Chapter 15
The bedroom door clicks shut behind Rowan, and I stay still for five seconds before giving in and rolling into the warm spot he left behind, burying my nose in his pillow. His pheromones fill my lungs and wrap around me in an invisible claim that should be confining but somehow isn’t.
This has become our routine over the past two months, me sleeping past dawn while he rises to cook breakfast for Lena and me. I stretch beneath the covers, toes flexing as I catalog the small aches from last night’s activities and the pleasant burn left by muscles worked to exhaustion.
I can’t hear anything from the rest of the loft through the soundproofing, but Rowan and Lena will be in the kitchen, talking over coffee. It’s part of their morning routine. The first week here, I would rush out of bed, still driven by the need to micromanage every hour.
After the second week, though, and then the third, my mind started to relax and trust in this new system, where Lena could get ready by herself, where Rowan’s driver would pick her up, take her to school, and bring her back safe.
Now, I linger in bed, allowing myself five more minutes of warmth.
When I finally pad to the bathroom, the tile floor chills my bare feet.
Winter in Ashford Heights turns everything cold, even in buildings with functioning heat.
I turn on the shower, waiting for steam to fog the glass walls, and spot a black leather case sitting on the counter, tied with a simple ribbon.
Curious what Rowan is up to, I flip it open to find a sleek nape guard nestled in velvet. After two months, Rowan has almost chewed through the cheap clinic-issued one I still wear.
This one is a custom piece with a breathable mesh backing and a reinforced titanium plate over the vulnerable nape. When I run my fingers along the interior, I find plush padding to relieve any pressure.
Two months ago, I would have calculated the cost down to the penny and added it to the mental ledger of what I owe Rowan. Now, I simply lift it from the case, its supple length settling across my palm. The guard clicks into place at my nape, molding to my skin in a way my old one never did.
I meet my eyes in the reflection from the mirror.
The dark circles that haunted my stare for years have faded, and my cheeks have filled in, my collarbones becoming less prominent beneath skin that’s lost its sickly pallor.
The guard sits flush around my neck, its matte finish as elegant as it is functional.
Twenty minutes later, dressed in clothes no longer hanging from my frame, I walk into the kitchen.
Lena sits at the island, uniform perfect, hair braided down her back. A textbook lies open beside her breakfast plate. No more rushed bites for her between throwing on clothes and running for the bus.
“Morning, Sleeping Beauty.” She grins at me over her orange juice. “Nice new guard.”
My hand rises to touch the leather at my neck. “Thanks.”
Rowan turns from the stove, spatula in hand. His apron reads ‘Kiss the Cook’ in blocky red letters. Lena gave it to him our second week here, and it should look ridiculous on him, but somehow it doesn’t.
His eyes land on the guard, pupils dilating, and an appreciative rumble rises from his chest that does bad things to my desire to leave the house today. “Looks good on you, precious.”
Lena snorts, packing her textbook into her backpack. “And that’s my cue to finish getting ready for school. The car will be here in ten minutes.”
She disappears down the hallway, leaving us alone in the kitchen. Rowan sets a plate of eggs and bacon before me and brushes his lips against my temple.
“Coffee?” He doesn’t wait for my answer, already pouring the dark liquid into my favorite mug.
I sample the eggs and find them perfect, as always. “You don’t have to cook every morning.”
“I enjoy feeding you.” His finger traces my collarbone, which protrudes less than it used to. “You’ve put on weight.”
In anyone else’s mouth, it would sound like criticism, but from Rowan, it comes with another rumble of satisfaction. He’s been working to fill out my frame since that first breakfast months ago.
After Lena leaves for school, her laughter echoing in the hallway, Rowan goes to the bedroom to get ready for the day, and I settle at the kitchen island, opening my laptop.
My bank account balance glows on the screen, a number I check daily out of ingrained habit, and the number still catches me off guard every time.
The regular deposits from the Blue Note work have piled up faster than I can spend them, even as I continue paying the bills for our apartment, untouched since we packed up and left.
I click on the savings account earmarked for Lena’s college. I’ve been saving for years, and in only two months, the balance has doubled. At this rate, she could attend any school in the state without loans. My finger hovers over the balance, as if the numbers might disappear if I touch the screen.
Rowan’s arms circle my waist from behind, his chin resting on my shoulder. “The security upgrades at the Fox Theater came in under budget. I added the difference to her fund.”
“You didn’t have to.” The words lack conviction.
“I wanted to.” His lips brush my neck above the new guard. “She’s brilliant. She should have options.”
I close the laptop and turn in his arms. His amber eyes study me, noting each micro-expression I can’t control. He cups my jaw, thumbs brushing my cheekbones in a possessive gesture that’s become as familiar as breathing.
“You’re thinking too hard again.” His forehead touches mine. “Stop calculating what you owe me.”
“Old habits.” I inhale his pheromones, and my muscles uncoil, tension bleeding away as I lean into his solid warmth.
Then panic floods my system, heartbeat accelerating as my body braces for disaster. This can’t last. Good things never do. My mind races through contingencies, how quickly we could pack, where we could go, what we’d need to survive.
Sensing the change, Rowan’s arms tighten. “Stop.”
“I can’t help it.” My fingers curl over his chest, counting his heartbeats. “This all feels temporary.”
“It’s not.” His certainty both soothes and terrifies me. “Two months, precious. Two more, and two after that. Eventually, you’ll believe me, you’ll stop taking your suppressants, and you’ll let me bond you.”
I want to believe this arrangement will be permanent, my sister’s laughter will continue to fill these rooms, and I'll keep waking to roll into the warm spot Rowan leaves behind while he cooks breakfast for both of us.
“I’m trying,” I whisper into his throat.
His answering rumble vibrates through me. “That’s all I ask.”
For a long moment, neither of us moves.
The air in the kitchen carries traces of coffee and butter and a warmth I don’t have a name for yet, but settles into me like home. Rowan’s fingers drift along my spine until my breathing evens out and the frantic edge dulls.
When he pulls back, he studies me with a careful focus that means he’s turning something over in his mind. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”
My shoulders stiffen before I can stop them.
He notices, of course, his thumb brushing the corner of my mouth to smooth away my frown. “Nothing bad. Actually, I think you’ll like it.”
“Sounds ominous, coming from you.”
A ghost of a smile curves his mouth. “Fair.”
He moves around the island, leaning back on the counter, and the shift in his posture from personal to business sends anticipation curling low in my hips.
“It’s work,” he says.
I straighten on my stool as if struck by electricity.
Work.
Not the Blue Note installations, not the quiet, safe projects that keep me close to him and within controlled environments.
Real work.
I haven’t missed what happens in the Blue Note under the screen of legal liquor sales, the way people come in to whisper with Ghost. How he makes a note in the ledger he keeps behind the bar, after which Rowan goes out with a few of his people and sometimes returns banged up and bloody.
I’ve been keeping my head down, not asking questions, but I’ve been waiting for the day he let me all the way into his crew.
“There’s a building I need to get into,” he continues. “High security, but minimal risk.”
My pulse kicks hard with excitement. “Oh, yeah?”
“I see you’re interested.”
I stare at him, trying to read the angle of this, waiting for the catch, the condition, the inevitable moment where he realizes he’s offering too much and pulls back.
“What kind of job?” I ask carefully.
“Advanced security breach,” he says. “Multiple entry points, if you’re willing. Nothing reckless, though.”
My jaw tightens at the words, pride and gratitude tangling together. “I can handle a little recklessness.”
Rowan’s eyes sharpen. “Well aware, precious, but I’d rather keep you safe. There’s a difference.”
He pushes off the counter and steps closer again, his warm pheromones wrapping around me. “You’ve been calmer here, but there’s still a part of you chafing at how easy things have been. You miss being able to flex your skills.”
“I’m already needed by Lena.” I swallow hard. “And by you.”
“And I want more from you.” He cups my jaw again, stopping me from turning away or deflecting. “I don’t want you small. I don’t want you living as if you’re surviving on my generosity. You are my partner. I want you to be my mate. You’re brilliant at what you do. I want you out there using it.”
Something inside me loosens so suddenly it almost hurts.
For weeks, I’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for the moment he realizes I’m too much work, too broken, too dependent.
Instead, he’s asking for more.
Expecting more.
Trusting me with more.
Unexpected relief floods through me. “You want to bring me in on your other work?”
Rowan huffs a quiet laugh. “Precious, I wouldn’t bring it up to you if I didn’t.”
I stare at him, trying to reconcile this version of reality with the one my brain keeps insisting is temporary.
“If I say yes,” I say, testing this new territory, “you won’t pull back later? Won’t decide it’s too dangerous?”
The professional look melts. “I will always worry, but I won't cage you. That’s not love.”
The knot in my chest tightens before it unravels all at once. I didn’t realize how much I needed him to want something from me until this moment. Until this imbalance shifted from being taken care of to standing beside him.
“Will you tell me why this job is important?”
“Yes,” he says. “Because you're already a part of it.”
My jaw tightens.
“The cops shouldn’t have come to your home,” he continues. “They shouldn’t have had a reason to. When you killed Danny, I promised you it wouldn't bring trouble to your door, and my people dropped the ball, which means I dropped the ball.”
“They don't have any real evidence,” I say. “And there were plenty of other names on Danny's victim list to muddy the waters.”
“You're right, but it still doesn't sit easy with me,” Rowan says. “The cops should never have shown up at your door to begin with. Which is why I'm going to make it right.”
He steps close enough for the warmth of his body to reach me. “The liquor store Danny worked at isn’t just a storefront. It’s part of a cash pipeline run by the Vartanian family. When Danny disappeared, someone started covering their tracks.”
My focus sharpens. I'd heard the rumors, obviously. Everyone in Brickwell had, but it always seemed like a myth. Gangs rise and fall all the time, but a real-life mob family? Ridiculous. Only rumors. Until now.
“And it means they went searching for anything he might’ve held onto that would point to their operation,” I say. “You think the cops who showed up at our apartment worked for the money launderers?”
“Yes. Whatever they were searching for, they didn't find it at the apartment,” Rowan continues. “If they had, they wouldn't have started looking at Danny's acquaintances.”
Fury rushes through me. “Lena's not his acquaintance.”
“No, she's not,” he soothes. “But it turns out Danny forced some of his victims to become his runners, and finding your address in his wallet has made them suspicious.”
A chill goes down my spine. Since moving in with Rowan, I’ve started to believe we’re safe, and we've left our old lives behind. But if Lena is still in danger because of the asshole who attacked her, I’ll do anything in my power to protect her.
“And this job you need me on will remove suspicion from us?”
“Yes,” Rowan confirms. “Danny wasn't as stupid as he appeared, and he stored evidence of the operation on a cloud drive. We steal the drive from the server and turn it over to the Vartanians, and they'll stop harassing the people who knew Danny.”
“Will that really work?” I ask. It sounds too easy to be real.
“I believe so,” Rowan says. “We don't have a beef with their organization, and we want to keep it that way.”
I exhale through my nose, already fitting the pieces together.
“And you need me because,” I say, “if we trip alarms or leave a trace, it will start a whole different kind of police investigation that we won't be able to clean up.”
“Yes,” Rowan says.
I square my shoulders. “How long do I have to prepare?”
Rowan’s eyes gleam with satisfaction. “It’s in one week.”
I pick up my fork again. “Then I guess I should finish breakfast and get to work.”
Rowan’s rumble returns, deeper this time, threaded with unmistakable pride.
“That’s my boy.”