Indestructible by Angela Graham
Indestructible
Book 3
Harmony Series
Angela Graham
Copyright 2014, Angela Graham
Editor—Jen Juneau
Cover Design—Sommer Stein
Formatter—Joni Wilson
All Rights Reserved.
This book may not be reproduced in any form, in whole or in part,
without written permission from the author.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One—Reality
Chapter Two—Heat Wave
Chapter Three—Cleanse
Chapter Four—Nightmares
Chapter Five—Misconceptions
Chapter Six—Bliss
Chapter Seven—Loyalty
Chapter Eight—Surprises
Chapter Nine—Performance
Chapter Ten—Suspicions
Chapter Eleven—Regrets
Chapter Twelve—Enigmas
Chapter Thirteen—Calamities
Chapter Fourteen—Tension
Chapter Fifteen—Frozen
Chapter Sixteen—Downhill
Chapter Seventeen—Power
Chapter Eighteen—Running
Chapter Nineteen—Searching
Chapter Twenty—Priorities
Chapter Twenty-One—Frenemies
Chapter Twenty-Two—Truth
Chapter Twenty-Three—Control
Chapter Twenty-Four—Spurned
Chapter Twenty-Five—Collide
Chapter Twenty-Six—Dare
Chapter Twenty-Seven—Hunger
Chapter Twenty-Eight—Progress
Chapter Twenty-Nine—Family
Chapter Thirty—Played
Chapter Thirty-One—Together
Chapter Thirty-Two—Bravery
Epilogue
The End
About the Author
Connect with the Author
Acknowledgments
While You’re Waiting
Chapter Three Excerpt from Pretty Instinct
Prologue
I was still a young girl when I learned that not every penny tossed in a fountain or plea with a shooting star would grant me a wish, and that not every story ends in a happily ever after. And as discouraging as that revelation was, it never deterred me from holding out hope.
Hope for the dream—for the fairytale. For the prince charming who’d storm into my life on a great white steed, pluck me from obscurity, and carry me away to his castle. Perhaps it was wishful thinking of an overactive imagination, but I still spent countless nights lying under the stars, fantasizing about a beautiful man who’d someday capture my heart. The prince who would adore me—a man strong enough to create the storybook-perfect world I longed for.
I’d read all about great loves and tragic romances, and knew that with every enchanted tale came challenges: those nasty hurdles in the road that delayed but rarely prevented the charmed finale. It was expected, and as I grew older, I saw the excitement in dreaming of what I’d do for the right man…what he’d do for me, and for my love.
And while there may not have been any swordfights or fiery dragons to slay, since the morning Logan West jogged into my life, I knew my world would never be the same again.
Logan was my prince; he found me, and was worth everything I had to give—my love, my respect, and above all, my trust.
Epic ending or not, this was our story…and one I’d cherish until my final breath.
Chapter One
Reality
My home, once my sanctuary, was now a chaotic scene of dedicated officers, continuous streams of monotone voices exchanging tedious facts, and the occasional snap of a camera. And then there was me, dazed, in the center of it all. Logan stepped into the hall, tucking me closer against his side, my hands clutching his bloodied shirt.
Mixed into the congested air were Kurt’s agonized whimpers. They echoed around us as the paramedics rolled him past on a stretcher. I couldn’t look at him; instead, I buried my face against Logan’s chest, focusing solely on his soothing heartbeat and protective warmth that sheltered me.
The front door slammed shut and my entire body jerked, but Logan held me closer.
“It’s okay,” he murmured against my ear. “He’s gone.”
The paralyzing adrenaline buzzing through my veins began to settle, easing the tension in my shell-shocked muscles.
“Miss, I’m sorry, but we need to have the paramedic assess your injuries before we can do anything else. Is there a private room we can use?”
Miss?
I knew that voice. I lifted my head sluggishly and peered up at the familiar uniformed man standing before me.
My brows pinched together, and all I could do was stare blankly at the officer who, as a boy, had mowed my grandparents’ grass every summer. I was Cassie to him then, and so desperately wanted to be again—not ‘miss’. I supposed a friendly greeting would be unprofessional considering the circumstances, but the lack of it only added to my wounds. I wanted to be me, not some victim.
My shoulders slumped as I peeled myself from Logan.
I blinked then swallowed, clearing the dryness from my throat as I swam back to the cruel reality awaiting me.
“Yeah, there’s a guest room down the hall,” I said finally. Speaking took some energy, but I even managed a small, albeit tight, smile as I gestured toward the room. I could do this.
He nodded, watching me for a moment with sympathy or perhaps pity before turning toward the room.
With my hand locked around Logan’s, I took a step, then another, each one forcing me into the here and now. This was real life—my life—and there was no hiding, or denying what had happened. I had just been attacked. There was no dream or nightmare to blame—only the psychotic nature of another human being. I’m lucky, thanks to Logan, I reminded myself.
But as I took the third step, it hit me like a slug to the chest. Fear ripped at my gut, stopping me cold in my tracks. I tore myself from Logan’s grip, feeling panic set in as I clutched his shirt and dragged my wide-eyed gaze up to meet his crinkled brow.
“Scout!” I all but cried. Oh God, where is he? “Have you seen him?” I asked, but I didn’t wait for Logan’s answer. His expression said it all.
“Scout!” I shouted more loudly, turning and running back toward the living room. “Scout! Come here, boy!”
“Cassandra…”
“Scout! Come here. Come on!” I weaved frantically and carelessly through the officers crowding the rooms, pushing them aside. I only had one goal: Find my pup.
I stopped abruptly at the back door, my pulse pounding at the sight. Shattered glass littered the floor, and the kicked-in bottom was completely demolished. A sharp intake of breath cleared my invading memory of Kurt. Then, with determined steps, I crossed the threshold.
Snow tumbled around me in a thick flurry, the temperature barely above freezing. With my arms wrapped around my middle, I scanned the snow blanket covering the backyard.
“Scout!”
“Cassandra.” Logan’s solid arms encircled my waist, lifting me from behind and carrying me back inside quickly.
I whipped around to face him, fiery tears in my eyes.
“Where is he? Did you see him?” I asked, shaking. Please, please let him be okay. I tried to remember if I’d seen him during the attack, but it was all still a blur.
Logan closed the door slowly, his expression heavy with contemplation.
“What!? Where is he!?” Tears streamed out as I clutched his arms for support. “Did that bastard hurt him? Oh, God!” I couldn’t breathe. No! No, no, no—not Scout!
Logan cupped my cheeks gently, holding my attention.
“He must have gotten out, that’s all. Wherever he is, he??
Logan’s voice was calming—almost like a sedative. I eased into it as I felt tears drying against my skin. It was too painful to feel everything waiting under the surface, ready to explode. I had to push it away, had to stay strong.
“I’ll call Jax. He’ll find him,” Logan added, stepping back and letting his fingers skim down to my forearms.
As numbness set in, I wiped my eyes and whispered, “Thank you.”
He’s safe. He’s safe, I chanted in my head. It was all I could think about as Logan led me back through the crime scene inside. It felt like anything but home.
“Can you call him now?” I asked, stopping outside the guest-bedroom door, reluctant to go inside knowing Scout was out there somewhere alone and cold. “Please.”
After a soft kiss to my forehead, Logan pulled his phone from his pocket and held the door open for me to enter. “Of course. I’ll be just a moment.”
With an appreciative nod, I entered the room alone. It was small and cramped, and held a chilly undercurrent despite the dry heat pumping through the floor vent.
I sat on the bed in silence as a woman in front of me opened her bag and began digging through it, pulling out multiple mystery items. I stared past her, allowing myself an escape into a foreign world of darkness. It held no pain or relief—only a vast, empty hole where my emotions should’ve been erupting but were instead eerily still.
I remained lost there, disconnecting myself from reality, until a sharp sting radiated through my cheek.
“Ah.” I winced, jerking my head out of the paramedic’s hold.
She finished applying a bandage below my left eye, then pulled back. “Sorry,” she said, her voice devoid of emotion. The young paramedic—Tara, I believed she’d said—had been all business from the moment she’d entered the room seconds after me.
My knee bounced up and down, my agitation rising the longer I was forced to sit with a stranger touching me.
Seamlessly, she opened another tiny bandage and brought it closer until it disappeared from my line of sight, positioning it directly above the other. The sting was brief as the wound was covered efficiently, then she was back to rummaging through her bag.
Needing something to lean against, I tucked a pillow behind my back. My body was exhausted and preparing to shut down, yet my mind was restless.
“Try to relax, miss.” Her gaze fixed on my fingers drumming against my thighs.
Miss. There it was again. I despised the term. And relax? Right!
I stilled my hands, stretching out my fingers.
Okay, maybe I was less composed than I’d realized, but considering the day’s events it was as calm as I was capable of being. I’d been sitting there for far too long, or so it felt, and my body was buzzing in protest. I closed my eyes and inhaled through my nostrils, hoping time would offer its assistance and speed the hell up.
I tucked my bottom lip between my teeth. Why is this taking so long? It was only a few scrapes.
Unable to find any peace, I opened my eyes and watched as Tara examined my face closely before producing a smaller black kit. The overwhelming need to bolt shook my body. Not out of fear; no, I wasn’t scared. Perhaps Kurt had drained all the fear from my system. Instead, I was worried.
The strangest thought came over me. I found myself wracked with anxiety over having a disfiguring scar on my face—a reminder I’d be confronted with every time I passed a mirror or took a simple photograph, just like the one on my leg. It was such a superficial thought in the grand scheme of things, yet it was still there in my mind, front and center.
Where were my pain, anger, the need to scream and cry…anything? I felt them for Scout, but for myself, these emotions were replaced simply by a numbing void in my chest. Was that better than suffering through the emotions?
I clamped my eyes shut again and forced forward the memory of the branch slicing through my skin as I raced through the forest. The images came easy, but the traumatizing effect I expected to endure remained absent.
The muscles in my legs ached. I had run faster than I thought possible in those woods, sprinting as quickly as my feet could carry me, terrorized in the moment and severely aware of Kurt trailing behind. His menacing cackle and booming voice had ricocheted around me, reciting a horrific list of heinous acts he planned to inflict upon me if I slowed.
“I need you to stay still,” Tara said, snapping me back to the present. She took my arm and began cleaning the scrapes. “Try some deep breaths; it will help calm you.”
“I am calm!” The instant the words flew out, my head dropped and my cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
I couldn’t breathe. This wasn’t me. This wasn’t fair. She had been nothing but lovely, and didn’t deserve the brunt of my temper.
I straightened myself, searching for the right words. “I’m sorry, I just…need some fresh air,” I explained.
She peeked up. “I’ll try to hurry.”
“The heater in here’s been needing to be replaced,” I explained, trying for a friendly conversation. Maybe that would help pass time, as well. “It’s older than I am, and it gets to me after a while. Runs hotter than I set it.”
“I just had mine repaired last winter. Expensive beast.” She cracked a tiny smile, confirming there were no hard feelings. “Almost done.”
I rose up just the slightest to slide my clammy palms under me, attempting to remain as still as possible for her.
“All right,” she finally said, turning to toss something in the trash. “Now I need to get a better look at your stomach. Mr. West explained you have some injuries there, as well.”
I glanced up at the door and found him there, standing stoically quiet, watching with a tight frown frozen over his features. I hadn’t even noticed he was there. His eyes were on me, his lips curled into a tender but sympathetic smile that eased a few of the nerves I felt at the thought of my stomach.
How could I forget? How was it that, until that very moment, I couldn’t feel the pain of it?
“It’s nothing,” I choked out, lowering my gaze, unable to fully look at either of them.
My posture stiffened almost painfully and must have spoken more loudly than the words that had left my mouth, because Tara’s stern approach softened. She tilted her head to catch my downward stare.
“Listen, I know you want this to be over with, but I can’t leave until I confirm your injuries have been fully assessed and treated to the best of my ability.”
“Cassandra,” Logan spoke in a hard whisper.
With a relenting sigh and stiff hand, I held onto the end of the belt on the white robe Logan had covered me with earlier.
I knew from the pained expression on his striking face that he wanted to be closer instead of standing across the room, but the space was too narrow. I could clearly see anger written in his tense shoulders, and I honestly believed his pain for me outweighed my own. And even though I couldn’t touch him, there was no denying the strength I drew from him being there for me.
“Do you mind giving us some privacy?” Tara asked, glancing over her shoulder at Logan.
My gaze caught his and never strayed as he answered her, his voice grave. “I’m not leaving her again.”
“You can wait in the hall, sir.”
Their conversation faded away when I blinked, breaking our connection, my mind focusing on the belt sliding between my fingers. I finally began to feel more than agitation. The blood rippling through my veins grew louder and louder as I allowed myself to feel the tenderness over my stomach. I knew it was sore, but for the first time I was really feeling it.
I felt the glass shattering over me as I wrestled to escape my vehicle. Kurt’s vice-like grip locked around my ankle, hauling me toward him. I shuddered at the memory of the shards that covered the seat, digging into my skin.
“Cassandra.” Logan’s sweet breath brushed over my lips. “Look at me. Open your eyes.”
Are they closed?
My lids fluttered open
“I’ll be fine. Is Jax looking for Scout?” I asked, changing the subject while attempting a smile. But it couldn’t cover the unexpected faintness in my voice.
“Yeah, he’s on it.”
“Thank you. And she’s right, you can wait outside.” My shoulders rose. “You know—privacy and all.”
He leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss to my lips. “There’s nothing about you I ever want hidden from me. Besides, I’ve already seen what you’re trying to cover, and there’s no reason for that. You’re as beautiful now as you were this morning.”
My smile grew.
“I’m staying. She’ll get over it.”
“Logan, you’re so good to me.” I placed another kiss on his lips. “Please just wait outside—for me.” I gave his hand a squeeze.
A moment passed between us; silent words of comfort. “If that’s what you want, of course. I’ll be on the other side of that door if you need me.”
I nodded, grateful he was stowing away his tenacious personality for once.
“I love you,” he mouthed before righting himself and walking out with hesitant steps.
Once the door was shut behind him, I lay back, stretching out my legs and resting my head on the pillow. Tara opened the robe fully to reveal my hidden injuries, and then, in the most unaffected tone possible, explained that there was some glass she needed to remove—remnants of the attack left behind inside me.
I closed my eyes to block it out, but it was becoming real. My defenses were cracking.
No, no, no. I’d rather be numb than a crying mess. Not again. I sucked in a deep breath, filling my lungs and chanting in my head, I’m stronger than this. I’m stronger than this.
The slivers she extracted were nothing compared to the assaulting images striving to burst through my chant and confront my defenses. I didn’t want to deal, didn’t want to understand. I just wanted the day to end.
But what I wanted didn’t seem to matter. The memory of Kurt’s grimy claws caused my gut to roll—his brutal hands forcing me onto the floor, his elbow shoved against my back.