It turns out the "sowhere else" Logan ends up bringing to is...
Well.
It’s... sothing?
Pretty sure more than one murder’s occurred here, among other unsavory things.
After a shopping spree at the local thrift store and dropping Princess Paws off at Marcus’s (who wasn’t ho and, I’m pretty sure, didn’t know she was coming), I’m unusually concerned about his bank account, but decide not to say anything. If the man’s gone poor, he might not want to talk about it—
"I’m not broke."
My eyebrows fly up. "I didn’t say anything."
"I could see it on your face." He opens the apartnt door with a faint smile. "It might seem unsavory, but I promise it’s clean."
I step into the apartnt warily, half-expecting to find blood stains or a collection of creepy dolls based on the sketchy hallway. Instead, I’m hit with the scent of fresh paint and—is that new carpet? The place is immaculate. Like, staged-ho-listing immaculate.
"Huh." I run my hand along a pristine countertop. "Not what I was expecting from the murder-hall entrance."
The contrast is jarring. Outside: peeling wallpaper, flickering lights, and the faint sll of cooked cabbage—which, yes, is a bizarre sll, but a lot better than what it could be.
Inside? It’s an open-concept living space with recessed lighting and—I glance up—crown molding. The furniture looks fresh from a catalog, but deliberately mid-range. Nothing flashy enough to draw attention when it was brought in.
The neighborhood isn’t quite unsavory, but it doesn’t necessary feel like I could walk around at night, either.
"Where exactly are we?" I ask, turning to Logan who’s locking the door behind us.
He tosses his keys on the entry table. "Safe house. Had it a long ti."
I cross to the kitchen, pulling open the refrigerator. Empty except for a six-pack of water bottles. Every appliance is gleaming and fingerprint-free, with protective film still attached. I peel back a corner of plastic from the microwave display.
"If you’ve had it a long ti, why does everything look like it was delivered yesterday?"
Logan shrugs, moving around to our haul from the thrift store down. "Required a remodel recently."
I wait for more, but he offers nothing. His face is carefully blank. I have the vague urge to poke him with a stick just to make him react, but I hold it in. Besides, there are no sticks in here.
Just knives, and that would be overkill.
No pun intended.
"That’s it? ’Required a remodel’? What happened, soone bleed out on the carpet?" I’m joking, but his face doesn’t change, and I narrow my eyes. "Wait, did soone actually—"
"Do you like it?" He cuts off, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed.
Sounds like he really doesn’t want to answer that question, and it makes nervous.
"It’s fine." I look around again. "Clean. Anonymous. Very IKEA showroom ets witness protection." I walk to the window and peek through the blinds at the street below. "But is it actually safe? How hard would it be for soone to find us here?"
He shakes his head. "Not easy."
"And it’s not under your na, right? Or Marcus’s?"
Another headshake.
I move to the living room where an unplugged flat-screen hangs on the wall. It’s not top-of-the-line, but it’s decent. Like everything else in this place—nice enough to be comfortable, not nice enough to rember.
"So you have this conveniently prepared bolt hole that nobody knows about, which you recently remodeled for... reasons..." I trail off, waiting for him to fill in the blanks.
His expression doesn’t change.
"You’re not going to give a straight answer about any of this, are you?"
"Nope."
Apparently done with the line of questioning, he heads back into the living area to pick up all the shopping bags, taking them into what I assu is the bedroom.
I follow him, taking in the queen-sized bed with its plain gray comforter. More functional furniture. No personal touches anywhere. He dumps the bags unceremoniously on the floor by the closet.
It’s clear I’m not getting answers about this mysterious safe house tonight. Fine. I can be strategic about my battles.
Pushing off the doorfra, I saunter toward him, letting my hips sway a little more than necessary. His eyes track the movent, and he swallows.
Good.
I stop directly in front of him, close enough to feel his body heat, and run my finger slowly up his chest.
"Is the mattress new?" I ask, looking up at him through my lashes.
He tries to sidestep, and I follow. "Yes..."
"Maybe we should... christen it?"
"Nikki—"
I step forward and wrap my arms around his waist, my lips curving up as his arms co around in return. I lean up for a kiss, but Logan says, "I already ordered Chinese, and it should be here soon."
The scowl crossing my face should let him know exactly how I feel about his deflection. "Did you really?"
"Really." He leans down to peck my forehead, then gently pushes back to disentangle us. "Co on. You’ve been holding back your questions for hours now."
It’s about three in the afternoon now, and it already feels like it’s been three days. My body’s as exhausted as my brain, and sex now sounds more appealing than answers—because there aren’t any. Everything just ends up in more questions, and I’m so fucking sick of it.
But I sigh and follow behind him, even as I ask sourly, "Even if I ask questions, will you be able to answer them?"
"Probably not."
Asshole. He’s definitely avoiding sex on purpose.
I drop onto the couch, crossing my arms over my chest. Part of knows I’m being unreasonably grouchy about the situation. It really does. Old Nicole is looking at and wondering what the hell happened to the mature, rational her.
But new, petty, grouchy, unsexed, bombastic Nicole is ready to kick her boyfriend’s ass.
Brynn’s words suddenly co back to .
She’d said our bond’s a ss. Seed amused by the whole situation.
My fingers tap against my arms. Is there sothing wrong with us, on top of everything else? Is it only feeling so strange?
"Have you been feeling particularly... jealous lately?"
His head jerks toward , his eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. "Do I need to be?"
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