Chapter 9 #2
“The day before Saturday?”
“If you were anyone else, I would have choked you by now. Why will you see her on Friday?” Rowan shoved open the door to the outside, ignoring Romeo’s passing stare as we both walked by.
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” I snapped as the night air slapped my overheated skin and I shivered. “But to answer your vague ass question, I’ll be back here on Friday to find out if I’m hired.”
“So, you insist on this reckless insanity?”
Oh, the nerve of him! Anger rose, hot and furious, pushing down any residual lust I had felt. “I’m twenty years old and plenty confident I can hold a job without someone else’s blessing.” I seethed at him.
The walk was silent and despite the cool night, the air was thick between us. Rowan was pissed, but he shouldn’t have been there in the first place. He had no right. I was a grown woman—technically over thirty years old if you counted my first life. I had no need for a keeper.
Two blocks away, his control snapped.
“What were you thinking?” The words came out low and dangerous, his patronizing tone fanning the inferno inside me.
Obviously he was not hearing me. My stomach still churned with adrenaline and my temper was quicksilver. “I was thinking I’m an adult who’s allowed to do what she wants,” I snapped back.
“Do you know what that place is?”
“A gentlemen’s club with a job opening?”
He made a sound of pure frustration. “It is dangerous.”
“What, the pole? Maybe if I shoved it up your misogynistic ass. I’ve got good upper body and core strength.” I retorted, clearly done biting my tongue around him now that we were safely away from prying eyes and ears.
“Not the pole,” he growled. “The club. The people in the club.”
I raised an eyebrow in mock confusion. “Are you scandalized and shocked by what you saw, poor Rowan? Don’t worry, I won’t tell Charlie that his little boy went to his first strip club.”
“This is no joke, Violet.”
“Am I laughing?”
My blistered feet ached, each step a new agony.
Probably should have danced barefoot instead of showing off in these ridiculous high heels, idiot.
When we got to a crosswalk and waited for the light to turn, I bent over to rub at my feet through my shoes.
There was a cool breeze on my ass, followed by a honking horn and a wolf whistle.
I knew what they saw, my ass in a bright red thong, possibly still soaked from earlier. Above, Rowan let out a few curses and I smiled despite myself. Let the man child deal with his own issues. It’s my body and how I display it is none of his concern.
Before I could react, Rowan’s arms were around me.
I squealed and beat at his chest, but he hauled me against him like I weighed nothing.
Flashbacks of unsolicited—or coerced—intimacy hit me.
My body straightened in terror and I reacted without meaning to.
I threw my palm up, nearly connecting with his nose and he surprisingly dodged.
“Fuck, Violet. I’m trying to help.”
“Put me down!” I demanded, squirming in his grip.
Logically, I knew I shouldn’t be afraid—it was just Rowan. Despite how much I loathed him, I still trusted him. Yet, knowing that did not stop my body’s visceral reaction.
He said, “Nyet. I will not.”
My BJJ training kicked in. I recalled a dozen different ways to break out of his grasp and two dozen ways to hurt him.
I knew how to create an imbalance, disrupt his posture, throw my weight to his unstable side, trap one of his arms as I guided my fall, hook a leg behind his knee, drag both with me as we dropped. . .
Then what? We roll around on the dirty sidewalk until you can lock a limb? To what end? I knew he was too stubborn to tap out and I didn’t want to seriously hurt him. . . much.
“And why not?” I screeched, trying not to let my fear leak into the words. “If this is about my ass being out, then you can shove your mysog—"
“You are injured and limping and I do not like seeing you in pain this way.”
And there he goes again. It was infuriating how easily he got under my skin with his swapping between hot and cold, between kind and cruel. He didn’t care that my ass was hanging out. No, he cared about my feet. He’s always surprising me.
“I can walk,” I grumbled. I was uncomfortable with being carried through the streets, but I felt my anger and fear slowly dissipating, trusting in the way he held me.
“On bleeding feet? I do not think that would be best.”
I closed my eyes and focused on the pain of my feet—a reminder that this was the present. He is not Edward. I am safe, I told myself as my racing heart calmed.
He continued our trek, and I was very aware of how my body pressed against his, the heat of him seeping through my thin clothes. My mouth went dry and I tried for humor. “Being carried like a princess isn’t as comfortable as the movies make it to be.”
I heard him snort, and I was careful to ignore how I was tucked under his chin like precious cargo. His hands were gentle on me, easing away tension as I melted into his arms. His touch did not seem to bother me as much as others did.
Fuck, Violet. You are tired. You are stressed. You are definitely not sexually attracted to your asshole childhood friend who has a delicious accent that could melt panties.
I scowled, my brows drawn tight as he carried me all the way to my dorm—a miraculous trek given we were at least over a mile from the dorm.
I reached for my keys in my purse and there was an awkward moment of him holding me while I searched for it.
He managed to squat so I could put the key in and mercifully my roommate was still gone with her friend, Natalia.
He set me down with deliberate care, hands lingering on my waist before retreating.
The outside school grounds streetlamp cast gold bars across worn wooden floors, painting Rowan in stripes of light and shadow.
Somehow he had barely broken a sweat. Probably a by-product of his extensive runs with his adopted father, Charlie.
He asked, “Do you need help taking off your heels?”
My gaze lingered on his tantalizing mouth as he said those words. You need a cold shower and to get away from him, I reminded myself as I shook my head. “No, I’ve got it. You should go home.”
Folding himself onto my bed’s edge, he looked haggard.
The mattress dipped under his weight. He sat there, elbows on his knees, eyes tracking me as I chucked heels off, and stumbled around my cluttered side of the dorm.
I busied myself pulling off clothes, gathering my bath caddy, grabbing my pajamas.
“Why,” he asked with a weary curiosity.
I sat my toiletries down on my desk and sank into the chair, examining my battered feet, noting the pink nail polish had chipped. I made a note to get them fixed and tried not to fidget. “Why what?”
“Why dance at Oubliette?”
I shrugged, aiming for nonchalance. “Money.”
“Ne nesi chush!” he said with that hint of Russian accent I was getting too comfortable hearing. “Stop lying to me. Your family has money.”
“Did you call out bullshit in Russian? Rowan, my funds are locked in a trust,” I explained.
“Daddy could release them early, but I’d need a business proposal.
Do I look like I’m running a business while finishing my degree?
” I gestured to the chaos of my half of the dorm: textbooks stacked on the floor, archery gear in the corner, clothes draped over every available surface.
“Besides, there’s something in that club I want. ”
His eyes narrowed. “What?”
“A pony.”
“Violet—"
“It’s none of your goddamn business, Rowan. Go home. I’m going to that club.”
He exhaled slowly before he said, “Fine. But I go with you now.”
“What?”
“To the club. When you go, I go.”
I couldn’t have stared harder at him if he had grown a third eye. “That’s the opposite of going home! Why. . . would you go with me?”
“To protect you.”
Okay, screw this. I took a deep breath before I spit out, “Why do you even care, Rowan? It’s none of your goddamn business where I go, or who I see, or what I do.
You’re not Daddy, you’re not my brother, you.
. .” I trailed off, because I honestly couldn’t think of what to even call Rowan.
Godbrother? Friend? Constant and irritating pain in the ass? None of those were a perfect fit.
We stared at each other for a moment in silence.
Once I’d collected myself, I continued in as calm and disdainful of a tone as I could manage.
“While I can acknowledge the sentiment behind your desire to protect me, I must point out that such an impulse appears to be rooted in a deeply ingrained and antiquated assumption that by virtue of you being a man, you are inherently more capable, and that I, as a woman, am somehow in need of safeguarding. I find that presumption both reductive and profoundly patronizing. In short,” I paused to catch my breath, “Go fuck yourself and leave me alone.” Philosophy class really was rubbing off on me.
“You need a bodyguard,” was all he said.
I rolled my eyes. “I don’t need a bodyguard!”
“And yet, now you have one.”
Just let it go, I tried to tell myself even as I stepped closer. I jabbed my finger into that well defined chest hidden under his black shirt, biting out each word. “Listen here, you stubborn shit for brains—"
The door handle jiggled, and Alice appeared mid-knock, catching us in what must have looked like an intimate moment.
“Oh,” she said. “Sorry, I didn’t—"
“It’s fine,” I said quickly. “Rowan, meet Alice. Alice, meet Rowan.”
She looked uncomfortable, “I can come back later if—"
“No,” I interrupted her, “I’m going to grab a shower and Rowan was just leaving.”
“Are you sure? If you two were about to—"
“T’fu,” Rowan spat out the sound he makes when he finds something disgusting.
Well, good to know you find me repulsive Rowan Monroe. And a big fat fuck you, too.
“It’s nothing like that,” I said as I walked to the door, slipping on my shower kitty sandals. “He is a childhood friend of mine who has chlamydia. I will never touch him.”
Rowan followed, his expression unbothered. “I am on the antibiotics, Violet. I already told you this. It is fine,” he said with an infuriating calm.
My eye twitched. “Well, remember to take the full course this time, even if your symptoms clear up. You don’t want it coming back even worse like it did last time, right?”
As we walked past Alice, Rowan gestured to me and said, “She is such a good friend, to worry for my health.” He flashed her a grin and I swear I saw her panties combust.
I stormed out and once we were in the hall and my dorm’s door closed behind us, I shot him a look that could boil blood. “I hate you,” I seethed.
He smirked, leaning close enough I caught his scent, pine and sharp and clean. It made my stomach flip and butterflies dance, reminding me how much I hated my body sometimes.
“So you’ve told me for years. Now, where is your shower?” he muttered.
I pivoted on my heel. “Go. Away. You are not following me.” I sounded juvenile even to my own ears. I marched towards the showers with Rowan lagging behind me.
“And yet. . . I will follow you.”
I wanted to scream. This man was beyond infuriating. I felt the heat of his glare as I walked away, my sandaled feet slapping against the weathered floors of the school. Who does he think he is? My keeper? My warden?
Rowan Monroe was becoming the bane of my existence.
How had he even found me at Oubliette? I’d been careful, meticulously so, making sure no one from school knew where I was going.
The timing was too precise to be a coincidence.
Is he following me? The thought coiled in my stomach and—much to my dismay—I felt flattered.
Nope. No way. I am not into stalkers.
What was his game? Why did he care? I struggled to understand his sudden protectiveness. He’d never shown interest in my welfare before. We’d spent years circling each other with barbed words from a prickly distance.
And something about Oubliette had rattled him.
Something he’d seen there. Perhaps he’d noticed evidence of what I’d always suspected—that Oubliette served as a hub of illegal activity.
But if that were true, then why did all of the girls I’d met there seem so happy?
Bri didn’t act like she was trapped. Jules was one of the most upbeat people I’d ever met.
Is the illegal side of Oubliette confined to those lower floors I had never been taken to?
It doesn’t matter what Rowan thinks about me, Oubliette, or the clientele there. I just needed him gone before he destroyed my only opportunity for vengeance. Oubliette was my gateway. My path to Edward. My chance to find that monster.
And Rowan was going to ruin everything if he interfered.
“Violet,” Rowan called to me. “Stop. Just. . . stop for a moment.”
I didn’t stop. “Walk and talk, Rowan. I’m going to be at the showers in a second, so you should talk fast.”
He caught up to me, and lightly touched my elbow. “Violet,” he said, voice low, “you have no idea what you are walking into.”
His eyes flicked to my blistered feet, then back up to my face. For a heartbeat, his expression was soft, with something like worry swimming in the depths of his eyes. But then it was gone, replaced with the same stoicism he always wore.
“I know exactly what I’m walking into,” I said with a smirk as I pulled away from him. “I’m walking into the showers.”
I heard him groan from behind me.
I stifled a laugh at that, and left him standing there as I walked into the communal showers, giving him the finger without looking back at him.