From a distance, Logan stood amongst the people in the club, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. The bass of the music throbbed against his temples, but it wasn't the sound that was getting to him—it was the sight before him.
Harper.
She was sitting at the bar, leaning closer to Damian as she dabbed gently at his bruise with a napkin. At one point, Damian muttered something, and Harper chuckled, her soft laughter blending with the hum of the club. He couldn't here the sound, but he had heard it before. That sound pierced him deeper than the sting of his own busted lip.
Logan's jaw tightened, the vein at his temple ticking. His expression darkened as his eyes narrowed, every muscle in his body stiff with barely contained anger. How could she laugh? Had she forgotten the fight? The blood? Did she not see the raw pain in his lip?
And?
Yet she decided to treat his Devil rather.
