Player (A Secret Baby Sports Romance)(209)
A chill runs up my spine, and even though I try and stop them, my eyes instantly flick to Logan. Javier catches the move and chuckles; “Uh-oh! I think I just blew up your spot here, marica; you’ve got some explaining to do now!”
“Quinn-”
Logan’s chest is rising and falling heavily with his breaths, and he slowly shakes his head at me; “It’s not-”
“Oh, come on, Logan!” Javier hoots; “You gonna be that clichéd about it? ‘Oh, it’s not what you think, baby’,” he pantomimes to me before rolling his eyes; “Yeah, chica, it’s everything you think it looks like. Soldier boy over here skipped out of the Marines in Afghanistan. Fucked right off in the middle of battle like some kinda chicken-shit and just ditched it like a bad date.”
Logan’s eyes are locked on mine, and he’s slowly shaking his head as his face grows paler and tenser. He looks more hurt and more terrified in that moment than anything I’ve ever seen from him before; even more-so than anything I’ve ever seen from him after a fight. My heart breaks a little bit knowing I can’t just walk over there and hold him and tell him it’s ok right now.
“I met up with him and his little pals working for Blackriver in Africa,” He winks at me; “Mercenary outfit, in case you didn’t kn-”
“Don’t listen to him, Quinn,” Logan says through gritted teeth, his eyes never leaving my face; “Don’t listen to a word he-”
I scream as Javier’s fist comes comes crashing across Logan’s mouth, knocking his head sideways with a thud. Javier hoots and shakes his hand; “Dios mio, Papi! You got a jaw like a fuckin brick wall!” His goons cackle at his joke as Logan turns and spits blood on the floor.
“Logan!” I start to jump up from my chair when one of the big guys shoves me back down. Javier hoots out another laugh and turns back to Logan; “You know, I take it back; I might just learn to enjoy smackin you around with her here watching it.”
He cracks his fist across Logan’s face again, and the sound of his grunt tears at me like someone ripping my heart out.
“So how about it, cabrón; you gonna go fight who I tell you to fight next week? We learn our lesson yet?”
Logan grimaces and shakes his head before he looks up, blood trickling from his lip as he grins like a crazy person at Javier; “You know what? I’m actually having a hard time with the first part of the assignment if you wouldn’t mind going back over it.”
Javier shakes his head slowly before he turns to me; “Your boyfriend’s a funny man, you know.” He whirls and slugs Logan in the gut with his fist, and I can feel the sharp jolt of anger pounding inside of me.
“Don’t watch, Quinn.” Logan’s looking right at me, his mouth bleeding as he shakes his head; “Look away, just-”
Bam. Javier’s fist crashes into his gut again, doubling him up as much as the ropes tying him will allow. I cry out, wincing and turning my head as if hit myself. And it’s then that I notice my bag sitting on the ground next to my chair; my medical supply bag from the plane.
“How about now, Papi? How’s my fuckin tutoring going that little problem you’re having with the lesson?” Javier back-hands Logan sharply across the face, and suddenly, it’s like something is snapping inside of me. It’s a slow burn, and at first I just think it’s the fear and helplessness of the situation tightening inside of me. But slowly, the burn grows hotter and hotter, and suddenly I realize that the emotion clawing up from somewhere deep inside of me is rage.
And there’s another emotion I’m suddenly realizing as I flinch again at the sound of Javier hitting Logan. Because it’s right then in that dingy room that I recognize the emotion totally consuming every fiber of my being for the man bound, beaten, and yet not broken in the chair across from me.
And I recognize it as love.
The burn flares inside of me, and I’m suddenly filled with purpose; fiery, blazing hot and steely purpose.
Javier’s fist connects once more with Logan before he whistled and steps away, shaking his fist; “Goddamn, Irish! We shoulda done this years ago!” He turns and steps towards me, moving closer and closer as he brings a handkerchief out of his pocket and starts to wipe the blood off his knuckles; blood from the man I love.
The man I love.
“You know, chica, a lot of Papas bring toys home to their little girls from business trips,” He puts his hands on the arms of my chair and leans right down close to my face; “Too bad your daddy brought you back such a broken one.”