4. Rowan

4

ROWAN

I weave my long hair into a braid and toss it over my shoulder before running out of my apartment. I’m going to be a few minutes late, but I’m hoping no one will notice. A small smile tugs at my lips when I think of at least one person who will notice when I don’t show up right on time; Jett .

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him these last few days. Okay, I’ll admit, the man has been on my mind since I first saw him last week. But this is different. After we held hands and he whispered such sweet words to me, how could I not fall head over heels for him?

The idea of the tall, chiseled, gorgeous man with mysterious dark green eyes protecting me and wanting me to be happy feels too good to be true. In my experience, that means it probably is.

Besides, I know nothing about having a relationship or being with a guy. My father didn’t want me to have friends let alone boyfriends. Too many eyes on his shady dealings. Too much collateral damage. At least, that’s what he always used to tell me.

The sound of a motorcycle engine rips through the air, stealing the breath from my lungs. It’s not just any engine on any motorcycle. I recognize the pop and crackle of this bike from back home. It’s not my dad’s motorcycle, it belongs to one of his associates .

I frantically look around for somewhere to hide as the sound grows closer. My heart is stuck in my throat while my pulse pounds inside my eardrums, making me lightheaded and disoriented.

He found me. He found me. He found me…

I stumble forward as the world spins and then closes in around me until I can only see a small pinprick of light. My throat constricts, making my breaths ragged and desperate. A cold sweat breaks out over my skin and I’m about to pass out when another sound filters into my consciousness.

“I’ve got you, beautiful.” Jett’s warm, deep timbre soothes my aching heart and loosens the grip of anxiety ever so much.

I try talking but only a pathetic whimper comes out.

“It’s okay, Rowan. I’m right here,” he murmurs as he circles his arms around my back and presses my body against his much larger one. “Breathe for me, angel. Just focus on taking a slow breath in.”

He inhales, silently encouraging me to do the same. I follow his lead, matching the steady rhythm he’s setting.

“Good girl,” he praises. I shiver at the thought of pleasing Jett. I want to be his good girl.

“I, uh, I’m…” I hiccup, cutting myself off from rambling more nonsense.

Jett cups the back of my head, tenderly weaving his fingers in the long strands of my hair. Gently tilting my head so we’re face to face, Jett leans down and presses his lips to my forehead in the sweetest gesture.

“Did something happen?” he asks, tucking me further into his chest as he rests his chin on top of my head. I’m completely surrounded by his strength and warmth, and I’ve never felt safer in my entire life.

“I’m just paranoid,” I squeak out. I wrap my arms around Jett’s torso, clinging to him like a liferaft. Right now, that’s exactly what he is.

“Don’t do that,” he gently admonishes. “You don’t have to tell me everything. Just tell me something true. One little thing. One piece of your story.”

How can I deny this man anything when he’s holding me like this? And yet, what do I even say? I don’t want to burden him with my bullshit and I certainly don’t want to put him in danger.

“My father,” I start, my voice barely above a whisper. Jett freezes, every muscle in his body tense, poised for my next words. I’ve never had anyone’s complete attention like this before. “He… he joined some kind of gang recently. I don’t know. I’m not sure of the details, I just…”

“Take another breath for me, Rowan,” he murmurs. I do, feeling a little more steady.

“I saw something I shouldn’t have.”

Jett doesn’t say anything at first, he doesn’t even move a muscle. Finally, he loosens his hold on me and leans back slightly. “Thank you for trusting me,” he rasps, his voice full of emotion. He presses a sweet kiss to my forehead once more, then untangles himself from my embrace before taking my hand in his. “Now, let’s get you off to work,” he declares.

Two hours later, Jett is still sitting in his regular booth in the corner of the diner, watching me. His stare doesn’t creep me out, it makes me feel cared for and protected. Jett isn’t trying to intimidate or control me like I’ve experienced from my father and his friends in the past. No, with Jett, everything is different.

I didn't know men could be safe or kind until Jett came along. He's been taking care of me since day one when he left that generous tip and kept leaving tips to help me pay rent. We may have only recently started talking and sharing more, but Jett has already shown me with his actions how trustworthy he is.

What are you saying? Don’t get caught up in some stupid fantasy. This won’t last. My brain is at war with my heart, one telling me to keep my distance while the other is begging me to give in.

I can feel Jett’s gaze on my back, making me smile. I can’t help it. My spine tingles and my heart races, the frantic pulse mirrored deep in my core. All of the doubts and fears I had slip right out of my head as I turn and lock eyes with Jett from across the diner.

God, his green eyes pierce me through and through. And when the corner of his lips curl into a slight grin, my knees nearly give out. With dark hair, emerald eyes, a strong jaw, along with his muscled and tatted body… how is a girl supposed to resist?

I make my way toward him, coffee pot in hand. I have to at least pretend to be doing my job even though all I want to do is slide into the booth with him and crawl into his lap. My cheeks heat at the thought of climbing Jett like the mountain of a man he is and asking for my first kiss.

“What are you thinking about, beautiful?” he asks, his eyes never leaving mine.

“You,” I answer honestly. His grin turns into a full-on smile, and oh my god, I think he’s blushing. How this man manages to be badass, sexy as hell, and adorable at the same time is beyond my comprehension.

Jett starts to say something, but I can hardly hear him over the familiar sound of the motorcycle from this morning. I watch, seemingly in slow motion as the man I recognize from back home turns the corner and rides in front of Gracie May’s.

I was right. They found me.

My world is hazy, all other sounds and sights fading into the background as I watch the man speed past the window. My worst fears are confirmed when I see the back of the leather jacket he’s wearing. An image of two pistols crossing over a flame with the words Hell’s Scoundrels scrawled around the outside flashes in front of me and I tremble from head to toe. Two more men from my past roar by the diner on their bikes in matching jackets.

“What the fuck?” Jett grits out, pulling my attention away for a split second. “What are those motherfuckers doing here?”

He knows them?

The next second, Jett stands up and strides toward the front door, yanking it open and storming over to the street as if he’s going to catch each person and strangle them with his bare hands. I’m torn between staring at Jett and looking down the road for more of them. Specifically, my father.

One last bike turns the corner and I hold my breath, relieved to see it’s not my dad. The good feeling doesn’t last long, however.

I furrow my brow in confusion as the man grabs something out of his pocket. He swerves into the other lane, heading straight toward the large diner window. Just when I think he’s about to drive right through the glass, he turns.

Half a second later, the window shatters.

I turn away from the horror scene unfolding in front of me, confused about what’s happening. Something hits me in the lower back, knocking me to the ground and siphoning all the air from my lungs. The pot of coffee I was holding falls to the floor with me, the hot liquid spraying all over the tile as the pot breaks into a thousand little pieces in my hand.

I stay huddled up on the ground, unsure of what to do or what’s going on. Adrenaline pumps through my veins as I try to acclimate to the world around me. People are shouting and crying, the sound of glass crunching underfoot grating on my nerves.

“Rowan!” Jett shouts over the cacophony of chaos. “Rowan, where are you?” I push myself off the tile floor enough to sit up. “Jesus Christ, there you are,” he breathes out before kneeling in front of me.

“Jett,” I choke out through tears. “Wh-wh-what hap-p-pened?”

“Some fucker threw a goddamn rock through the window,” he grits out.

“That explains it,” I say, my voice tight with pain.

“Rowan, holy shit, did it hit you?” Jett looks around, growling when he sees the rock in question.

“I’m fine,” comes my automatic response. I’m always fine. If I took time to process every injury I’ve received at the hands of my father and his associates, I’d lose my mind. Instead, I shove all those feelings way down deep, get the first aid kid, and patch myself up. I don’t know any other way to live.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters again, his hands hovering over my body as if he doesn’t know where he can touch me without it hurting. “I’m so sorry, beautiful. I’m sorry I wasn’t here. Fuck, I should have been here. It should have been me.”

I give him a puzzled look. It should have been him…? What should have been him?

As if sensing my unspoken question, Jett leans down and presses a kiss to my forehead. “I should have been the one who was hit. I wish I was the one hurting, not you.”

I can’t comprehend his words, so I just blink up at him, trying to figure out this man.

“There’s a note,” Jett says, reaching for the large, jagged rock. No wonder it feels like I was punched in the back. He slips the piece of paper out from the rubber band securing it in place and unfolds it. A look of utter confusion takes over his features.

“He knows you’re here,” Jett reads out loud.

Ice runs through my veins, a violent shiver wracking my body at the ominous message.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Jett says to himself. “I’m here all the time with my MC brothers. That’s not new information.”

I don’t know what Jett’s connection is with Hell’s Scoundrels, but I can give him clarification on this one point.

“That note isn’t for you,” I whisper. His eyes snap up to meet mine and I can feel the intensity of his stare course through my body. “It’s meant for me.”