An undercurrent of a message.
A cold sweat broke out on the back of Logan’s neck and fear took hold.
Trent was on his feet and kneeling in front of him in a flash. He gripped Logan’s knee, angling his head up and forcing Logan to meet his eye. “I fought him on it, Logan. I did. Told him I didn’t want you mixed up in this mess. You’re too good for it. Too fuckin’ good. He insisted you’re a Lawson. That you are destined to patch in.”
Trent drew in a shattered sigh. “Won’t let that happen, Logan. I won’t. I pushed back until we came to a concession that I still hate, but at least it spares you the cut. You’ll be working at Costa’s compound. Far away from the club. Where it can’t touch you. You’ll be safe there. It’s where his family lives, and he does not allow violence to infiltrate those walls.”
Logan couldn’t stop the tremors that wracked his limbs.
Trent stood and brought him to his feet, holding him by the outside of both shoulders. “You just have to keep your head down low, Logan. Stay under the radar. Don’t interact with anyone except to listen for instruction. You can’t let this world get under your skin, man. You can’t.”
Trent’s voice cracked on the last, and he gave Logan a soft shake. “Promise me, Logan, promise me you’ll do your job, and it ends at that.”
Logan forced himself to nod around the shock.
Trent breathed out in what sounded like pained relief as he pulled Logan to his chest and hugged him fiercely. “I won’t let him destroy you, too. I promise, Logan. I promise.”
* * *
Logan was nothing but nerves as Trent pulled his truck to the side entrance of a mansion in one of the wealthiest communities in the Greater Los Angeles Area. It was basically a compound, like Trent had called it, the walls almost as high as the security measures surrounding it.
From the front, it looked no different than any of the other estates that sat on multiple acres. Tall trees soared over the height of the walls, the gate ornate, the house within not visible from the street.
The truck idled at the curb as Trent clutched the steering wheel. His brother was clearly fighting a brand-new war.
“I’ll be fine,” Logan promised. “Don’t worry.”
Logan figured he’d make the best of it. Numbers were in his blood. He’d take every lesson he learned here and apply it to what he did in the future.
Make some extra cash, too.
He couldn’t say he was bummed about that.
He could only be wary about who he was working for.
Trent stared at him, blinked, then sent him a tight nod. “Okay.”
Logan gave him half a smile and climbed out. He hiked his backpack higher and moved to a narrow gateway where he was instructed to be at six p.m. He peered into the camera that stared back.
With his heart racing, a deep, thudding pulse that he felt all the way to his ears, he was buzzed through and led onto the grounds that made the Los Angeles Botanical Gardens look like a desert wasteland. In the distance was a house, so large it could have been a hotel.
Logan inhaled. He was sure he could actually smell money.
He felt a flash of excitement.
He quelled it, remembered Trent had warned him to keep his head down.
The man he followed led him through a set of doors on the far side of the rambling building. It was an area that appeared to be separated from the main living quarters.
He walked down the long corridor, his footsteps echoing on the marble floors.
There was a room on the right that made him slow as they passed by. The double doors opened to a massive room with grand ceilings and books lining each wall that were stacked to the sky.
Leather furniture filled the middle, and he wasn’t sure if his heart stopped or sped so fast that he could no longer feel it when someone peeked at him from over the back of a couch.
The girl tried to keep herself hidden as she peered at him.
Her hair the darkest chocolate and her eyes the color of the molten sun.