“Go away, Logan.”
“Ellie, please. I was a twat, I know . . . I’m sorry. Let me in.”
And I want to shout to him that I understand. That I’ve already forgiven him, that I love him.
But that will only get him killed.
So I lie.
“No, you were right. The princess’s sister and the East Amboy bodyguard don’t make sense—we’ll never last.”
“Elle . . .”
“I’ve changed my mind, Logan. I want the fairy tale. I want what Olivia has . . . castles and carriages . . . and like you said, you’ll never be able to give me that. I would just be settling for you. You’ll never be able to make me happy.”
And it’s as if I can feel his shock. His pain. And I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.
The doorknob moves. “Ellie—”
I panic, screaming at the top of my lungs.
“Don’t come in! I don’t want to see you! Go away, Logan. We’re done—just go!”
Please go, I beg silently. Please go, my soul cries.
Go and live an amazing life, Logan. Love deeply and truly. I wish that for him. I want that for him—a life of joy and beauty and laughter.
I hear his footsteps retreating. Leaving me. And I’m glad. My shoulders sag and my lungs deflate with relief.
Until Cain taps my temple with the gun. “Call your sister.”
And the terror pulls my muscles tight again. I start to answer him, and then the door booms open . . .
ONE THOUGHT REPEATS IN MY head. One pledge, one promise: I’m going to kill this man.
For touching her. For scaring her. For holding a weapon on her.
He will never leave this fucking room alive.
“Get that gun away from her,” I growl, measuring the distance from me to him—calculating the seconds it’ll take to reach him.
Ellie’s eyes are wide with terror, her face bleached white.
“Whatever you’re thinking,” he hisses at me, “however fast you might be, I promise this bullet is faster. It’ll tear a hole in her head before you lay a finger on me.”
He punctuates his words by moving the gun closer to Ellie’s temple, pressing it against her skin. “Shut the door.”
I grind my teeth and shut the fucking door. Because I can’t get to her in time.
Not yet.
He lifts Ellie by the arm, sticking the gun between her shoulder blades and backing up, keeping her in front of him like a shield.
She shakes her head, crying. “Why didn’t you go, Logan? You would be safe.”
“I’ll never leave you.” I swear to her. “Never.”
“Very sweet.” The man spits. He tells me to sit in the chair near the fireplace, to put my arms behind the back. I hear a rustle of plastic before he tells Ellie, “Tie him up. Tightly, or I’ll shoot you both.”
I feel her hands against my wrists, securing . . . zip ties. Fucking zip ties. Almost impossible to stretch or break no matter how much adrenaline and fury is pumping through me.
He yanks Ellie up and pushes her towards the desk, where the phone is. They’re both in front of me now—which is better. If I can see them, it will be easier to make my move when the chance presents itself.
“There are too many guards around your sister’s room. Call her—tell her to come here. Now.”
“And you’re gonna do what, exactly?” I ask, wanting to keep his attention on me. “You think they’re just gonna let you walk out of here with the Duchess?”
“They’d better. If not, I’ll put two shots in her belly. It may not kill her, but it’ll take care of the bastards she’s carrying.”
“You’re not getting anywhere near my sister, you sick fuck,” Ellie hisses.
He lashes out to backhand her, but Ellie lifts her forearm, blocking the strike like I taught her years ago.
That’s my girl.
He grips her by the hair, twisting her neck up to look at him. “Call her!”
“No!” Ellie shouts, even as a tear leaks from her eye.
I’m going to rip his head off his fucking shoulders, I swear to God.
But then suddenly he gets real calm. Thoughtful. He releases Ellie’s hair, raises his arm and points the gun at my head.
“Call her, or I’m going to blow his brains out all over that wall. I don’t need him; I’ll still have you.”
A strangled whimper comes from Ellie’s throat, and then more tears. “No . . .”
“You have ten seconds. I’m counting.”
“Logan . . .” Ellie whispers. And it’s tortured. Because she can’t call.
We both know it.
“Listen to me, Ellie. It’s okay. It’s all right, love.”
She shakes her head, sobbing. “What do I do?”
I look into her perfect blue eyes and in my mind I’m holding her, comforting her, giving her my strength. “You know what I want you to do.”
And my gaze drifts over her beautiful face, memorizing every curve and angle.
“I love you, Ellie,” I choke out. “I should’ve told you sooner and more, but I do. These last weeks have been the best of my life. More than I ever dreamed, and I dreamed of you so often. Thank you, my sweet girl, for loving so well.”
Her pretty face crumples. “I love you, Logan. Please don’t leave me . . . please . . .”
“Shhh . . . it’s all right. Everything will work out, I swear, Ellie. I promise you.”
And I believe that, truly. Because there has to be a God—a woman like Ellie Hammond doesn’t happen by accident. My girl was made by design. And if there is a God, he’ll take care of her, protect her.
I hate that it won’t be me. I want to be the man who holds her and keeps her. But even if I don’t get to have that honor, when this ends, however it does . . . she’ll come out the other side unscathed.
I believe that with all my heart—the one that has only ever belonged to her.
She reaches for me. “Logan.”
“Close your eyes now. Close your eyes, Ellie, and know that I love you.”
She doesn’t close her eyes. Ellie falls to the ground, sobbing.
Then a moment later she’s throwing herself at me. She covers my body with hers, wrapping her arms around the chair and hugging me.
“Ellie, stop!” My blood curdles with the horror that he could shoot her.
But he doesn’t shoot. And she doesn’t stop.
Not until she presses the cold, steely weight of the knife I strapped to her leg years ago into my hand, behind the chair—where the fucker can’t see. When she looks into my face, her pupils are tighter and focused; she’s calmer now, almost relieved.
She turns her head, staring at the gun that’s pointed at her head.
“I’ll call. I’ll call my sister now.”
“Get up!” The soon-to-be-dead bastard yanks Ellie off me and tosses her towards the desk. She makes a show of fumbling with the phone, dropping the receiver, giving me time to cut the plastic ties around my wrists.
I wait for him to lower the gun, just a bit to his side, so it’s not trained on Ellie directly. And then I move. Spring up and grab him.
A shot echoes in the room, blasting my eardrums, then another . . .
Then, with the firm, harsh twist of my hands and the sound of a snapping neck—it’s over. The man drops in a dead heap at Ellie’s feet.