Chapter 5
Chapter Five
ROWAN
T he clubhouse door swung open, the bang reverberating around the room. Sadie strode in like she was on a mission, her dark hair twisted on top of her head in that messy way that made her look both pissed and fucking gorgeous.
I almost choked on my saliva. What in the hell was she playing at?
Wolf whistles and catcalls erupted, her presence like a lit match in a powder keg. She ignored the leers, scanning the room with laser focus. I resisted the urge to punch every other arsehole in there just for looking at her.
Instead, I sank down in my chair in the hopes she wouldn’t see me. I wasn’t exactly proud of the way I handled myself the previous night.
And I had a headache to match.
The reek of sweat, beer and stale smoke clung to the room, stinking up the place. Pool cues clacked in the corner, and someone had AC/DC blaring from a jukebox that hadn’t worked properly in years .
Sadie bypassed every single set of eyes and stepped up beside Scout. “Where’s Rowan?” She stared him down.
Scout pointed at me like the little shit he was.
Was he seriously afraid of what she might do to him? He was six foot four, for crying out loud—Sadie barely reached his shoulders.
Her eyes found mine in an instant, and I groaned. Well . . . fuck. This was going to be interesting. She stalked towards me, her boots striking the tiled floor like gunshots, her hands fisted at her sides.
Christ, I didn’t have the energy for her right then. But what was I supposed to do? Couldn’t exactly hide now, could I?
I clenched my jaw, bracing myself for the onslaught I knew was coming.
She stopped in front of me. Her eyes burned into mine, but I couldn’t tell if it was last night she was pissed about—or every damn thing that came before it. Wasn’t too keen on finding out either.
“We need to talk,” she said, eyes narrowing.
Not here we fucking didn’t. Not with half the club watching.
Bear cleared his throat and stood, rubbing his hands together. “I’ll be in the meeting room.”
Scout ducked his head, giving me an apologetic smile as he passed. “She’s all yours, VP.”
Great. No-one wanted to deal with a pissed off Sadie, least of all me. But it was reckless, dangerous, her showing up at the clubhouse like that.
“Not here.” Jaw tight, I grabbed her arm—not hard, but enough to make her stumble. If I didn’t get her out of there, I was going to say something I couldn’t take back. I dragged her back through the door. “We’ll talk outside. ”
Everyone kept their heads down, but it didn’t take a rocket scientist to feel the tension brewing between Sadie and me.
The late-August air clung to my hungover skin, thick and warm as regret. I released Sadie’s arm and stepped back, putting distance between us. Behind her, another of our patched-up bastards lit a cigarette. The scent hit me just as hard as her glare.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I said, glancing around for any other eavesdroppers. “This ain’t a place for you.”
“What the hell is this?” She slammed a piece of paper into my chest, like it was the only thing keeping her from hitting me instead.
I caught her wrist, just enough to stop her pulling away. “A piece of paper, by the looks of it,” I said, snatching it from her grip fast—too fast.
I needed something to hold on to.
Her glare was relentless, burning through me like she didn’t care what was left behind. “Don’t be a smart arse, Rowan.” She nodded to the item in my hand. “Read it.”
My chest clenched. I couldn’t meet her eyes. She had every right to be pissed.
I’d grilled her pretty hard last night after me and Bear polished off a bottle of Jameson around the fire pit. It was more of an inquisition than an interrogation. Not my finest of hours, but Sadie Cooper had a way of turning me inside out, especially after six years of silence.
Exhaling, I pulled my focus to the crinkled paper.
I frowned as I read over my brother’s handwriting, messier than his usual scrawl, as though he’d scribbled it right before running out the door.
The slant of his Ls, the half-smudge on the bottom corner—I’d seen it a thousand times. But, not like this.
“How should I know what he was talking about?” I said, shoving the paper back into her hands and crossing my arms over my chest.
Maybe if I focused on anything but her, I’d feel more in control.
Fucked if I knew what Logan had wanted to tell her. Maybe he was finally going to tell her he was in love with her. It could have meant a million and one things, but what stood out for me the most was the fact he’d asked Sadie to go to me.
He’d come to me that night, eyes darting around like he couldn’t keep a thought still. I’d laughed it off, thought nothing of it. Christ, I hadn’t even asked what was wrong. Not until I’d found him in his room hours later.
No-one knew I’d snatched his phone, even before Sadie had arrived. I’d had my suspicions, and the messages to our old man had confirmed them—he’d been working for the club.
I’d figured he’d gotten in too deep and couldn’t see any other way out. If only he’d come to me sooner. I’d have made sure he remained safe. If it was money he’d needed, I could have helped him there too.
“What truth, Rowan?” Sadie said, her eyes darting between mine, desperate, raw. She was hurting. Reaching for something in me she didn’t fully understand yet. “He said you would know what to do.”
The faint thrum of music pulsed through the thin walls of the clubhouse, but out here, in the small parking lot, there was only the sound of her breathing—and mine, heavier than I wanted her to hear.
She smelled like memory, like the house before everything went to hell. And it made thinking straight a goddamn chore.
“I know what it says, Sadie.” I shoved my hair back, sweat beading on my forehead. “Doesn’t mean I know what it means. ”
Hollow Creek wasn’t somewhere Sadie should have been sniffing around.
“You must know something.” She shifted onto the opposite leg and crossed her arms over her chest. She tapped her foot like it might force the truth out of me. As though the entire mystery would unravel in the time it took for her patience to last.
The truth she wanted, though? I wasn’t willing to hand over. She’d blame herself, I know that much. But the only person who should have held the blame was my dead-beat father, the one who could barely look at me after Logan had died, his guilt etched into every line of his face.
Him dying of a heart attack only justified what I’d already known—he let Logan get in too deep, and the guilt finally killed the bastard.
My gaze landed heavily on that goddamn bruise spreading like spilled ink under Sadie’s eye. My fingers itched to trace the purple and blue pattern, but more than that, everything inside me told me to go to her, to pull her against my chest.
But that would have been a mistake. I felt like shit and probably looked like it, too. Add that to the hangover, my general appearance, and it wasn’t a surprise she thought I wasn’t taking her seriously. I wouldn’t take me seriously, either.
“Are you going to tell me who did that?” I said, deflecting.
She wouldn’t tell me last night. But maybe she’d tell me now that it wasn’t three in the morning with whiskey coursing through my veins.
Sadie frowned, then realisation kicked in, and she ran the tips of her fingers over her cheekbone like an afterthought.
“That’s not what’s important here, Rowan,” she said, holding up the note.
“Logan wanted to tell me something. Do you think—” She swallowed hard, and took a step towards me, crossing the kind of line we’d both held steady for years.
Even so, I stood there, too fucking cowardly to close the gap myself.
“Do you think he was . . . in some sort of trouble?” She lowered her voice on the last word, as if she had just uttered the magic spell that would destroy us all.
Yes. I did think that. But Sadie had no business digging into it. And I’d damn well make sure she stayed in the dark. Logan had gotten closer with our father, and that was never a good sign, especially when he was deep inside the club’s business.
I yanked her into the garage attached to the back of the clubhouse.
My hand clamped over her mouth before I could think.
The scent of motor oil and steel clung to the air.
Tools hung on pegboards like weapons waiting to be drawn.
The overhead light flickered once, as if deciding to stay with us or leave us in the dark.
Sadie’s eyes widened—hurt, not fear—but it still made me want to crawl out of my skin.
I glanced around. I could never be too sure who was watching, who was listening. “Still lighting shit up, aren’t you, Firefly?” My nickname for her flew out of my mouth. “You want to come back here and after only twenty-four hours, you bring me this shit? What are you trying to find, Sadie?”
The question hung in the air, trembling like the woman in front of me.
Her eyes darted between mine, searching for something, but all I could see was that bruise, that goddamn fucking bruise.
It had burned itself into my brain and I forced myself to relax, to breathe through the surge of anger.
Someone had laid their hands on her. How many times?
Had she cried? Had she fought back? The Sadie I knew would have.
She was still my Sadie, the same stubborn girl who, at ten years old, had threatened to suffocate me in my sleep if I didn’t stop messing with my brother.
I would never have admitted it back then, but pretty sure that was the day I fell in love with her.
I was only twelve. And now there she was, pressed up against me, her breath hot against my palm.
When I realised what the hell I was doing, I took a step back, releasing her from my grip.
Sadie exhaled sharply, her shoulders slumping forward like some of the fight had rushed out of her. “What the hell, Ro?” Her voice was a mixture of frustration and something softer, something closer to betrayal.