Logan jolted a bit in her seat when the crowd suddenly roared at the sound of Deon's theme. She let out a ragged breath and clenched her fist. The alcohol heightened the sound and the noise and the lights. All the different colors shined right into her eyes as the screaming blurred out of her senses. The music and the sounds sounded distant and soon faded away altogether. 

"It should have been you," a voice said. 

Logan opened her eyes and turned around. All motion in the club had stopped. The screaming women, the music, even Deon yelling out towards the crowd. George stood in front of her. He wore one of his fresh cleaned suits with gold cufflinks and a golden tie to match. He was younger. George had no wrinkles; he looked to be in his early 20s. His golden brown hair was slicked back; no grey at all. His eyes were dark and his mouth was in a sneer. 

"It should have been you," he repeated. "[i]You[/i] should have died. Not India."

"Dad," Logan gasped out. "Dad I know, I know." 

"If she was still here, everything would be fine," he snarled. Logan stayed frozen on her spot, her eyes starting to water. George parted his lips then gave a wry smile. "Don't ever come to visit me again. Not until I am with India again." The image of her father suddenly swirled away, fading into the corners of her vision. 

Logan blinked and she was back in her stool at the bar and the noise flowed back into her senses. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. She quickly whipped them away. She couldn't show weakness around the gang. 

"I think I'm drugged," she said aloud to no one in particular, hoping Millie or Victor would hear. She hoped she was still there and not in an alleyway being forced upon while unconscious. She rubbed her temples while breathing heavily. The edges of her vision focused in and out.