Saved

The moment they stepped into Club Nova, the music hit like a wave—heavy bass vibrating through the floor, colored lights strobing across the crowd.

Harper saw girls in revealing clothes that barely hid anything. People were too busy hooking up to care. Girls danced, whining and turning with their friends. The scent of alcohol and sex filled her nostrils.

Her father was right after all.

This place wasn't where she belonged.

This was a place where people could come and be who they were—indecently—without people sitting around judging them.

Where they felt free and had fun.

Where perfection didn't belong.

Freedom.

Only freedom was here.

Harper instinctively moved closer to Logan, her fingers brushing his arm. The place was packed—shoulders brushing, laughter rising above the music, people lost in the chaos of the night.

Logan leaned in, close to her ear.

"You okay?"

Harper nodded, though her eyes scanned the crowd warily.

He noticed.

"Stay close," he said, then gently placed a hand on the small of her back, guiding her through the sea of bodies.

"I swear I'll murder you when we get back," she warned, and he chuckled.

Harper just smirked, enjoying his company.

They stopped at the bar.

Logan flagged down the bartender with a simple nod—cool and composed. Within seconds, two drinks appeared—something sweet and pink for her, something darker for him.

Harper took a cautious sip.

It wasn't bad.

He gave her a thumbs-up with a questioning look, and she nodded with a smile.

"Welcome… it's my pleasure," he spoke, drinking his in one gulp.

She just sipped hers.

She glanced at him just as a group of guys near the pool table called out his name.

"Yo! Logan!"

Logan turned, his jaw tightening slightly when he saw who it was. He looked back at Harper.

Then he winked.

She realized it was people from school—people who would definitely spread the news.

"I'll be right there," he called to them—then turned to her.

"See? I told you we'd meet people here. I'll catch up with them real quick, aight?"

"You sure?" she asked.

He touched her hand lightly.

"Promise. Two minutes, tops. Stay right here."

Harper nodded. She watched him go, weaving through the crowd with that calm, careless swagger that somehow always made him look like he owned every room he entered.

She took another sip of her drink, trying to ignore how loud the music was.

A man—tall, maybe in his mid-twenties, reeking of alcohol—stumbled too close. His eyes raked over Harper shamelessly.

"You here alone, sweetheart?" he slurred, leaning in.

"Excuse me?"

Harper's heart began racing. This was why she hated clubs.

Shameless men trying to take advantage of young girls.

"Oh, come on."

He moved closer, staring down at her thighs—perfectly toned, the denim skirt seemed to expose a lot when she sat, so she immediately stood up.

She stepped back.

"I'm not interested."

He laughed, grabbing her wrist.

"Aw, come on. Don't be like that—"

Before she could say another word, Logan was there.

He didn't speak.

He didn't ask questions.

He just acted.

His hand locked around the man's arm like steel, and in one swift move, he yanked the guy off her and shoved him back. The man stumbled, surprised, then charged.

Logan didn't flinch.

His fist connected clean and fast—one brutal punch to the jaw. The man's head snapped to the side, and he crashed into the bar stool, sending it clattering to the floor.

He tried to recover—swung clumsily—but Logan caught his wrist mid-air, twisted it hard, and drove his knee into the guy's ribs.

Another punch—this one to the nose.

Blood gushed instantly.

The man crumpled to the floor, groaning, face smeared red.

Logan didn't even look down.

He just turned to Harper, grabbed her hand gently but firmly, and said,

"Let's go."

Then they walked—his hand in hers—right over the guy on the floor.

People stared. Some whispered.

But Logan didn't care. He didn't stop.

Neither did Harper.

Because in that moment, there was only one thing she felt—

Safe.

And a little terrified by how much she liked that.