Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
SADIE
T he only sound was the soft shuffle of Rowan’s fingers running through my hair.
It was one of those rare moments. Me and Rowan, tangled up on the old tan leather couch in his living room like we had nothing to fear. Just us against the world, the way it was always supposed to be.
“What are you going to do with Marcus?” My voice cracked on his name, almost crumbling.
Rowan’s jaw tightened. I needed him to tell me what I wanted to hear. He didn’t, though. He never did.
He let out a slow, steady breath. “I don’t want you to worry about that, okay. You’re safe here.”
I gripped his shirt, like I could hold him to his word. “Please, Ro. I need to know he won’t come after me again.” I needed to be assured that Marcus wasn’t stronger than Rowan—stronger than us.
Rowan sighed, his shoulders heavy. What I was asking of him was more than just blood on his hands. That might have been selfish, but I couldn’t see any other way to get rid of Marcus for good.
“He won’t,” he murmured, pressing his lips to the side of my head.
“Do you promise?” I barely got the words out, barely got them past the tightness in my chest. “I can’t go through that again.”
He nodded once. “Promise.” He pulled my hand up to his lips and kissed each one of my knuckles, a lingering touch that was gentle and unhurried, the opposite of everything I expected him to be. “Just answer one question.” His eyes darted between mine.
I nodded. “Okay.”
“He’s the reason you came home. How long?”
I understood the meaning of his question. How long had I let Marcus take his fists to me, is what he wanted to know.
“Two years,” I whispered, my chest caving in at the admission.
Rowan sucked in a breath, closing his eyes for the briefest of seconds. “Jesus, Sades.” He pulled me tighter against his body. “You won’t have to worry about him now.”
The warmth of him and his word gave me the permission to breathe. And I knew right then and there that Marcus would never hurt me again.
A knock at the door tore through the fragile sense of safety I’d wrapped myself in since Rowan had brought me home two hours beforehand.
My body jerked against his, and his grip around my shoulders tightened, his muscles going taut. The sudden tension in his arms mirrored the panic bubbling up my throat. The ceiling fan hummed overhead, suddenly too loud, matching the thrum of my pulse .
I glanced up at Rowan, eyes wide with the same silent questions. Who the hell was it? And how screwed were we?
Rowan’s jaw tensed, his eyes darting to the door before settling back on me. Calm on the outside. A storm barely restrained.
“Don’t worry,” he murmured, his voice low. “No-one is going to find out. I made sure of it. Marcus is with Bear and Scout until I can get there.” The confidence in his words was meant to be reassuring, but all it did was fan the flames of my unease.
“You’re sure?” I whispered, the words catching in my throat.
“Positive.” He knew what I was thinking, knew I was spiralling.
My breathing came out in short, sharp bursts as he pressed his lips to my forehead. It was a promise I desperately wanted to hold on to—I was safe with him. Then he peeled himself out from under me, the absence of his warmth leaving me cold and exposed.
I pulled my legs up to my chest, burying myself under the blanket that smelled faintly of Rowan and motor oil, while he snatched his gun from the inside of his cut hanging over the single-seater, and pressed a finger to his lips—a warning to stay quiet.
I nodded, but it was more of a reflex than a decision. My mind was racing in a hundred different directions, each one darker and more panicked than the last.
He crept over to the door, and hesitated, his hand on the handle. Then, with one last glance at me, he yanked the door open, his other arm flexed behind his back, finger on the trigger.
The sight on the other side was a punch to the gut. My father stood there, his hands firmly on his hips. He didn’t even have the decency to look surprised.
He pushed past Rowan and bee-lined towards me huddled on the couch, his usual hardness softening in a way that made my skin crawl. Great. This was a nightmare I’d lived before. An ambush in plain sight. I had no interest in going through it again. Not with my father.
“What do you want, John?” Rowan darted in front of me, blocking my view and shielding me from whatever bullshit my father was about to throw.
“Think you’ve caused enough damage for one day, don’t you?
” His voice carried a challenge that hung in the air, a deliberate reminder that this was Rowan’s turf, not my father’s.
“I want to speak with my daughter, Rowan,” my father said as Rowan angled his body in a show of protection.
The hard edge in my father’s voice—the one I knew all too well—gave way to something disturbingly close to concern. It unnerved me. His usual tactic was to bully his way into my life. But it felt different this time.
Dad shoved past Rowan a second time, daring him to stop him.
Rowan exhaled sharply, frustration evident in his expression as he dragged his hand through his hair. “Don’t mind me,” he mumbled, shooting me a look that promised this wouldn’t take long.
Dad planted himself directly in front of me, legs spread, hands back on his hips in some show of authority.
I couldn’t tell if he was trying to be intimidating or if he just had no clue how to act like a human being.
Or like a father. He didn’t even recognise me until he saw the fresh bruise blooming across my cheek.
It was like none of me mattered except for the damage.
His lips twitched. “Shit,” he finally said, sinking down onto the couch beside me, the faux bravado evaporating almost instantly.
That false softness—it was the same trick he’d used at Mum’s funeral. The mask he wore to convince the world he still had a soul.
I shuffled closer to the side, putting some distance between us, and picked at a loose thread on the blanket. I held it in my hands, breathing in the scent of Rowan to keep me calm. He was the only thing keeping me from unravelling.
“I’m sorry, Sades,” Dad mumbled, the apology falling out in an unsteady flow of bullshit. But the sincerity in his words was the worst part. I hated it. Hated how it made me feel like I needed to comfort him instead. “I should have known something like this would happen. Marcus promised?—”
“What?” Rowan’s voice fractured my dad’s facade, and he lunged forward, each movement loaded with the kind of violence that begged for release. “Who promised what?”
Dad threw his hands up to protect himself, his eyes flicking toward me and then back to Rowan. “Just hear me out.” He swallowed hard, struggling to find his words, rubbing his hands over his blue pants like he was trying to wipe off the guilt.
I knew him enough to know what was coming. He’d start making excuses why he’d just dropped a bomb and expected us both to sit there and deal with the fallout.
Rowan clenched his fists at his sides, his barely-contained rage filling the room with enough tension to snap my father’s neck if he wanted to.
Dad cleared his throat, meeting Rowan’s glare. “He was Snake’s lawyer,” he said, the words tumbling out all at once. “The cult case, his attempt to kill you—I had to let him go.” He was talking fast now, an attempt to justify throwing me to the wolves.
“Let me guess,” I said, the tremor in my voice betraying the calm I was trying to keep. “He promised to leave me alone?” It came out as a question, but wasn’t, not really.
It all made sense. Snake, the bastard, knew more about my past than I did, and he used Marcus to get to me—to get to Rowan.
“You sonofabitch.” Rowan clenched his fists, the muscles in his arms flexing before he lunged forward.
And then he was on my father, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and hauling him to his feet.
It all happened so fast I barely had time to blink before Rowan slammed him against the wall with a thud, thrusting his forearm into my father’s throat, eyes wild.
A picture frame hit the floor behind them, glass shattering against the carpet. I didn’t even flinch.
It should have scared me, should have sent me running for cover, but all it did was make me want him more. He was raw and loyal and mine, every broken piece of him.
“You fucking knew,” Rowan spat, the accusation harsh. “I asked you point blank this morning what the fuck happened, and you told me to trust you. That bastard came after her. Had her pinned to the ground, half . . . naked . . .” He choked on the words, swallowing the emotions he was forcing down.
“Ro?” I murmured.
Nothing. Not even a muscle twitch. His hands were still fisted in Dad’s shirt, violence barely contained. I had to end this before it got worse. Before I lost Rowan to his anger, or worse—to my father.
“Rowan?” I said again. I stood and placed a hand on Rowan’s bicep, the tension coiling beneath his skin a live thing. “It’s fine. Let him explain, and then he can leave .” I stressed the last word, purely for my father’s benefit.
I was done with this and done with him.
His feelings no longer mattered to me. My father was supposed to be the first man to keep me safe, the one who should have shielded me from this exact kind of danger, but that couldn’t have been further from the truth. It was Rowan who kept me safe. It was Rowan who loved me.
With one last shove, Rowan uncurled his fingers, releasing my father’s collar with a reluctant grunt. Then he stepped back, slowly, chest heaving. His trust in me was absolute, and he kissed my temple, the heat of this emotion searing my skin.
“Go on then, John,” he said. “Explain away.”