"What do you want, Logan?"
He shrugs. "I dunno, a band-aid would be nice?"
I roll my eyes again as I step aside and let him come in, sliding the door shut behind him. "I mean what do you want with me?" I look at him expectantly, my arms still folded over my chest. "This is New York. There are literally fifty-four hospitals in this city, not to mention walk-in clinics."
"Guess I just come here for the lovely bedside manner, babe." He winks at me through his shiner of a black eye and grins as he pushes past me towards the bathroom.
"Just where do you think you're going?"
He turns and cracks a smile at me. "The bathroom, Quinn. I have to piss." He stops for a second, and his grin widens at me. "I mean, unless of course you wanna help."
I can feel my cheeks go hot as I wrinkle my nose at him. "Don't be crude."
I've pulled my bag of surgical supplies out of the closet by the time he saunters out, and I have to shake my head to physically stop myself from staring at the now shirtless Logan moving towards me in the living area. "Try not to get blood on the damn couch," I mutter, trying to cover my blushing cheeks as he collapses down into it.
"I'll buy you a new one." He stretches out as he sinks back into the couch, his head resting on the back as he stares up at the ceiling and lets out a coughing sigh. Truth be told, despite our banter, I can tell that he really is actually hurt. Not hurt like the night I found him, but he's definitely taken some mean looking punches by the looks of his face and hard-muscled abdomen.
He lifts his head up off the back of the couch. "Do you have any beer?"
I frown. "No? I think I've got vodka in the freezer?"
"Yeah that'll do."
After a long second of silence, I raise my brows at him. "Um, it's in the freezer, Logan." What, did he want me to go over and fetch it for him? I mean I know the guy is probably used to servants or whatever but give me a fucking break!
"Hey, I just didn't want to bleed all over your floor or anything, Quinn."
"So just my couch then?"
He grins at me, and I'm huffing out a sigh as I get up and storm over to the kitchen.
He takes a large swallow from the glass of ice and liquor that I hand him after I walk back over, before he holds it up to his bruised temple with a wincing sigh.
"Why do you do this to yourself?"
He snorts out a kind of bitter laugh at my question. "Yeah, mystery solved, Quinn. I'm actually a deranged lunatic and I do this to myself."
I roll my eyes as I start pulling gauze and peroxide out of my bag. "You know what I mean. Why not do something else that doesn't get you so messed up all the time?"
He takes another sip from the glass and shrugs as he chews on an ice cube. "It's not exactly that simple."
"No, I mean, you're rich. Isn't there plenty of other rich-guy type stuff out there you could do that wouldn't get your face bashed in?" I shake my head as I start to dab at the cut on his face with the peroxide. "Shouldn't you be trading in bonds, or funding super-PACs or something?"
"Trading bonds, or funding super-PACs?" He chuckles. "Well sounds like you sure know how to have a good time, Princess."
I shoot him a look. "I know how to have a good time just fine, actually."
"Oh really?" He's leaning closer as he grins at me, and I find myself not wanting to pull back even though I know I should. "So you know how to just cut loose and play?"
"Yep." I say with a withering smirk of my own.
"So, kinda like how you were playing with yourself thinking about me right before I walked in here?"
I can literally feel the blood drain from my face as my heart just drops. I'm frozen and just staring at him with my jaw right there on the floor as he leans back into the couch and grins.
"I-" I'm sputtering. "I don't know what you're-"
With a look of triumph on his face, Logan pulls out my fucking vibrator - the one I evidently left out in plain sight in the bathroom - from behind his back where he's obviously been hiding it since he first sat down.
The blood comes rushing back to my face with a burning feeling, and I suddenly just want to collapse into a puddle and just drip through the floorboards.
Logan grins at me with a sort of gleeful look on his face. "I mean, maybe you weren't thinking about me, but I somehow doubt it."
I grit my teeth, feeling angry and mortified as I slowly shake my head at him. "Anyone ever tell you you're an arrogant asshole?"
He laughs. "If I had a dollar for-" He trails off and then chuckles. "Well, I'd be me."
I stand quickly and storm back towards the front door of the apartment. "Well go be you somewhere else, dickhead."
The actual genuine shock on his face is almost worth the price of my dignity and my embarrassment, but not quite. "Aww, now Quinn, don't be-"
"Out."
"I mean I can stay if you think it'll help you out, back in the bathtub with your little friend here-"
"OUT."
Logan shuts his perfect mouth and nods slowly before he wincingly stands and shuffles towards me and the door I'm holding open.
"You forgot your shirt, Rocky."
He grins as he passes me, leaning in so close to my ear that I feel a shiver at the heat of his breath, hot on my neck. "Keep it, darlin."
"Out."
"Fine."
Chapter Eleven
"Do you like it here?"
I shrug. "Room and board while on active duty, and the pay's pretty decent." I strap up my gloves, warily eyeing the guy easily two and a half times my age lacing up his own. "Listen, pal, you sure you actually wanna do this spar match? I'm kinda, uh, good."
The older guy with the silvered beard grins at me, taps his gloves together almost like he's eager, and steps into the dirt circle. "Hoo-rah, Marine."
I freeze for a second before I whip my head around to stare at him. "What'd you call me?"
Ok, so I'm hardly the only ex-U.S. Military who works for Blackriver, or even the only guy who may or may not have walked away from duty before getting here. But, it's pretty much on the list of "never talk about" when you're living with a bunch of roughneck, battle-hardened mercenaries like the guys here.
The old guy smiles at me. "Like I don't know another jarhead when I see one." He pulls up the sleeve of the t-shirt he's wearing, showing me the faded eagle, globe, and anchor tattoo there.
Ok, didn't see that coming. Still, I shrug and brush off his Marine reference. "Nah, I was a cop back home before this." It's half true. Okay, more like a quarter true, at best. I never even went out and took the test or anything.
The older guy nods, but there's a smart glint in his eye that says he doesn't buy a word of that bullshit. "Hey, I don't need to know."
That's right, he doesn't, I fume to myself. Whoever this old dude is - arms dealer or whatever he is - he's sorely mistaken if he thinks he can just waltz into camp one afternoon and start playing head games with guys like me. Marine or not, this guy's asking for a beat down.
"Officer?"
"Huh?" I look up from tying up my shoes to see him studying me.
"In the Marines, I mean. Were you an officer?"
I can feel my temper flare. "Listen, pal, I already told you-"
"Right, right," He shakes his head. "My mistake, I meant in the police force."
I narrow my eyes at the old guy;. I don't know who this asshole is, but he's got a lot balls to walk in here trying to bait me like this when we're about to step into a ring together. "No," I say quickly. "I wasn't." I'm not going to give him the satisfaction of asking ‘why', even if the question is practically falling out of my mouth.
"Ahh, I see." He says, smiling at me. "You just seemed like the leader type."
I laugh. "You got the wrong guy, pal."
He nods, as if internalizing something. "Well, my mistake then. Shall we?"
We tap gloves while I glower at him, and once we're set in position, I come at him hard. He dodges my feint punch, but then he's also ducking the second and third ones meant to actually connect. Suddenly, I'm off balance and his glove is crashing into the side of my jaw.
Well, fuck.
The man's a whirlwind, and I can barely get my own gloves up before he's got me off my feet and ass-down in the dirt.
What the fuck was THAT?
He chuckles as he pulls a glove off and reaches down to pull my bewildered ass back up. "Not bad for a nosy old man I guess, huh?"
What is he, a mind reader?
"Ok, I'll bite. Yeah, I didn't see that coming."
"Not everything is what it looks like on the outside, soldier." His eyes narrow for a second as he looks into my face. "I'm betting a guy like you might just take that one to heart."
"Listen, I'm really not a Marin-"
"Hey, I told you. I don't need to know, son."
A week later, I'm dragging Hudson and Bryce with me when I opt out of my - and their - contracts with Blackriver and jump in the back of William Archer's jeep. I still don't know exactly where we're going, or even really who this guy is. But I do know that after two years of looking over my shoulder for the U.S. State Department after ditching out on active war duty, two years of fighting in the mud and the jungles of the worst places on Earth for cash like some sort of honor-less gun for hire, and two years of watching me and both my friends succumb to anger, fear, apathy, drink, and drugs, I'm ready for whatever comes next. And what comes next is William Archer, new names, a new place in the world, and a reset on the game of life.