Allegiant (The Firm #4)

1. Rowan

ROWAN

Dance has always been my escape.

It’s where I can be myself. Where I’m free. Where all the noise and stress of the world fades away, leaving only joy behind.

It doesn’t matter what else is going on in my life. It’s always there. The one constant I can rely on.

With everything that’s happened recently…

I need dance more than ever.

Don’t think about that. Not now. It ruins everything.

Like everything isn’t already ruined.

I swallow down the familiar bile and focus on stretching as I wait in the wings. Just feet away, the rest of the company are dancing on stage. I wait for my cue. For the moment when I can finally escape the ghosts that have been chasing me through the darkness.

I’ve always prided myself on my positive attitude. On living in the sunshine and always looking on the bright side. But I’m finding it harder.

The shadows are closing in, growing nearer each and every day.

But I can’t let the ghosts win. I refuse. I’ll dance all the way to my grave if that’s what I need to do.

That’s what they say, right? Depression can’t hit a moving target.

Well, just watch me move, baby.

The lights shift, and I step out onto the stage. As always, the noise in my head vanishes, replaced by the music that’s guiding me forward. It sinks into my skin, washing through my veins, wrapping around my bones. I become one with it. Rowan Mitchell no longer exists.

I’m nothing more than the music.

I don’t rush through the choreography. My hips undulate to the beat as I chassé into position.

The auditorium is empty behind the blinding lights, but I pretend it isn’t.

In my imagination, there’s a man watching as I slide my hands up my taut chest. He’s captivated by the slow journey my fingers make.

By the sultry roll of my pelvis. How I become one with the music.

I’m good. Better than good, and I know it. My position as principal dancer is one I’ve worked, sweated, and bled for. Our shows always sell out with people traveling miles just to see me.

It should be enough. It’s what I’ve always dreamed of. But it’s not. It’s not the attention and adoration of strangers that I crave.

No. I need that from someone who wants me. Who knows and loves me.

I had that once.

I don’t now.

And it’s all my fault.

I rise in a relevé before moving quickly through a pas de bourrée. A series of jazz steps follow before pulling me into a pirouette. There’s no set dance style. It’s a choreographed story. A journey that we’re inviting the audience to join us on.

I don’t think about the steps. I feel them. My muscles stretch and my bones sing with joy as my pointe shoes take me far away from everything. Nothing can catch me now.

Not even my demons.

But I can only dance for so long. The music ends all too soon, and my sunlight dims. I don’t let anyone see the transformation inside of me. I never do. I paste on my smile, grinning at my friends as we catch our breath.

“Great work,” I praise, clapping my hands together. “Shane, that arabesque? Perfection. And Lauren—your floorwork is a dream. Flo, I’m envious of your legs. Seriously, how do you get them that high?”

Flo beams, her pink hair sliding free of her bun. “Thanks! I’ve been practicing that stretch you suggested.”

“Well, it’s paying off.” I grin. “You’re going to knock them all out come opening night.”

I continue chatting with everyone as we make our way backstage. Everyone’s been working so hard, and it’s important to recognize that. Dance culture can be toxic as fuck, but only if the negativity is fed. I won’t allow that to happen at Rhythm Showroom. This is our safe space. My safe space.

I’ll sacrifice anything to keep it that way.

Not like you have anything left to give.

I hide my wince. I hate how true that is. How much I’ve lost. Dance, my life here, it’s all I have left.

I’ll defend it to my last breath.

My chatter doesn’t falter as we strip and change. The hidden darkness in me doesn’t peek from where I’ve stowed it. It’s pushed so deep down, I hope it never makes it to the surface.

Not again.

I weave through the room. “Marcy, did your mom like the oat bars?”

She reaches up to pat my shoulder as I pass. “You didn’t need to make them for her, but thank you.”

I smile. “She’s been sick; it’s the least I can do.”

“That’s Rowan, our resident mother hen,” Clay teases. “Why don’t we get your oat bars?”

His words strike deep. I do like to fuss over others. I like to protect them. To care for them.

No amount of baking can make up for how stunningly I failed the person I cared most about.

I point dramatically at the empty Tupperware dish on the counter. “I literally brought in brownies today. Did you forget already?”

Clay pouts. “Brownies aren’t oat bars.”

“Fine, I’ll make them tomorrow.” I sigh, like it’s a hardship, but I’m smiling as I duck my head. I shouldn’t like being needed as much as I do.

Especially when I’ve proven I can’t be trusted when it matters most.

My smile fades as the darkness threatens. I can’t let it in. I need more distraction. “Meet you at Rounds?”

Assent comes from all corners. I turn to smile at Cam. “You okay with locking up?”

“Sure thing, boss,” he says with a wink.

“Ha.” My smile doesn’t drop even as my stomach sours. “Not the boss yet.”

“You will be soon enough,” Shane says. “He has to make you the manager eventually.”

“He” is Derek, the owner of Rhythm Showroom. The man who’s quick to remind me that while this place might be my home, it’s not mine.

“We’ll see” is all I say in reply before slipping out the back.

If I don’t stop moving, the ghosts can’t catch me.

Rounds is our usual post-dance haunt. Filled with good music, cheap drinks, and enough hot men to keep me distracted.

It’s where I’m happiest—in the center of the dance floor. My body moves in time with the man behind me, but he’s not who holds my attention.

The gorgeous, towering figure trying to blend into the shadows has all of it.

I noticed him the second I stepped away from the bar. He wasn’t easy to miss, despite his attempts to hide. For a start, he’s wearing a thick jacket. In a nightclub.

Who does that?

Still, the red flag isn’t deterring me in the slightest.

Even without that thing, he would’ve caught my eye. He’s built exactly how I like my bed partners. Tall, dark, and with enough danger to make a sensible man think twice.

I am not a sensible man.

Sharp brown eyes assess me over high cheekbones as I continue to dance. Dark stubble covers his strong jaw, outlining full lips that are begging to be kissed.

My dance partner spins me to face him. I wind my arms around his neck, letting the beat guide me. But the blood rushing south has nothing to do with the man I’m pressed up against.

And everything to do with the one watching me from the edge of the floor. The one who hasn’t taken his eyes off me all night.

Looks like I’ve found my next form of distraction.

I love that. It helps me keep my mind off of other things. Things I can’t control, things that have happened without my knowledge.

Sweat drips down my neck, but I don’t stop dancing. How can I, with such a captivated audience?

Our eyes meet briefly, and a smirk lifts my lips as I quickly twist away. God, the rush this is giving me. It’s almost enough to make me forget.

Almost.

The tension builds as I continue to move, and he continues to watch me. I let it rise until it’s almost unbearable. Only then do I push away from my partner.

I meet the stranger’s eyes directly and smile invitingly.

I stalk from the dance floor, heading to the bar. My favorite bartender serves me immediately, probably thanks to the cookies I regularly supply him with. With a spritzer in hand, I make my way to the back room. I don’t bother to check if the man is following.

I know he is.

“Rowan.” Storm straightens as I approach the counter, grinning. “It’s been a while, man.”

My chest aches. It has. But things have to move on.

I have to move on.

I just wish I knew how.

“It has. It’s long past time I show everyone how it’s done.”

A dimple appears in his cheek. “Humble as ever.”

I slap his hand. “Why be humble when I can be fabulous instead?”

“Never change,” he says, handing over the tote. “Always makes me happy to see your smiling face.”

That’s me, spreading sunshine wherever I go.

So long as no one learns the truth I’m hiding, I’ll be golden.

I sense my stalker behind me as I stop at the end of my usual lane. Dropping the tote on the ground, I decide to ignore him a little while longer, give him a show while he waits. I think he’ll like that.

He seems like a man who enjoys watching.

I slip into another realm as I let weapon after weapon fly. I start with axes before moving to the knives. One after another, they hit the targets with the accuracy Adam drilled into me.

My hand tightens around the handle of the final blade as I’m assaulted by countless memories. His rough Southern drawl as he teased me for my poor aim. The grudging praise as I improved. The feel of his hand on my shoulder as he showed me the proper positioning.

Darkness yawns before me. It’s a never-ending pit threatening to swallow me whole.

I let the final dagger fly into the center of it.

It doesn’t go away.

Time to find a different way to disappear for a little while.

It takes no effort to find my smile. It’s never far away, even if it feels like it is.

Mr. Tall-and-Handsome is staring at the target, mouth slightly agape. My smile deepens as I sashay over, stopping in front of him. “See something you like?”

His eyes slide to me, and he jolts. I must’ve caught him off guard. My grin deepens as I slip into the familiar pattern of flirting. “I saw you watching me back on the dance floor.”

He smirks. “Who’s been watching whom?”

God, that voice. It’s rough and smooth at the same time. I want to hear it whispering dirty words in my ear while his big hands pin me to a bed.

I cock my head, running my gaze over his outfit, totally unsuitable for a nightclub. “It’s that coat you’re wearing. You look…hot.”

He runs his eyes over me. “You look…hot, too.”

I swipe at my forehead, knowing that’s not what he meant. Not what I meant either, but I love the game we’re playing. “Thank you. Knife throwing is a lot of work. Takes a lot of…stamina.”

Fuck, I hope he has enough to keep up with me. Most men I hook up with don’t.

I’m tired of being disappointed.

“Care to give me some tips?” He shoves off the pillar and moves toward me. I suppress a shiver as he towers over me. Jesus, he could break me with one hand.

That thought shouldn’t be as hot as it is. My mind never used to get this dark, never used to like the idea of being broken.

Guess that’s what happens when you’re already broken beyond repair. There’s no hope of being fixed, so you might as well lean into it.

“For dancing or throwing?” I smile brightly as I recall his awkward shuffling on the edge of the dance floor. “Seems you could use a little help with both. I saw you dancing against the wall… If you could call it that.”

He doesn’t speak, just studies me closely. Shit, have I hurt his feelings? I don’t like that I might have.

I don’t like it at all.

My smile falters. “If you want, of course. No pressure. I’m easy. Easy-breezy.”

At least, that’s what I make everyone think. The only person who knew the real me ended up dead.

It’s why I can’t let anyone else in.

The man reaches out to touch my hip. Heat blooms under his hand. “Oh, I want. I want to learn all of your moves.”

Something snags my eye. It has my pulse racing quicker as a million questions tumble through my mind.

I don’t let any of them show on my face. Biting my lip, I lean closer and slide my hand under his coat. He inhales deeply, unaware that I’m slipping the dagger I spotted from its sheath.

I twist suddenly, letting it fly from my grip. It sails cleanly through the air, sinking into the center of the target.

I glance back over my shoulder to see his full lips are parted. He’s staring at me like he’s trying to work out all of my secrets.

He doesn’t have a hope in hell.

I keep those locked down. It’s my coping mechanism. It’s the only way I can make it through each day.

“Like how I did that?” I purr, turning back to face him. My hand lands on his chest, resting over his thudding heart. “Care to tell me why you have a knife in your pocket? You gonna kill someone?”

I’m teasing, of course. Despite his size and the aura of danger around him, I doubt this man will hurt me.

Even if I kind of want him to. If he did, maybe I’d get some respite from the pain living inside me. I wouldn’t mind feeling something other than this dark, nagging agony I’ve been holding on to. It’s suffocating me.

Choking me.

“You kinda look like a killer.” I continue mischievously, not letting the unwanted thoughts infiltrate my mind. I’m going to focus on this guy, right here.

Right now.

A smirk spreads slowly over his face. “Shouldn’t that make you run away, little dancer?”

It should. It really should.

But something tells me this high I’m chasing will be the best distraction yet.