Broken Souls

Chapter 6 - Logan

The anger that surged through me when I saw him grab her pushed me beyond my usual calm and collected demeanor. Among the four of us, I’m usually the one who stays composed. But do not harm women.

Jeremy doesn't stop me, we have a mutual understanding. I glanced at him, and he gave me the all clear, acknowledging that we have everything under control. He doesn’t employ bouncers or security, which I’d say is pretty f*****g stupid.

I gave the dumb f**k a choice, and he chose poorly. I don't make empty threats, The moment he pushed her, I seized him. I heard a snap as I twisted his wrist, and he screamed like the little b***h that he is. He should have just let her go; he can't say I didn't warn him.

Brian and Julian dragged him out the door, with Justin trailing behind. I knew exactly what they were going to do. I looked down to check on her, but what I saw was the complete opposite of okay. She was sitting there with her hands covered in blood. I wasn't sure if her hands were the only thing injured; she was having a panic attack, and I knew I needed to help her calm her breathing. As I knelt in front of her, I tried to get her to open her eyes and look at me. When she finally did, I saw the same fear in her eyes as I did the first time I laid eyes on her.

When I picked her up, she clung to my shirt as if it was her lifeline. I asked Shaun for a first aid kit to tend to her hands. After a few minutes, he returned with the kit, and I took her to the bathroom, setting her down on the counter by the sink. Her face was blank, tears streaming down her cheeks. I recognized that look from when my father took his own life and my mother’s. I needed to bring her focus back to the present, so I tried the method my brothers used to help me. I needed to divert her attention. “My name is Logan. What’s yours, Angel?” She was silent for a moment, and I wasn’t sure if she would respond, but then her eyes shifted to mine. “Bailey. I’m sorry about your shirt,” I was puzzled; she was the one who had just been harassed and was bleeding, yet she was apologizing to me. “Don’t worry about it. It’s black; no one will notice,”. She offered me a faint smile, yet her eyes revealed a deep sorrow.

I kept her focused away from her hands while I examined the cuts. Fortunately, they weren't severe enough to need stitches, so I cleaned her hands and applied antiseptic spray. She winched a little, “Sorry about that; I know it can sting like a bitch.” She kept her gaze fixed on me, and I couldn’t help but be struck by her beauty. After bandaging her hands, I tidied up the counter. When I looked back, she was still sitting there, her eyes locked on me. I was unexpectedly reluctant to leave her alone tonight like I needed to help her in some way. This is not who I am. I don't care about other people. Why do I care about her? I wish I had an answer for my questions because I’m feeling so confused. “Where are you staying?” Her face was unreadable. “At the Granbury Inn,”

"How about we get you home?" I helped her down from the counter.

We exited the bathroom, "Give me a moment, don’t move." I told her with a stern voice. I spotted Jeremy and approached him, letting him know I’d be taking Bailey home. When I turned and walked back, she was still standing where I had left her. We walked out of the bar, Brian, Julian, and Justin were waiting on their bikes. I told them I’d be taking Bailey home and asked if one of them could bring my bike to the Granbury Inn. Brian nodded in response. I turned to Bailey, she had a gaze in her eyes like she did not know where she was, “Give me your keys.” She looked at me, puzzled, “I can drive; I don’t want to take up more of your time. I’ll manage. Thank you so much for your help and sorry for all the blood.” I tilted my head, as if questioning her sanity, “Don’t mention it. And no, you won’t be driving in your state. So, keys.” I held out my hand, and she handed it over.

When we arrived at the Inn, I assisted her out of the car and followed her. Upon reaching her room, she paused in front of the door, turning to face me, "Thank you for bringing me home.

I didn’t say anything to her; I simply took the keys from her hand and unlocked the door. She didn’t object, so I guided her inside and closed the door behind us. The room was sparse: a single picture on the dressing table, white walls, a double bed in the center, a dressing table in the corner and a couch in another corner, a door that I assumed led to the bathroom.

She was sitting on the edge of the bed, with her hands in her lap, just looking at the floor. I walked over and stood in front of her. Taking her hand, I guided her to the bathroom so she could shower and change into clean clothes, as her shirt was stained with blood. Given her reaction earlier. I would say she has a problem with blood. What's going on with me? Normally, I'd just leave her here and go home, but something is keeping me here, and it's not compassion because I don't have any.

I turned on the shower, making sure the water wasn’t too hot. She had been operating on autopilot. I approached her to help with her clothes; she was leaning against the basin just standing there, as I began to lift her shirt. Her body tensed up “please don’t” The fear in her voice caused me to halt my actions. “It’s okay, I just want to get you in the shower so you can clean up,” I reassured her. She looked at me with tearful eyes, and I wasn’t sure if it was because of me or what had happened earlier. She raised her arms, and I pulled her shirt over her head. As I did, her reflection in the mirror caught my attention. Her back was covered in cuts, as if she had run through a bunch of knives, and I noticed similar cuts on her stomach. “What happened?”. She looked down like she was ashamed, I knew it wasn’t the right time to press for information and knowing myself I knew I was not giving up on getting answers out of her. However,my anger was overwhelming me at this point, and I think she could feel it, she avoided making eye contact with me.