Dirty

By Rose Wulf

Clarabelle Buchannon never imagined the secret Logan Hawke and his family kept. But no amazing secret would change how she felt.

The real problem wasn’t that the man she wanted controlled the earth – it was that he was as stubborn as a rock. And he had some lethal enemies who’d recently bumped him to the top of their hit-list. Now that she’d inadvertently foiled an attempt on Logan’s life it seemed Clare was in their sights, too.

She’d have to think fast if she wanted to keep Logan from doing the heroically stupid thing and pulling away.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Evernight Publishing
• Release date: Nov 22, 2017
• ISBN: 9781773394862

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Published by EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ® at Smashwords

www.evernightpublishing.com

Copyright© 2017 Rose Wulf

ISBN: 978-1-77339-486-2

Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

Editor: Lisa Petrocelli

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to my newest doctor, Lindsey Steglich with Ampla Health. Lindsey, if you're reading this, I sincerely want to thank you.

For putting me on track to improve my health. To bringing me even just one answer as to what I've been struggling with all these years. And most importantly, for restoring my faith in today's medical care system.

I'd honestly given up on the concept of finding a provider who really cared, and I'm so glad I listened to the recommendation to transfer to you. So thank you. And please, please don't leave the area anytime soon!

DIRTY

Elemental Series, 3

Rose Wulf

Copyright © 2017

Chapter One

Wind was howling through the pelting rain as Logan dove behind a large boulder, letting it take the shot of lightning for him. He grit his teeth at the electrical discharge and spun around, keeping a solid hold on the shattered fragments of rock and throwing them forward. He aimed the pieces straight for the opponent he could barely see and the branch she was balanced on. But again, she leapt awkwardly onto an adjacent branch, thereby dodging his attack.

"You know, Emma called darkly, if you’d just hold still, this stupid game of tag could be over by now." The air crackled again, the only faint indicator of her pending strike.

Lightning tore from the sky once more, curving toward him from somewhere between their positions, so Logan rolled forward and pulled a solid layer of dirt and rock over his body to use as a shield from the ambient electricity. He landed in a crouch several feet closer to her and returned, "And if you and your family weren’t trying to kill us, it would never have started in the first place."

Emma laughed cruelly and replied, Oh, that’s right. Don’t worry, Eric told us all about your little pity parties. God, could you people be any more pathetic?

He really didn’t want to destroy a perfectly healthy tree, but it was starting to look like he wouldn’t have a choice. With her staying off the ground, it was incredibly hard to actually reach her. And it wasn’t like he could afford to drag their fight out until she exhausted herself, especially since he didn’t know just how much she could do before she reached her limit.

"Nothing to say?" Emma taunted with a smirk.

Meeting her dark gaze through the foliage that separated them, Logan replied, Not really. He was kneeling on the ground, palms splayed, and her expression contorted into one of hesitated confusion when he clenched his fists. A spear of hardened earth shot up from directly beneath her an instant later.

She let out a startled shriek and tried to throw herself back onto the branch she’d been balanced on previously. The earth-spear pierced her branch even as her feet left, not quite slicing the branch off entirely. Emma crashed unceremoniously into the branch she’d been aiming for, but her grip was bad and her feet had no purchase. She scrambled as best she could, disregarding the bark of the tree branch as it sliced into her hands, but it was useless.

"No!" she cried as she lost her grip and began to fall. She crashed into—and snapped—a smaller, weaker branch that had been beneath her. The side of her body scraped against the trunk of the tree. Her ankle caught on a spindly, but surprisingly sturdy, branch and twisted unnaturally. And then she finally slammed, face-first, into the hard ground below.

****

Logan Hawke jerked awake, his heart pounding in his chest in time to the rolling cracks of thunder from his nightmare. It took several deep, increasingly steady breaths for his heart rate to stabilize even as he swung his legs around until his feet were resting on the floor. He hated that memory. The day of that fight still haunted him. Almost every night, for the past three weeks, he’d seen flashes of it in his dreams. If she’d just stayed down after she’d fallen from that tree, maybe it wouldn’t be haunting him this badly. But she hadn’t. She’d kept fighting, kept trying to electrocute him. He’d had no choice but to fight back.

He ground his teeth, fists convulsively clenching over his knees, as his mind fast-forwarded the rest of that battle. He wished the memory would fade, but it didn’t. It refused to fall back or even go dim around the edges. And the sight of his unconscious, beaten opponent, a woman he’d once thought he respected, being carried to her family’s getaway car would likely haunt him for the rest of his life. That was why he disliked violence. It was too easy for him. Too easy to break things or hurt someone. And he’d hurt Emma Matthews. Badly. The knowledge that her family had been actively trying to kill his—even that her father had been partially responsible for the deaths of two of his uncles—didn’t ease the guilt and regret in his stomach.

At the end of the day he and his family had survived that fight. They had more than survived, really. They’d won. That should have been enough. In some ways it was. At least we haven’t heard from them since. It was small consolation, really, but it was all he had.

Logan sighed, forcibly uncurling his fists, and focused his gaze on his darkened bedroom. He looked around, hoping the familiar décor would distract his mind, and allowed his eyes to adjust to the lack of light in the way no one else could. It only took seconds to discern, in crisp detail, the shape of his tall, old-fashioned armoire and the sliding doors to his closet on the far wall. His dark, chocolate-brown curtains were hanging perfectly still over the large window above the other side of his bed. His comforter and the thinner, warmer blanket beneath—also shades of brown—were bunched over the foot of the bed. His sheets were rumpled and twisted. And the clock above the nightstand beside him insisted it was barely past one. Far too early to let himself stay up.

Dragging a hand down his face, Logan took a long, slow breath and stretched out again on his bed. He needed to sleep. He would be busy in the morning and if he didn’t get back to sleep he’d regret it. For a moment, without bothering to tug the blankets back over his shirtless body, he let himself stare at the ceiling. When he found himself starting to list the things he had scheduled for the next day, he released another breath and let his eyes close once more.

She was reaching, stretching her trembling arm beyond the top of the short wall of earth that separated them. Her fingertips sparked and dark determination clouded her eyes.

Logan’s eyes snapped open again with a sharp intake of breath. Sleep wasn’t interested in being his friend at the moment, apparently. With a groan, Logan pushed all the way to his feet and started down the hall toward his bathroom. Maybe, if he were lucky, he could splash some water on his face and chase away the memory for a few hours.

****

What are you even doing up this late? Clarabelle Buchannon asked with a laugh as her hand returned to the steering wheel.

Her sister’s voice was laughing along with her in her ear, saying, Oh, you know me. I lost track of time. Blame social media.

Clare grinned, knowing her sibling well enough to easily picture her sitting up until dawn with her laptop. You need a twelve-step program, Chlo.

Maybe, Chloe allowed, but at least I’m home. Are you?

Ah, Clare hedged, not quite. But almost, I promise!

Clare, Chloe began, dragging the nickname out deliberately, "what could you possibly be doing out and about at one-thirty in the morning?"

I was helping count the proceeds, Clare defended, easing the car to a stop as she approached the stop sign. She barely even noticed the accompanying pause in her speech before returning her foot to the gas. Besides, Beth wanted to chat, and it’s not like I have school in the morning.

Chloe sighed dramatically on the other end of the line and Clare could visualize the slight headshake that she was sure had accompanied the sound. But whatever her elder sister started to say a beat later was lost to Clare’s ears as her attention was dragged to her surroundings with the unusual bumping and jerking of her car. She tightened her grip on the wheel, immediately slowing down, and reflexively flicked her gaze around as if she would suddenly be able to see the problem.

I’m sorry, Chlo, she said a second later, cutting her sister off, but can I call you in the morning? It’s late. She didn’t want to tell her sister about whatever was wrong with her car, at least not before she knew what it was, because she didn’t want to worry her. So she eased her Cabriolet to the side of the road, flicking her hazards on before putting the car in park.

Chloe’s hesitation was obvious before she asked, Everything all right, Clare?

Of course, Clarabelle promised, telling herself it wasn’t a lie until she knew what had caused the problem. But she had a sneaking suspicion that she’d be needing to wake up the local tow-truck driver. Get some sleep and I’ll call you in the morning, when the normal people are up, too.

Chloe relented with a half-sigh, half-laugh, and bid Clare good night before disconnecting.

Clare released a breath and slid free of her seat belt, but made no other move to step from her car. She had been downplaying the unease slowly growing in her gut. She wasn’t an idiot. It was after one-thirty in the morning and she was closer to the beach than the heart of town, on a small, winding, two-lane road. It’s times like this I wouldn’t mind having a boyfriend. She would still feel guilty for calling so late, of course, but to her mind this was a good situation to have a man at her side. A man she trusted, specifically, and not her father. She couldn’t conceivably call on her father for this! But you’re getting ahead of yourself, Clarabelle.

Taking a deep breath, she grabbed her purse and after checking her mirrors stepped from her car.

The road was just as deserted now that she was standing as it had appeared from within the confines of her small, expensive Porsche. And that was both reassuring and disconcerting, so she pushed the reflection entirely aside and redirected her gaze to her car. It didn’t take long at all to spot the problem, and it was exactly what she’d been afraid of. She had apparently run over something sharp—likely at the stop sign—because her back driver’s side tire was almost completely flat.

A frustrated sigh escaped her and she pursed her lips. She was definitely going to have to call Denny, and at one-thirty in the morning she would just feel awful for it. But there wasn’t anything to be done. She didn’t know how to change a tire on her own. Chloe was right. I should really let Sean teach me. Sean was Chloe’s fiancé, and apparently, he was good at teaching a woman how to change a flat tire. When Chloe heard about this she was going to guilt Clare into learning, and Clare wasn’t going to have a good excuse to get out of it. First, though, she had to get the tow truck out so she could be on her way home once more.

Please tell me I still have his number, Clare mumbled as she leaned her backside against the bumper of the car, scrolling through her contacts list. She had just alighted on Denny’s name when she heard the distinctive, undeniable sound of an approaching vehicle. Reflexively, and with an unfamiliar twinge of trepidation in her chest, Clare’s gaze snapped up to the road and she straightened, phone still in her hand. There was just something inherently frightening about being stranded on the side of the road in the middle of the night.

Her stare landed on the large, hard-to-see truck as it rounded the final curve between them. It was driving perfectly fine, but it was dark and its headlights were blinding, and Clare was forced to squint. The truck had already passed before an errant possibility occurred to her, making her step from her car and turn to watch. There was a good chance she knew that truck, actually.

And, as she watched, the driver hit his brakes just shy of the next bend in the road. It idled for only a moment before the white reverse lights turned on and the truck backed up. Clare watched with mixed feelings as it backed past her, pulled to the side, and drove slowly up until coming to a stop only five feet from her bumper. She was almost positive now, despite the terrible lighting around them. She knew that truck.

Clare? a deep, rumbling male voice called as the door popped open and a tall, broad-shouldered figure stepped out. The gravel of the dirt and pebbles crunched beneath his booted feet, and then the door was swinging shut and Logan Hawke’s familiar voice continued, You okay?

Relief settled in her stomach and Clare dropped her phone back into her purse. Outside of her family there were very few people she trusted more than Logan. With a self-conscious laugh, she replied, Ah, yes, I’m fine. My tire’s gone flat on me, though. I don’t suppose I could … trouble you for a little help?

He met her gaze with the assistance of his headlights, and a faint smirk lifted his lips. Not a problem, he assured her. His gaze slid past her then, and swept over her car. You got a spare with you?

Yes, Clare replied with a smile and a bob of her head. In the trunk. Hang on. She turned and moved back to the driver’s seat in order to press the button that would release her trunk. By the time she was back to the space between their vehicles he was already hauling the spare tire out. She was sure to keep out of his way as he moved, and she did her best not to block the light of his headlights either. When he was crouched beside her flat, preparing to take it off, she added, Thank you so much, Logan.

Don’t mention it, he called as he worked. The movement of his shoulders was subtle beneath his shirt and even more so in the poor lighting, but she noticed all the same. He was a hard man to miss in any situation, at an impressive six foot two and with more muscle than any one man had a right to. He was just barely twenty-three, making him almost three full years older than her, but that had never stopped her from looking twice. She’d been stupidly infatuated with him since high school, when he’d been on the Varsity football team and she’d just been a freshman in the stands.

For a silly moment, she was actually glad her tire had gone flat.

So what are you doing out here this late anyway? Logan asked as he worked, a subdued note of genuine curiosity in his voice.

Dragging herself back into the moment, Clare shifted and offered up the same answer she’d given her sister just minutes before. I was helping Beth count some proceeds, and we maybe got a little distracted with our girl talk.

The faintest of chuckles rumbled over to her ears and he said, I should have assumed. How’d the fundraiser go anyway?

Her smile was bright and immediate, even though he couldn’t see it, and she replied, It went really well! You’re working on the reconstruction, aren’t you?

Earl’s Diner, a popular local establishment and her personal favorite place to eat out, had had a terrible accident in the kitchen and burnt to the ground nearly a month prior. Fortunately, no lives had been lost, though a couple of the kitchen staff had suffered severe burns. There hadn’t been enough left of the original building to salvage, so the owners were starting completely from scratch. Clare, who loved any chance she could get to help her community, had quickly contacted Earl and his wife, Paula, to set up a charity fundraising event to help with reconstruction costs. And Logan’s construction company was the one Earl had turned to for the actual work.

Yeah, Logan confirmed, shifting his weight as he worked on securing the spare tire. That’s what I was doing, actually, or I would’ve come, too.

Clare laughed softly, saying, Most of your siblings were there, so I’d say you don’t have to feel too bad.

"Well, they should have been, he agreed with another chuckle, since my future sisters-in-law work there."

A thoughtful sigh slipped from her lips as Clare looked up to the twinkling blanket of stars overhead and she asked, Does it seem to you like everyone’s getting married all of a sudden? She wasn’t really sure where the question had come from, but suddenly it occurred to her that she was a little jealous. She knew, logically, that twenty was probably too young to be envious of newlyweds, but she was anyway. It had started with her sister, who was well into planning her Christmas wedding, and then over Memorial weekend Beth had announced an engagement of her own. Plus, two of Logan’s three brothers were engaged, and she’d spent several hours that day around all four of the happy couples. Now here she was, standing on the side of the road, alone with the man she often fantasized about.

Sometimes, Logan replied, dragging her out of her reflection. But I’m happy for them.

Blinking, Clare gave herself a mental headshake and said, Oh, I am, too. It was just an observation, really…

Suddenly Logan was standing again, her flattened tire on one shoulder. Turning toward her he declared, All right, you’re good to go. Just remember, you don’t want to procrastinate getting a new one for too long. Spares aren’t meant to be permanent replacements.

Clare smiled easily as their gazes met again. I know. Thanks so much, Logan, I really appreciate it.

It wasn’t a problem, he insisted, inclining his head before turning and starting toward his truck. I’ll get rid of this thing for you. It’s pretty well destroyed. Were you off-roading or something?

Not at all, Clare replied, watching him move without trailing after him. I think I drove over whatever it was at the ‘stop’ sign. Everything was fine before then.

Huh, Logan grunted after depositing the tire into the bed of his pickup. That sort of sucks.

It worked out okay, Clare joked with an easy smile. She had the annoying urge to thank him again, but fortunately she bit it back. Twice was bad enough. A third time would just be embarrassing.

Logan shrugged, and instead of commenting, asked, You want me to follow you home, just in case?

Clare hesitated, feeling genuinely torn. Her gaze broke from his to flick toward her waiting car before returning to him and asking, Should I be worried?

Probably not, Logan assured her, hooking his thumbs into his pockets casually. "But it is pushing two in the morning."

She sucked in a breath, eyes flying wide, and exclaimed, I didn’t even ask! Were you on your way somewhere? You must have been, to be out here this late. I’m so sorry!

Relax, Logan interrupted, shaking his head, I was just driving for the sake of driving. Couldn’t sleep.

The guilt that had already started building up inside her dissolved and she smiled again. She felt bad that he’d been having trouble sleeping, but she knew that wasn’t her fault, and if he’d been sleeping properly he wouldn’t have been able to save her from her tire troubles. Ah, well, then I won’t feel bad. She paused, remembering he’d asked another question before she’d made her assumption, and sheepishly added, As for your offer … would you mind?

Not at all, he promised. I’ll follow you.

****

With one hand braced against the smooth, ivory-painted wall in the hallway beside her massive living room, Sarah Matthews pulled in a long, quiet breath. There weren’t words to describe the mess her life—all of their lives—had become lately. It seemed everything had fallen apart around them overnight, and she wasn’t entirely sure who to blame. Her family, her in-laws, technically, was so deeply invested in their feud with the Hawkes that she was coming to doubt they remembered how to be happy. And their current situation wasn’t helping.

"I said no!" Victor, Sarah’s father-in-law, bellowed angrily as if on cue. There was a crash in the room beyond the wall and she could only assume he’d tossed another of her grandmother’s priceless china teacups at the wall. Or, and this was possibly more likely, at one of his sons.

Her eyes closed for several seconds. Victor was grieving, but not currently in the traditional sense. After their senseless one-on-one fight with the Hawke brothers, and directly as a result, the older man was now forced to adjust to life as a paraplegic. She felt terrible for him, but his renewed anger wasn’t just aimed at the Hawkes or even the outside world. Victor Matthews was just as, if not more, angry at his own family. And that, she suspected, was as much because of his own loss as the loss they were still teetering on the edge of.

Father, Jacob’s calm, pointed voice called, drawing Sarah back into the moment and reminding her that she was still technically hiding in the hall of her own home. If you could please refrain from throwing the china, I’m sure Sarah would be very grateful.

I’m sure she would, too. And she might even have been grateful to her husband for speaking up if it hadn’t taken an argument in the middle of the night, just the day before, to get him to realize her personal family heirlooms were not his father’s therapeutic stress relievers. But now was still as good a time as any to make her entrance, so she pulled her hand from the wall and continued toward the living room.

I’m sure I would, too, Eric grumbled as she entered. The youngest Matthews was crouched over the hardwood, scooping shattered pieces of floral-print china into his palm.

Sarah swept her gaze over the room, opting to pretend she hadn’t been lingering in the hall, and let a mostly genuine frown dip her lips when she saw the trio.

Jacob looked between them for an instant before offering her an apologetic look and lying, It was an accident, darling. We’re cleaning it up.

She took another breath, inclined her head, and looked again at Eric as she said, Thank you.

All of you should just leave me the hell alone, Victor grumbled, carelessly dropping the small accompanying plate onto the side table beside his chair. He shifted his weight onto his opposite elbow, chin propped in his palm, and glared out the window as he added, I don’t want company.

Jacob shot a hand out to stabilize the plate before it rocked right off the table, but his voice remained calm and patient as he suggested, Then perhaps you should retreat to your room, Father.

Sarah only watched, biting her tongue, as Eric stood with the fragmented remains of the teacup in his hand and turned toward the kitchen area. He’d only taken two steps, however, when they heard a hesitant, polite, feminine voice clear her throat from the hallway. There was only one woman who could possibly have walked into the room, and Sarah’s heart lurched in her chest as all eyes immediately averted to the newcomer.

Forgive me, the soft-spoken, middle-aged woman started, her head bowed and hands clasped in front of her waist. She was an in-home nurse. Jacob had hired her to help both with his father and with his sister, Emma. But by the time they’d gotten out of the hospital, Victor hadn’t really been the one who