“What?” Trent shot out in a slash of anger and confusion.
“Aster.”
“Are you fuckin’ crazy? Aster Costa? I just fucking put our father in the ground after he had Nathan mowed down. We’re leaving. Right now.”
Trent grabbed Logan by the shirt and hauled him up.
It was when he noticed the blood that saturated Logan’s clothes. “What the fuck did you do, Logan? What did you do?” It was horror. His own guilt.
Like he could be the fault of this.
“Nathan,” Logan cried.
Trent tossed him into the back of the truck. “Don’t move your ass out of that spot.”
Logan leaned out the door and vomited again. Two minutes later, doors were slamming and Trent was tossing a bunch of bags into the back.
Jud slid into the front passenger seat, and Trent put it in reverse and gunned it out of the driveway, clipping his bike as he went, metal screeching as it was dragged two feet.
Then he shifted into gear and floored it.
“I have to get to Aster.” It was a moan.
Trent whipped his attention over his shoulder to Logan. “You will never step foot in Los Angeles again, Logan. Do you understand?”
“I have to—”
“We’re all dead if you do. Promise me. Fucking promise me.”
Logan couldn’t form the words on his tongue. Couldn’t tell a lie that great. Because he had to get to her. To his girl and his baby.
Little Star.
He curled in on himself as they traveled through the night.
It passed one a.m.
She’d be waiting for him.
Terrified.
He called from somewhere near Sacramento when Trent stopped for gas, hidden away in the bathroom so his brothers wouldn’t know.
There was no answer.
His spirit screamed.
He tried again the next day and the next.
He called and called for what felt like forever.
He begged the heavens for guidance.
For his Little Star to know he would come for her.
“Even if I can’t see you, I’ll know you’re there, and I’ll find my way to you.”
It took him two months to slip away from Trent’s paranoid eye. He sneaked away with the stone necklace and the ring he’d purchased the week before.