Chaos series by Kristen Ashley

“Millie, baby,” Logan, now talking gently, said as the door opened and Hound and Boz came in, eyes instantly darting around to take in the players. “Come with me to my room—”

“Fuck you!” I spat at him, and looked back to Tack. “Deal with it. You don’t, I will.”

And I was done.

Even as the door opened again and Tyra and the tall, lanky, dark-haired guy that was with Tabby at Wild Bill’s moved in, I started to make my way hurriedly toward the exit.

I was stopped when Logan moved quickly to the side and caught my elbow.

I twisted it out of his hold and scuttled away again, this time running into a table.

“Don’t you ever again put your hand on me,” I bit out.

“Mill—”

“You never again touch me!” I shrieked.

“Baby,” he said softly. “We gotta talk.”

My body snapped straight and my mouth moved.

“Yes, we do,” I bit out. “We absolutely do. While Tack deals with your little problem that’s leaking into my life,” I declared. Logan shot a quick glance at Tack, then back to me when I continued speaking, “I’ll talk.”

Then I kept right on going.

Right on going.

It was time.

Time to fucking end this.

He was going to get it all so I could do what he said he was going to do.

Once and for always.

Put him in my fucking, fucking rearview.

My love for him.

My longing for him.

My grief for all we’d lost.

My sorrow for all we’d never have.

The burden I’d borne as I’d walked through fire for him and he’d thrown it all away, knocking up some bitch and making all I’d sacrificed not… worth… shit.

“I’m as good as gone, High,” I stated. “I’m leaving Denver. But before I go, you get it. You get it all. So you’ll know and I can be done with you.”

“Millie, darlin’, fuck, please come with me to my—”

“I’m not going with you anywhere.” I pointed a finger to the floor. “This is happening here.”

He moved toward me. “Babe, I’m beggin’ you, please—”

I retreated, bumping into things and scurrying out of the way, warning, “Don’t get any closer.”

“You don’t go with me there, I’m takin’ you there,” he warned.

He’d do that. I knew it. These men got what they wanted.

They always got what they wanted.

However they had to do that.

The panic I was holding back started breaking through.

“Don’t get near me!” I yelled, still scurrying, needing to get this done, get out, get gone and not needing to be alone with Logan.

“Baby—”

“Don’t call me that,” I snapped, changing direction, watching him change direction with me, stalking me.

“Fuck,” he clipped. “Please—”

“Stop moving,” I demanded.

“Millie—”

He was getting closer.

And I hit wall.

I slithered along it, shouting, “Don’t get near me!”

“Goddammit, Millie—”

“I can’t have children!” I shrieked.

Logan froze.

I did too.

All of me.

Except my mouth.

“There, Logan! There! You have it all!” I screamed. “I’m infertile. Barren. No go. No way. Never. And I knew you wouldn’t let me go. You’d never let me go. And you wanted kids so bad.” I shook my head, not even feeling the tears filling my eyes. “So fucking bad. You wanted to build a family. A big, fat, loud, crazy, wonderful family. I couldn’t give you that. I could never give you that. And you were mine. You were my Logan. You had to have it all. You were mine.” My voice cracked and I didn’t hear it, didn’t even feel it. I was beyond feeling anything but the need to get this done and go. “It was my job to make sure you had it all. It was my job to make sure you had everything. But you wouldn’t let me go. You’d never let me go. So I made you let me go so you could have it all!”

My throat was burning. My eyes were leaking.

But I saw the look on his face.

Ravaged.

Wasted.

That wasn’t giving him it all.

That was killing it.

And that wasn’t my job.

I’d failed.

Failed again.

So I had to escape.

And thus I ran.

Ripping viciously through unseen hands that tried to grab me, I got to the door of my car, hand on the handle, but I didn’t get it open.

Suddenly, I was pressed to the door, Logan’s hard body pushing in behind me, his arms like steel bands clamping around me.

“Let me go!” I shrieked.

He didn’t let me go.

He shoved his face in the side of my neck.

“Let me go! Let me go!” I jerked unsuccessfully in his arms. “Let me go, go, go!”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Quiet.

So quiet.

But each word was a new wound.

I stilled in his arms.

“You wouldn’t let me go,” I whispered.

“No.” His arms tightened. “No, Millie. I would never let you go.”

I again pushed against his hold.

“Now you need to let me go,” I kept whispering.

He didn’t let me go.

He held me so tight I felt the air leaking out of my lungs.

Then he moved, violently, brutally. He took one arm from around me, drew it back, and slammed his fist into the steel at the side of my car, making a dent, his face coming out of my neck.