Chapter 20
ROWAN
Song- Take Me Out, Franz Ferdinand
My brother is a dick sometimes.
I know he’s upset her, I can see the tears she’s trying to fight back.
I can’t stop staring at her as she yaps away about him calling her a business arrangement.
“Rowan, can I borrow your car?”
That snaps my attention back.
“What for?” I ask.
I hardly know this woman, but I think I’d do anything she asked of me.
“I wanna go for some drinks, make some friends. Get out of this fucking prison for a bit before I slit your brother’s throat in his sleep,” she huffs.
I love this violent side of her.
“Well, I need my brother alive. Want me to take you out? Show you the town? Grab some food, movie?”
Her eyes light up, and my heart races.
“You’d do that?”
The more I speak to her, the more I’m starting to put the pieces of the puzzle together. I don’t think she’s ever felt like she belongs anywhere. Always fighting for her place. Doing everything for herself.
Well, Miss Independent is about to learn something new.
“Let me hop in the shower, then we can go. Where are my cookies?” I ask.
She pouts.
“Left with Reggie. Should have laced them like I planned.”
My eyes go wide.
“Bella. Please do not.”
She giggles. “Fine. He shouts at me again, though—he’s fair game.”
I shrug. If he’s going to upset her, he deserves her revenge.
“I’m going to do some yoga while I wait,” she tells me.
I blow out a breath and back away before I get a semi. Her ass. Those tight leggings. Nope. Stop thinking about my brother’s fiancée like that right now.
By the time we hit downtown, the air’s cooler, but I’ve got a heat inside me. Bella sits beside me, legs crossed, hair pinned up in a way that makes it look like she didn’t try too hard. Which means she tried just enough to wreck me.
“What are those balls on your head?” I ask.
I’ve never seen that hairstyle before. It’s hot as fuck.
“My space buns.” She smiles.
“You don’t like them?” She frowns.
I wink at her. “I think they’re cute.”
I park outside a small Italian place tucked between an old bookstore and a jazz bar. Red brick, low lights, and smells like garlic, wine, and something sinful.
“This looks nice,” she says, sounding half surprised.
“I’m a man of taste,” I tell her, opening her door. “And carbs. Mostly carbs.”
She laughs, that unguarded sound that hits like a punch to the ribs.
Inside, we slide into a booth. The waiter hands us menus, but she’s already looking at me, chin propped on her hand.
“So,” she says, “tell me something I don’t know about you.”
I lean back, smirking. “I once broke my hand punching Keller Russo.”
Her eyes widen. “You fought Keller? The Killer Russo?”
It’s kinda nice she knows who he is.
“He started it.”
“I doubt that,” she says, trying not to grin.
I lift my glass of wine. “He insulted my guitar skills.”
She laughs. “So you punched him?”
“Full swing. Broke two knuckles. He bought me a new guitar the next day.”
“Sounds like a very healthy friendship.”
“We’re all like that.”
She toys with her fork, watching me. “You really love music, huh?”
The waiter comes over and takes our order, simmering some of the tension for a second. Once he’s gone, I clear my throat. Something about her, her energy perhaps, makes me want to open up, more than I ever have in my damn life.
“It’s the only thing that ever made sense. When we had nothing as kids, it’s the one thing that kept me sane. Gave me something to escape to.”
Her expression softens. “You could still do it. Music, I mean.”
“Maybe someday. Once we clean up all the messes here.”
Her lips part like she wants to say something, but the waiter drops our food and breaks the moment. She eats like someone who hasn’t enjoyed a meal in years, licking sauce from her thumb and making soft noises of approval that make my blood run hotter than it should.
“Good?” I ask.
“Perfect,” she says around a mouthful of pasta. “Almost as good as your smile.”
I nearly choke on my wine. “You flirting with me, sweetness?”
She grins. “Depends. Are you flirting back?”
We both know the answer.
By the time we finish dessert, the tension’s become its own language. We drift across the street to a bar glowing with amber lights and low music. It’s easy here, two people pretending they don’t have the world hanging on their shoulders.
Bella leans on the counter beside me, swirling her cocktail. “You’re not so bad, you know.”
“High praise.” I raise my beer. “To not being so bad.”
She clinks her glass against mine. “To temporary freedom.”
We drink. Laugh. It’s good. Too good. And then I hear it.
“Rowan?”
The voice is honey over broken glass.
I turn. Lyla. Tight black dress. Red lipstick with an evil grin. I’ve not seen her since the awkward agreement ending.
She smiles like she’s already winning. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Well, here I am,” I say flatly.
Bella straightens beside me, the easy warmth gone. She doesn’t say a word, just slides a little closer. It’s subtle but intentional.
Lyla’s gaze flicks to her. “And who’s this?”
“Bella,” she says before I can answer.
That catches Lyla off guard. “Girlfriend?”
Neither of us answers.
“Mm.” Lyla’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “Guess you moved on fast.”
I feel Bella’s hand rest on my forearm. Her nails graze my skin just enough to send a message neither of us says out loud.
“Some of us don’t like living in the past,” Bella says sweetly. “But it’s cute you’re still checking in.”
Lyla’s jaw tightens, but she forces another smile. “Always a pleasure, Rowan. Meet me in the club soon?”
“No,” I say firmly. “Take care, Lyla.”
When she finally disappears into the crowd, Bella lets out a slow breath and takes a sip of her drink.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Club?” she retorts.
“Yeah. It’s complicated.”
Her mouth falls open. “Is she a prostitute?” she asks with a gasp.
I chuckle. “No. Well, I don’t think it’s called that.”
She laughs into her cocktail. “Hey, no judgement here. You should hear some of my stories.”
I go to reply, but she stiffens. I stroke my hand along her bare shoulder.
“Someone hurt you, didn’t they?” I whisper.
She looks away and I take a breath.
“Just tell me who, sweetness. I can make them go away with the click of a finger.”
Her green eyes meet mine with a shimmer.
“Maybe I’ve already had that sorted. No one hurts me and gets away with it.”
I lean in closer. “But, sometimes the pain is still buried, even after they’re gone.” I whisper.
She offers me a small smile and then Lyla’s cackling laugh grabs both of our attention.
She shrugs, eyes fixed on the bar. “She’s gorgeous.”
“So are you,” I say before I can stop myself.
She glances up, half a smile tugging at her lips. “You didn’t have to say that.”
“Didn’t mean to. Truth just falls out of me.”
The silence stretches. I can still feel her hand where it touched me, still see the way her eyes darkened when Lyla spoke my name.
She might not realize it yet, hell, maybe neither do I, but something shifted tonight.
And there’s no going back.