ISABELLA
“Are you kidding me?” Logan muttered, shifting in his seat as he put the car in park. His hand drummed against the steering wheel, his gaze flicking from me to the cracked sidewalk, to the group of young men loitering by the entrance to my building.
One of them took a long drag from a cigarette, blowing the smoke out slowly, the kind of slow that said what the hell are you going to do about it.
I unbuckled my seatbelt. “What?” I asked, reaching for my purse that sat between my feet like an obedient dog.
The leather was cold against my fingertips, worn thin at the handles from too much gripping.
Logan didn’t answer immediately. He just kept watching them. It was the same look he got on the ice when he was about to slam someone into the boards, all intensity and controlled viol
