The whole cab ride over, I wasn't quite sure what I'd find tonight. I mean sure, I had some suspicions about the nature of what Logan was up to, but nothing - absolutely nothing - prepares me for what I see when I finally claw my face up to the edge of the window and peer through.
The scene is medieval.
Logan is stripped down to the waist, his tattooed muscles glistening with sweat under the crappy overhead lights as he slowly circles around the man facing him. The other guy is shirtless as well, and both of them eye each other with grim looks with their fists raised up. They're surrounded by a jeering crowd, all shouting and waving money and fists as the two men in the ring dance around each other.
The guy across from him swings wildly at Logan, who ducks the fist and crashed his own into the guy's ribs. Logan steps back for a second but his opponent rallies and sends an elbow crashing into his gut, doubling him over. I'm cupping my mouth with both my hands to keep from screaming as the guy starts to rain blows down onto Logan, even though he's on his knees in the ring.
This is where he goes. This is what he does. This is why I found him that night bleeding and broken in my elevator.
I almost can't watch this happen, and I'm just about to turn away when Logan suddenly springs to his feet. The whole vibe of the place changes in a heartbeat as Logan slams the guy over onto his back and just starts to wail on him. He looks ferocious and animalistic and just so raw in the way he lays into his opponent. That is, except for his face. Because his face is blank and neutral, as if he's just going through a motion has has to do.
The fight is over thirty seconds after that when the other guy goes limp on the ground beneath him. The crowd of men around them go wild as the bell sounds, and there's a furious exchange of screaming and yelling and fists full of cash as some sort of referee raises Logan's arm and two other men drag his unconscious opponent from the ring.
A man wearing a bomber jacket with black hair and an olive complexion pushes his way through the crowd and approaches Logan. He's grinning, but there's something dark and something sinister in that smile. Logan glares at him as the man claps him on the back and mimes a few shadow-boxing punches. He's chuckling as Logan just stands there glowering at him, his chest heaving and his skin shining with perspiration.
The man says something and pokes him hard in the chest, and suddenly Logan just spits at the guy's feet. There's a sudden stillness between the two men, and I'm not sure what I'm expecting to happen next. But the man only laughs as he points a finger at Logan, prodding his chest again as he winks at him, before he turns and walks calmly away. I watch as Logan shakes his head and spits on the ground again before he walks out from my viewpoint.
"Jesus fucking Christ, Quinn?!" Logan hisses at me as he steps out of the side-door to the warehouse. I'm leaning against the side of his car, glaring at him. "What the fuck are you doing here?!"
I take a step towards him as he rakes a hand through his sweat-slicked hair, still shirtless in the dim glow of the streetlight. "What the fuck am I doing here?" I'm shaking my head and staring at him "Are you fucking crazy, Logan? Do you have some sort death wish?!"
"Lower your voice, Quinn," He growls, his eyes darting to the side door. He grabs my arm. "Look, just get in the car-"
"No! What the hell was that back th-"
"Get in the fucking car, Quinn, before someone sees you."
I shoot him a last glaring look before I step into the car, jumping as he slams the door after me.
"That's what you've been doing!?" I hiss at him, staring at him like he's completely insane as we roar back towards Manhattan. "I mean, you said you were boxing for fuck's sake, but Jesus." I shake my head at him, suddenly scared about what I've just witnessed. "I mean there aren't even any gloves."
The wind buffets against his face and through his hair, and he grins and shrugs before he turns and spits blood out through the open car window. "Yeah, well, that is why they call it bareknuckle."
I stare at him. "It's barbaric."
He shrugs again, looking both completely insane and absurdly attractive in this dirty, hot way as he sits there shirtless in the car, his muscles and tattoos still gleaming with his sweat. "Not gonna fight you on that, darlin."
OK, I know he's this big macho ex-Marine or whatever, with all hardcore tough-as-nails crap that comes with that. But this is completely insane. He must know that.
"This is totally nuts, you know that, right?" I reach out with a tissue from my pocket and dab at the blood on the side of his face. "You could die in there, Logan." I say it quietly, keeping my eyes locked on his.
"Is that your medical opinion, Doctor Arch-"
"Yes."
His eyes narrow at my cutting him off, but he nods slowly as the streetlights streak across the windshield. "Well, not today." And there's that grin again, that armor coming right back up and shutting me out.
"I saw you arguing with that guy, afterwards."
Logan's face tenses, but his lips stay closed.
"You could've knocked him out, but you didn't."
"My my, Doc, resorting to violence? Isn't that against your oaths or something?"
"Stop being cute. Why didn't you hit him?"
"It's not that simple."
"What, is he paying you or something?"
Logan barks out a laugh. "I'm a majority shareholder in a multi-billion dollar corporation, Quinn. I'm not exactly hurting in the finance department."
"OK, so why the hell would-" I stop, the answer suddenly as clear as day in front of me. Why would a man like Logan do anything anyone says, especially someone he clearly hates like the guy from the fight?
"You're doing this because they're making you, aren't you?" Logan doesn't say a word, and I push on. "They aren't paying you, so what, are they blackmailing you or something?" Instantly, I know I've hit a nerve as I see his face harden again as he stares out at the road in front of us. "I'm right, aren't I."
"Sort of. No." He sighs as he runs a hands through his hair. "It's complicated."
"I'm listening."
"Not to this."
"Try me."
Logan looks at me with a curious smirk on his face. "Let's get a drink."
Yep, there he goes shutting me out again. "Fine" I say defeatedly, turning to look out my own window and shake my head.
Logan turns a quick corner, and he suddenly pulls up at once of the nicest, most exclusive boutique hotels in the city.
"Do you like scotch?"
I blink at the posh, ultra-cosmopolitan bar on the ground floor of the hotel and turn to stare at him. "Are you serious? No offense, but have you seen how you look right now?" He looks like, well, he looks hot, but he also looks like he just went three rounds in a bareknuckle boxing match.
‘Cause, you know, he did.
He's also still not wearing a damn shirt, and I'm hardly more appropriately dressed for this kind of place, wearing cut-off denim shorts and a t-shirt. Logan just shrugs though. "Simple question, Archer. Scotch: yay or nay?"
I sigh. "Fine, yay. Very yay."
"Great." His grin widens, and he nods towards the glove compartment. "Pop that and grab it, and let's go."
Inside is a bottle of scotch that probably cost the same as at least a month or two of my rent. I'm opening my mouth to ask what the heck we're doing, but he's already hopping out of the car and tossing keys to a valet as he yanks a t-shirt on.
"Fine", I mutter as I snatch the bottle and step out. "Bringing your own booze to a bar? Little low-brow for a guy like you isn't that Logan?"
He grins and takes my arm as he steers us through the front doors of the hotel, past the lobby, and past the bar. "We aren't going to the bar, we're going upstairs."
I balk at him "Uh, excuse me?"
He rolls his eyes. "Quinn, get over yourself. We're going all the way upstairs." He nods to the front desk guy who seems to know him, and Logan palms the guy a fat wad of bills before steering me towards the elevators.
"OK, so where are we-"
"Quinn."
"What?" I snap.
"Do me a favor."
"Wha-"
"Stop talking for like, one whole minute, okay?"
I open my mouth to say something back, but instead I snap it shut and shake my head, not wanting to give him the satisfaction as the elevator moves up. The doors open and we're up on the roof-top lounge area, complete with a pool and a bar and an utterly insane view of Manhattan. It's also completely deserted.
"Did you plan this or something?" I say, frowning at him.
"What, paying off the night manager so that I could come up to the pool bar alone and drink scotch after my fight?'
I look at him expectantly.
"Uh, yeah, Quinn, I did."
I'm laughing in spite of myself, watching his face crack into a smile as I do so.
"What, you think, that I did all this for you or something?" He grins. "I'm not telepathic, you know. It's not like I knew you were going to follow me around like a stalker tonight." I try to hide my grin, knowing he's right, and he laughs. "You're a welcomed addition though."
He reaches over the empty bar and grabs two glasses before we walk over to the pool's edge. He's kicking his shoes off, and I start to follow suit before I realize he's pulling his t-shirt up over his washboard abs and over his head.