Page 97 of Consuming Logan

Dear God, Randall Lester was a cruel man, capable of inflicting pain at the slightest provocation. Whoever his superior was, that man had to be a monster straight from the pit of hell.

“Good,” Ash beamed. “Invite the purse strings to the party.”

The way Randall’s eyes filled with nervous energy; she didn’t think Ash would like the party favors.

As soon as Logan was shoved into the Tower suite, his senses were on high alert. Franklin closed the door behind him. So, this is where he would get his woman back. Stumbling forward, he searched for Ava.

She sat on the floor in the middle of the room. His eyes took snapshots of every change since he last saw his woman. Her legs were folded beneath her, bore scrapes and scratches, uneven and welling with blood. Logan’s body trembled. A dam broke unleashing a flood of fury. His teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached.

“Ava.” He heard her name fall from his lips, but his gut fell faster, harder.

Whether he realized it or not, Ash had dead man walking stamped on the center of his chest. Logan would kill him for hurting Ava.

Her blouse, ripped in several places, revealed sweat-drenched skin beneath. He could hear his heart rate increase, the sound louder than a teenage garage band. Her chest heaved and her breaths came too fast. Pain. Ava was in pain. Her left arm was draped protectively across her belly. His warrior bride’s motherly instinct was to protect their babies.

Blood thundered in his veins. A murderous red haze filled his vision.

When she said his name, “Logan.”

The one word seemed to cost her. Logan picked up the pace, eager to traverse the opulent suite “Ava, what did he do—”

Slowly she looked up, the slight movement jerky and uncoordinated. The air in Logan’s lungs froze. Her face. A bruise covered her cheek. From her mouth, a bloody stream trickled down her chin from a jagged split to her upper lip.

“I’m okay,” she said, lifting her head higher, that quiet strength burning bright in her eyes.

“Who the hell hit you?”

Out of nowhere Logan felt the blow come down on his head. He lost his balance, staggering a few steps.

“I did,” said the friend he’d called brother, shaking his hand against the obvious sting.

Logan shook off the blow, refusing to go down. “I’m going to kill you,” he growled.

Ash laughed. “Not surprised by yours threat,” he shrugged. “But her,” he said, pointing at Ava. “Imagine my surprise when prim and polished Lieutenant Ava Walters put up a fight.”

Ash moved to stand behind Ava.

“Masters. Ava Masters to you,” Logan rasped. His family needed him. He needed them. Ash gave him a satisfied smirk as if Logan’s retort impressed him.

“Whoa,” Ash grinned, “your head is as hard as it ever was, log man.”

“I’m, going to kill you,” Logan said shaking off the blow.

The man Logan knew as Ash smiled. The expression arrogant and cocky.

“Not if I kill you first. But we have to stick with the plan.”

“What plan is that?” Logan snarled.

He gestured to Monique. “Offloading little Miss Betsy Wetsy over there for a cool two mil.”

An older, scarier Mr. Fantasy Island-looking guy sitting next to Monique on the couch said, “I will take the girl off your hands, now. There’s no need for the bidding. The money transfer can be completed in minutes, Si,” the man responded in Spanish.

No, Logan didn’t see a thing. Was this twisted freak trying to purchase Monique? The buyer.

Logan snarled at his nemesis. “You selling women now?”

Ash shrugged. “Kids got to eat.”