Chapter 2
Rosie
R osie strode down the city street, her boots clicking against the pavement. All around her, Chicago was alive with the sights and sounds of the holiday season. The scent of roasted chestnuts wafted from a nearby vendor, mingling with the crisp December air. Shoppers rushed by, their arms laden with colorful bags and wrapped packages.
But Rosie felt disconnected from the festive cheer. Her gaze was fixed on the distant lights of the casino.
Memories flooded her mind, a shudder tearing through her body. Bobby's face loomed large, his blackened teeth twisted into a sneer. The stench of his breath, the roughness of his hands against her skin.
Rosie swallowed back the bile rising in her throat. Even now, after all this time, the mere thought of him made her want to puke. But she wouldn't let him win—not again, not ever. Besides, he was in jail now. And she was out here, free. She had to constantly remind herself of that. She was free.
Her mind drifted to Nash, to the night he'd burst into that hellhole and saved her from a fate worse than death. She still remembered the look in his eyes as he'd scooped her into his arms, a mix of concern and something deeper—a dark, primal need to protect her.
The kiss they'd shared shortly after that, brief and desperate, still haunted her dreams. The way his lips had felt against hers, the heat of his body pressed close . . .
But then he'd pulled away, citing some bullcrap about professionalism. They'd kept their distance ever since, but Rosie couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more between them. Something that went beyond gratitude or friendship.
She shook her head, pushing the thoughts aside. Nash had made his choice and she'd made hers. There was no use dwelling on what might have been. Besides, it was pretty obvious that nothing was going to happen between them. She'd been trying her best to remember that lately. For a long time, she'd clung to the vain hope that something might happen between her and Nash, that the sparks between them would turn into fireworks. But each day that passed was a day further from that kiss they'd shared. She had to be realistic and face facts: Nash didn't want her like she wanted him.
Rosie quickened her pace, her breath frosting in the night air.
She always got a little scared walking home alone but she forced herself to do it. The more you push yourself out of your comfort zone , she’d once read, the bigger your comfort zone will grow . When you're on your own, you have to toughen up, whether you like it or not. And it's true that Rosie had gotten braver and braver over the last couple of years.
Nash and his brothers always called cabs for staff members at the end of a shift at The Den, but Rosie never took hers anymore. She'd rather stay tough and alert. Besides, she had been secretly training in jujitsu for the last year. She could hold her own if she had to. She was sure of it.
Her hand tightened around her keys as she neared the entrance to her apartment building. The streets were quieter here, the festive cheer of the city center giving way to a tense, watchful silence. Suddenly, she couldn't shake the feeling that someone was following her, tracking her every move.
"Get a grip, girl," she muttered under her breath. "You're just being paranoid."
But the prickling sensation at the back of her neck persisted. Rosie's heart hammered in her chest as she mounted the steps to her building, fumbling with the lock. Once inside, she took the stairs two at a time, not daring to wait for the ancient elevator.
By the time she reached her floor, Rosie was breathing hard, her muscles tensed for a fight. She paused outside her door, listening intently. The hallway was empty, and the only sound was the distant hum of traffic from the street below.
"You're safe," she told herself firmly. "No one's going to hurt you."
But even as she spoke the words, Rosie knew they weren't entirely true. Nash and his brothers had done their best to protect her, but they couldn't be there all the time. There was a dark underbelly in this city. Not everything was as it seemed.
Rosie unlocked her door and slipped inside, engaging the deadbolt behind her. The apartment was dark and still, the only light coming from the streetlamps outside. She flicked on a lamp, casting a warm glow over the familiar surroundings.
Instantly, she felt better. Her gaze landed on the blue cotton belt lying on a shelf near the door—a reminder of her recent jujitsu attainment. She had worked hard for it. Hundreds of hours on the mat and more than a few sore muscles. The sight of it filled her with a fierce surge of pride. She wasn't the same frightened girl who had cowered before her captors two years ago. She was stronger now, a fighter.
"I can take care of myself," Rosie said aloud, her voice ringing with conviction. "I don't need anyone to protect me anymore."
But even as she spoke, her mind drifted back to Nash—to the way his strong arms had felt around her at the casino, the heat of his gaze as he looked into her eyes.
Rosie sighed, pushing the thought away. She kicked off her shoes and padded into the kitchen, ready to lose herself in the comforting routine of making dinner. Tomorrow was another day—another chance to prove to herself and everyone else that Rosie Love was no one's victim.
After a nutritious dinner of homemade pad thai, Rosie's eyes landed on her cherished stuffed bear, perched on the couch. A soft smile tugged at her lips as she crossed the room and scooped him up, burying her face in his plush fur.
"Hey there, little guy," she murmured, letting the bear’s familiar scent soothe her frayed nerves. "I missed you today, Max."
Max wasn't just a toy—he was a promise. Rosie still remembered the day Nash had pressed the teddy bear into her hands, his green eyes intense with an emotion she couldn't quite name. She'd been crying about feeling lost in the city. Originally from England, she'd wound up here after her parents died back home. She'd planned it as a gap year before college, but her state of mind had been vulnerable and she'd fallen in with a bad crowd. People had taken advantage of her. And after that, she felt completely adrift. Nothing for her back in England. Nothing for her out here. Painful memories everywhere.
"Whenever you feel scared, just hold onto this little fella," he'd said, his voice gruff but gentle. "And remember that you're not alone anymore. You've got people who care about you now, Rosie. People who'll always have your back."
Max was wearing an “I heart Chicago” t-shirt, and Nash had pointed to it. "See that?" he said. "There's a lot to love about the city, in spite of it all. I’ll make it feel like home for you again,” he’d told her. “Promise.”
Rosie's throat tightened at the memory. She'd thought, in that moment, that Nash might be the one. That maybe, just maybe, he saw her as more than a damsel in distress or a fragile Little in need of protection.
But in the twenty-four months since that day, Nash had pulled away from her, keeping her at arm's length with a cool professionalism that stung more than she cared to admit. She'd tried everything to get a rise out of him—flirting, teasing, even outright provocation—but nothing seemed to crack that infuriatingly aloof facade.
And then today, she’d tried something different. She had decided to test Nash by saying she was bringing a date to the party. To let him know she was in demand. But Nash had just walked on out of The Den like he didn’t give a damn. And now she felt guilty for the lie. Of course Max wasn't some hot guy she was bringing to the party. He was just a teddy bear. It was going to be fun explaining that one.
"What am I doing wrong, Max?" Rosie sighed, stroking the bear's soft ears. "Why doesn't Nash like me?"
Max, of course, had no answers for her. He simply gazed up at her with his shiny button eyes, offering his own cuddly brand of silent comfort.
Rosie hugged the bear tighter, letting her eyes drift shut as she tried to imagine what it might feel like to be held by Nash right now—to have his strong arms around her, his heartbeat steady and reassuring against her cheek.
"I need to face facts," she whispered, her voice barely audible even to her own ears. "Nash and I are never going to happen."
The thought sent a dull ache through her chest, but Rosie forced herself to confront it head-on. She was done pining for a man who clearly didn't want her, done waiting around for a fairy tale ending that might never come.
She had to be her own hero now–had to find her own happily ever after, even if that meant leaving Nash and his mixed signals behind.
"Max," she said. "I'm giving up on that guy for good. No more pining. No more staring at him over the bar. It's time for me to focus on other things."
With a resolute nod, Rosie set Max back down on the couch and squared her shoulders.
She was Rosie Love, damn it—and she was going to start acting like it.