's other debts coming around to us, I drew up a new plan for cameras, alarms, and a few other tricks."
"Good." Logan stared unseeing at the drawings, the lists of equipment. "Buy it, install it as soon as possible. Tomorrow is too late. And every night that she's here, one of our guys is as well. In the kitchen or the back or at a damn table — someone we trust is here."
"Not a problem." When Logan gave him a look, Edgar raised an eyebrow. "One soufflé and there will be a list of volunteers from across the company. I don't think you'll have to worry about it." He got up and went to unlock the front door. "Looks like our company is here."
The manager laughed. "You guys are in for it, you don't know who —"
He silenced with a grunt, and when Logan looked back, Atticus stood there serenely.
Bridger and Hanover ran all sorts of illicit businesses though their bread and butter was loaning enormous amounts of money to people they knew probably couldn't pay it back. Then they blackmailed the victims into joining or facilitating their schemes. Like the shithead manager laundering money through a legitimate restaurant.
The man, Hanover, looked like an accountant — slight, bookish, wearing half-moon glasses on the end of his nose as he ducked into the dim restaurant and blinked. The disarming appearance was all a facade, though — the man was ruthless. Absolutely ruthless. He ordered assassinations and disappearances as easily as he might have ordered one of Natalia's soufflés. His partner, Bridger, looked like any small town beauty queen and even talked with a drawl. She was even worse than Hanover.
Edgar locked the door behind them, and the manager started to pull at his bound hands. "Hanover, man, you gotta —"
Again, Atticus silenced him.
Hanover frowned thoughtfully as he looked around the restaurant. "Joseph? Whatever is this —" He cut off when he saw Atticus, then took a step back as his gaze drifted to Logan and Edgar. Hanover licked his lips, hand a little shaky as he brushed at his comb-over. "Oh my. Mr. Chase. Whatever is the matter?"
"Sit." Edgar pulled out a chair at one of the tables, close enough that the manager could hear and remember, though the man's jaw hung slack at the loan shark's reaction to Logan and his brothers.
Hanover sat immediately, as did Bridger — although she smiled as she walked past Atticus, her fingers trailing across his chest until Atticus's face flushed. Logan seated himself across from them, resting his hands on the smooth white tablecloth before he spoke. "We have a slight conflict of interest to resolve, Mr. Hanover."
Always better to start polite. Hanover and Bridger dabbled in loans to some of the shifters and were engaged in some other questionable betting, including on the illegal fights that some shifters ran. They knew enough to cause him some trouble, although the trouble would only last until Atticus got his hands on them.
"I can assure you, Mr. Chase," Bridger started, her voice a husky purr intended to lure hapless men into stupid business decisions. She even gave him a look at her cleavage, playing with her necklace. "Our interests will never conflict with yours. If there was perhaps a — misunderstanding? — we can correct that. Easily."
"Good." Logan sat back as the familiar corporate raider mask settled over him. "I purchased this restaurant two days ago. The chef is a friend of mine."
"Natalia Spencer," Hanover said, thin lips twitching. "She's very talented. Congratulations."
A bead of sweat broke out on the man's forehead, and Bridger looked a little uncertain.
Logan nodded, fingers drumming on the table. "Indeed. Unfortunately, there have been some ... irregularities in the day to day management of the restaurant that have caused my accountants and lawyers some consternation."
Bridger looked over her shoulder at Joey, her expression hard. "I'm sure we can explain any irregularities, Mr. Chase."
The manager stared between them all as if he couldn't quite understand what was being said. Logan didn't allow himself to celebrate. "I'm glad. While I understand this restaurant was used in the past to accommodate some of your more sensitive requirements, I can't have that occur any longer. I hope that is not too inconvenient for you."
"Not at all." Hanover cleared his throat, sitting forward until his dark eyes glinted in the dim room. "May I ask, Mr. Chase, how, uh, thorough are your accountants?"
"Very."
The thin man's face paled still more, and another bead of sweat joined the first on his forehead. "I see. I do see."
"But they are also quite discreet." Logan held out his hand, and Edgar, standing behind him, placed a file in his hand. It may or may not have contained anything useful, but they didn't know that. "As of this morning, I am the only person in possession of the previous financial records for this establishment. That's how it will stay, so long as our interests no longer intersect at this restaurant. I hope that is agreeable?"
"Quite." Bridger toyed with one of her long earrings, her eyes dead and flat as a shark's as she studied him. "We appreciate your discretion."
"I thought you would." Logan frowned at the manager sitting off to the side, and his fingers continued their muffled tattoo against the table. "As a professional courtesy, though, I would offer a bit of insight into what my accountants found. The manager is sloppy. Lazy and wasteful. His fingerprints, yours, and those of your vendors are all over every transaction that occurred. Had someone audited this company, I've no doubt you would both have a lot of uncomfortable questions to answer."
Annoyance tinged Bridger's expression. "Is that a fact. Thank you for bringing it to our attention."
They looked ready to go, itching to get at their books and the manager to figure out what type of cleanup they had to do, but Logan moved his hand and they froze. He chose his words with care. "On a personal note. Ms. Spencer is very special to me." He glared at them until both the loan sharks nodded, clear in his meaning, and only then did Logan go on, pointing at the manager. "This morning, when she discovered something amiss with the delivery and called me, your employee attacked her. Tried to rape her or kill her."
He paused to let the rage settle before it choked him and was only somewhat surprised at the disgust in Bridger's face. Logan went on, keeping his voice quiet so they wouldn't know he was at the end of his control. "Luckily for him and you, my brothers were close enough to handle the situation. Had I arrived first, you would be cleaning up pieces of your employee from the loading dock. The piece of shit continues to threaten her and inferred he would return to the restaurant at some point to even the score."
"I assure you, Mr. Chase, that will certainly never happen." Hanover removed a plain white handkerchief from inside his suit jacket, patting at his forehead. "We will have a talk with Joseph."
"See that you do." Logan glanced inside the prop folder, then closed it and handed it back to Edgar. "If I see him near this restaurant, or within half a mile of Ms. Spencer, the repercussions will reflect not only on him but on you. None of us want that."
"No," Bridger said.
"I hope we understand each other." Logan rose, done with the meeting and read
y to be back with Natalia, hopefully before she woke up alone. He shook their hands briefly, letting them feel that he could crush every bone in their bodies without much effort.
"We do, Mr. Chase, we certainly do." Hanover scowled as he looked at the sullen manager. "I am terribly sorry for the inconvenience. We will certainly make the gravity of the situation clear to Joseph. Please pass our sincerest apologies to Ms. Spencer. If there are any expenses associated with her treatment, please do pass them along, and we will be pleased to cover them."
"Not necessary, but thank you." Logan watched Atticus untie the manager and propel him out the front door with a little more force than necessary, though neither Bridger nor Hanover seemed concerned when the manager flew face-first into a light post. The loan sharks strode out and turned in separate directions. A dark sedan rolled up and an enormous man, probably their Atticus, picked Joseph up and threw him in the trunk before speeding off.
Edgar locked the door, closed the shades, and looked at Logan. "I gather you're busy for the rest of the day?"
"At least. Have Carter head toward her apartment, and once Benedict is done with the books here, I want to find a better apartment for her. Closer. I'll talk to her about moving later, but I'd rather have the options ready to go."
"Got it." Edgar frowned at the paperwork in his hands though he didn't seem to see any of it. His voice lowered. "How is she?"
Logan rubbed his face, sighing. "In pain, bruised. Scared. Tired. She was resting when I left. I'll give you a call later. You can bring dinner over if you want."
"Just let me know." Edgar gathered his things and went to find Benedict, and Logan made a beeline to the door.
Atticus followed on his heels, hands shoved in his pockets. "I'll come with Edgar, if that's okay? I want to make sure she's okay."
Logan nodded, slapping his shoulder. "Of course, At."
Then he was at the car, driving as fast as he could back to where Natalia, his mate, slept.