12. Rowan

12

ROWAN

I fidget in the backseat of my father's old Cadillac, trying to find a sharp edge to help cut my zip ties off. My hands are locked behind my back, my shoulders aching from the awkward position I've been in for the last hour.

“Come on,” I huff out under my breath.

I peek out the window to make sure no one is looking at me. Of course, my father and his men are focused on the transaction that’s about to go down. Honestly, even if I got my hands free and managed to escape, where would I go? We’re in the middle of fucking nowhere surrounded by an endless sea of desert and scorching sunlight.

Still, I have to try. Dying out in the desert is a preferable ending to what my dad actually has in mind for me. I don’t know how he found me at Jett’s house, but he’s always been good at tracking me down. You’d think he loves me or something, but I know his intentions are anything but pure.

Jett left early this morning to handle club business. He didn’t have to say it, but I knew he was going to talk to the guys about Hell’s Scoundrels and how to get rid of them. I’m relieved that they’re on the case… or, at least I was relieved. Now, I’m trapped.

I was still resting in bed when I woke up to the sound of glass breaking. I shot up off the mattress, instantly on the defensive. Searching for anything to protect myself, I grabbed the lamp on the table next to me and wielded it over my head. When my father climbed in through the window, I kicked over the side table to trip him up a bit. He dodged the table, lunging straight for me. I threw the lamp but missed his head by an inch. This only angered him more.

With the help of one of his new friends, my dad zip-tied me and tossed me in the back of his car. I thought he was going to take me back home and put a bullet in my head. His actual plan is arguably far worse.

Apparently, there's a market for plus-sized girls in some parts of the world. My stomach roils at the thought of being sold into sex slavery. I almost throw up but manage to swallow down the terror ripping apart my insides. Getting sick to my stomach won't help anything. I just need to get out. Somehow. Get far away. Start over under an alias this time. Dye my hair. Move to a different country.

I scoot across the backseat, my hands finding the sharp points of the seatbelt buckle. Gotta love old cars that are still made out of metal and not aluminum or plastic. I position my wrists just above the buckle and then hammer down on it a few times. I miss the first time, the sharp edge of the buckle slicing through my skin. By the fourth attempt, the zip tie catches on a corner, which cuts into the material by a millimeter.

Again and again, I rub my tied-up wrists against the sharp object, gritting my teeth against the jagged metal when it punctures my flesh. Blood drips down my hands from all the scratches, but I don't stop. I keep hitting the corner over and over, counting to ten and then starting over back at one. I can make it ten more seconds. Ten more seconds. Ten more seconds.

I only stop when I hear the faint sound of motorcycles in the distance. Looking out the back window, I blink a few times to make sure I'm not hallucinating. I swear I see Jett, Domino, and Diesel coming down the dirt road. Glancing over at my father, I'm relieved to see he hasn't noticed anything amiss. Neither has his men or the people he's talking to. They're all too busy negotiating how much cocaine I'm worth.

Jett and the guys park their bikes several yards away at the abandoned gas station down the road, probably to avoid being detected. Spurred on by their presence, I slam my wrists down on the seatbelt buckle one last time, holding back my victory cry when my restraints fall away.

I slide across the seat and wrap my fingers around the door handle, carefully opening the door a tiny crack and then pausing to make sure no one notices. Inch by inch, I ease the door open until I'm able to fit through it. First one foot, then the other, before gently pushing myself up and scooting through the open door.

My shirt gets caught on something, making the car door swing wide open, making an awful screeching sound. Without thinking or looking back at all, I sprint toward the gas station, where I hope Jett is waiting for me.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” my father roars. “No, you don’t get to run away again. Fucking selfish cunt.”

I wince at his words, though I should be used to them by now. He’s crude, cruel, and vulgar just to be vulgar. I hate everything about that man.

As soon as I make it over the slight incline, I see Jett running toward me.

“Don’t you fuckin’ move! Not one more step!” my father shouts. I freeze when I hear the click of the safety on his gun.

Jett doesn't hesitate. He whips out his gun and fires off a shot before my dad even knows what hit him. I don't turn around, I simply keep running right into the arms of my savior, ignoring the thud of my father's body on the ground.

I’m aware of other shots ringing out, men yelling, engines revving, and then car tires squealing as they are pushed to their limit to get the passengers as far away as possible. However, I can’t focus on any of that. Not when Jett pulls me into his arms, wrapping me up in his embrace.

“Rowan,” he rasps, lifting me up and carrying me back toward his bike. “I’m so sorry, angel. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I should have been there. Fuck, I… Are you okay? What happened? What did he do to you?”

The weight of the day, hell, the weight of my entire life feels suffocating in this moment. I can’t process the barrage of Jett’s questions or understand why he’s apologizing. It’s all too much.

Tears form and fall down my cheeks, making Jett deflate. His green eyes are filled with sorrow and anger, and I know he’s trying to calm down before talking to me again.

“It’s okay, Rowan,” he soothes as he sets me down in front of his bike. “I shouldn’t have bombarded you like that. You can tell me when you’re ready.” I nod. “But for now, do you trust me?”

“Of course,” comes my broken, scratchy response.

Jett cups my face in his hand, tilting my head up so he can press a kiss to my forehead. He lingers there, humming in approval. The vibrations rattle through me from head to toe, finally breaking me out of my daze. Jett’s here. He came for me.

"Thank fuck," he replies, wiping the tears from my cheeks. "I know I let you down but I'm going to spend the rest of my life making it up to you. Starting with getting the hell out of here."

With that, Jett climbs on his bike and motions for me to get on the back. I do, scooting up closer and closer to Jett and clinging to him with what little strength I have left.

“What happened to your wrists? Your hands? You’re bleeding,” he says, his voice filled with concern.

"Oh, sorry," comes my automatic response as I retract my arms from around his torso. "Did I get anything on you? I can hold on to the bike instead–"

“I don’t give a shit about staining my clothes,” he barks out. I tense up, holding my hands at my sides until I know how to proceed. “Sorry,” he says more softly this time. “I’m not mad at you. I’m just… I’m so disappointed in myself for not being there for you. I hate that you’re hurt and bleeding because of me.”

Jett carefully grasps my hands and places them around his torso, encouraging me to hold onto him. I do, pressing my face into his back and breathing in his familiar leather and spice scent.

“We’re home, beautiful,” Jett says. “You can let go now. Let’s get you inside”

I open my eyes, surprised to find that we’re parked in Jett’s driveway. I hardly remember the ride here, though I know it must have been at least thirty minutes.

Jett carefully peels one of my arms off his torso, then the other, holding out his hand to help me off his bike. I sway a bit, my head still pounding from everything I just went through. Jett is next to me in an instant, wrapping an arm around me and tucking me into his side. He half walks, half carries me inside, and leads me to the bathroom.

Without a word, Jet starts undressing me, his eyes roaming over every inch of my body. It’s not a lustful look, however. He’s assessing me for damage. Each time he discovers a new scrape or bruise, he winces and looks ashamed.

When I’m completely naked, I place a hand over Jett’s heart. “It’s not your fault,” I tell him. I can tell he’s about to protest, but I continue before he has a chance to say anything. “Remember when you told me it wasn’t my fault when that man threw a rock through the diner window? You said those were his actions and his choices, even if he was acting on behalf of my father.”

“But..”

“So by that logic, this isn’t your fault, Jett. My dad made his choices. If you hadn’t shown up, he was going to…” Jett cups my chin, lifting it up so I can meet his gaze. “He w-was going to sell me in return for cocaine.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Jet grunts. He tilts his head up and takes a deep breath in, blowing it out toward the ceiling. He’s shaking with anger, though I know it’s not directed at me. “I should have been there to stop it. I should have gone after your father sooner. I should have–”

I lean up on my tiptoes and kiss him to stop his rambling. Jett curls his arms around my back and pulls me closer, sinking into this kiss. It's slow and tender like he's treasuring everything about me.

When we break apart, I tug at his shirt, signaling for him to take it off. I get to work on his belt while Jett toes his boots off. He turns on the shower, testing the water before guiding me inside.

The steam from the hot water instantly relaxes muscles I didn't even know I was tensing. Jett positions me under the stream and then pours out some body wash into his hand. He takes his time lathering me up, his tender touch healing my wounds in more ways than one.

He silently urges me to turn around, and I'm surprised when the giant, muscled, powerful man covered with tattoos and scars begins washing my hair. He gently massages my scalp and then combs his fingers through my hair as he rinses the shampoo away. Next comes the conditioner, which he applies with the utmost care. He's so sweet, so good with me, and so completely focused on my safety and comfort, that I start crying.

I hardly realize I’m sobbing until Jett spins me around and cradles me against his chest. I burrow into him, finally feeling at home once he tucks my head under his chin and wraps me up in his arms.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, stroking my back in a calming gesture. “I’m right here. Let it out, Rowan.”

Endless rivers of tears stream down my face and I tremble in Jett’s hold, but he never lets me go. My man whispers soothing words into my ear while rocking me back and forth, promising me all kinds of things I hope he means.

When I’m all cried out, Jet holds my face in his hands, those green eyes locked on mine. “You’re so precious to me, Rowan,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry for everything that happened today. I’m sorry I was put in the position to kill your father, but I’d make that choice again if I had to. I just hope you don’t see me as a monster because of it.”

“What?” I gasp in surprise. I lean back slightly, breaking his hold on me. Shame swims just beneath his green gaze. “Jett, I’m not upset with you at all. My father had more than earned a bullet in his head. He’s had it coming for a long time. There was no other choice. He was never going to stop chasing me.”

“He’s still your father. That has to mean something. It’s okay if you have mixed emotions.”

I consider his words, searching my thoughts for what I truly feel in this moment. “Honestly… does it make me a terrible daughter if all I feel is… relief? God, that’s such a horrible thing to say.”

"Not at all, angel," Jett reassures me. He starts washing himself up with the body wash and I help, running my hands over the contours of his muscles. "The way he treated you isn't the way a father should treat his daughter. It's not how a man treats a woman, period. I wish I could undo all of the harm and pain he's caused, but I can't. All I can do is promise to cherish you and love you the way you deserve."

“Love?” I whisper, peering up into his mesmerizing emerald eyes.

“Love,” he confirms, reaching above my head to shut the water off. Jett grabs a towel, leading me out of the shower and drying me off. “Does that scare you?” he asks as he dries himself off as well.

“No,” I answer, shaking my head. “I… I love you, too. I thought about it all day yesterday but I knew it was too soon to say. I didn’t want you to think I was clingy or–”

“Say it again, angel,” he demands, closing his eyes.

“I love you, Jett.”

“Music to my goddamn ears, beautiful,” he rasps. “Can I show you how much I love you? How I’ll always give you everything you need?”

I nod, needing that from him now more than ever. “Yes, please,” I whisper. “I need you, Jett. Need to feel you inside me.”

“Are you sore? I don’t want to hurt you, love.”

“I just need you,” I repeat. “I know you’d never hurt me.” I wrap my arms around his neck and fuse my lips to his, proving my point. Jett groans and lifts me up, carrying me toward the bedroom to give us what we’re both desperate for.