BOUND TO HIM (Book II: Captured series)

32. Elle

The world came back in pieces. Not with a jarring snap, but a slow, dull ache that resonated deep in my bones. The low hum of machinery, a gentle and relentless beeping, created a sterile soundtrack to my return. Faint, antiseptic smells—bleach and something sweet, like old flowers—filled the air. 

When I finally opened my eyes, the harsh white light of the ceiling was a brutal shock, a stark contrast to the darkness I had just left.

​My body felt disconnected, as if floating just above the bed. My limbs were heavy, a fog clouding my mind. But a single point of warmth, a steady anchor, held me to the present. A large, calloused hand was wrapped around mine, a solid weight pulling me back from the abyss.

​Slowly, painfully, I turned my head. My neck was stiff and sore, every muscle protesting the movement. There, in a chair pulled close to the bed, was Logan.

​His head was bowed, his dark hair falling over his face like a curtain. He was still wearing the same clothes from the night before, now smudged with grime and streaked with dark, rusty stains I knew were blood. The exhaustion on his face was a physical thing, etched into every sharp line of his jaw and carved into the deep, bruised circles under his eyes. He looked like he hadn't slept for a hundred years, yet he had never left my side.

​As if sensing my gaze, he stirred. His head lifted, and the moment his eyes, weary and bloodshot, met mine, the exhaustion was swept away by a wave of relief so profound it shattered the dam he had built. Tears welled in his eyes, silent and swift.

​"Hey," he whispered, his voice a raw rasp.

I don't think I've ever witnessed him this way. 

​"Hey," I whispered back, my throat dry and aching. The single word felt like a monumental effort.

​He squeezed my hand gently, as if afraid to break me. "How do you feel?"

​"Tired," I managed.

I try to sit up, but my body feels heavy, disconnected. “What happened?” My voice cracks, dry and unfamiliar even to me. 

He leans forward, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating off him. His hand comes up, brushing a strand of hair away from my face with a gentleness that shouldn’t be possible for someone who’s built like him.

“You’re safe,” he says. “You’re in the hospital. Costello’s gone. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

The words should feel like freedom. Instead, they sink into me with a strange, hollow weight. Safe and gone. It doesn’t erase the echo of Costello’s voice in my head, or the phantom feel of his presence looming over me. My fingers twitch involuntarily, and Logan notices. He slides his hand into mine, his grip firm and steady, like he’s willing my shaking to stop.

“What about Victor?” I whisper.

For the first time, there’s hesitation in his eyes. “He helped us in the end. Without him, things would’ve gone differently.” His jaw flexes, like saying the words costs him something. “Costello figured out he was helping. He didn’t take it well. Victor got hurt, but he’s alive. I checked on him a while ago and he's doing okay.” Logan pauses, watching me closely. 

“If you want, I’ll let him come see you.”

I look away, staring at the white sheet covering my legs. Yes, I wanted to see him to make sure he was okay. But a part of me was conflicted because I also didn't want to see him, if that made any sense.

“I don’t know”

“You don’t have to decide right now,” he says softly, understanding my turmoil. “But maybe think about it. You might want to hear what he has to say”