Chapter 4 Rowan
FOUR
ROWAN
The Boathouse disappears in the rearview mirror, but the feeling it leaves behind sticks to my ribs like humidity.
Not the building itself. Not the sleek screens in The Bridge or the calm competence of Cal Hayes and the tech team.
It’s the fact that someone put a leash on my phone.
That someone has been watching me breathe and type and pace my kitchen at midnight, thinking I was alone.
Sin drives like he was born with a steering wheel in his hands. One palm relaxed at the top, the other ready when the road curves. His gaze keeps moving, mirrors to road to horizon, a steady rhythm that makes my brain slow down even when my heart wants to sprint.
It’s night now. South Carolina is a ribbon of dark highway, pine trees and marshland fading into shadow. The dashboard lights paint Sin’s hands in soft green. He looks like a man who belongs in the dark. And somehow, that makes me feel safer, not more afraid.
I hate that my body trusts him.
I hate it because my body is never subtle about what it wants.
I keep my arms folded tightly across my chest, mostly to keep my thoughts contained. That does not work. Thoughts roam. They do not stay inside their assigned lanes.
My phone is gone. Burned, as far as my life is concerned. The new one Cal handed me sits dead in the center console like a replacement heart that hasn’t started beating yet.
We’re quiet for a long stretch. Sin’s idea of comfort is silence and control. My idea of comfort is talking until the fear gets bored and leaves. Tonight, I’m outmatched. Still, the question has been pressing at me since Cal pulled him away.
“You gonna tell me what Cal wanted to talk to you about?” I ask, trying for casual and landing somewhere around suspicious girlfriend.
Sin doesn’t look at me. “Operational.”
“I’m an operation now?”
“No.”
“What then?”
He exhales through his nose, the smallest sign he’s irritated. Or amused. With Sin, it’s hard to tell. Both emotions live in the same house, but different rooms. “Cal just asked about my family.”
I blink. “Your family?”
“Yes.”
“Why would he ask about your family?”
“Because my family is currently stepping on land mines that used to belong to someone else.”
I shift in my seat, turning toward him. “Sin.”
He keeps his eyes forward. “Rowan.”
“That’s not a real explanation.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
I should push. I’m good at pushing. It’s basically my brand.
I have pushed powerful men into stammering messes on record.
But this is different. This isn’t an interview.
This is a car at night, miles of road ahead, and the man beside me is the difference between alive and not.
And there’s something in his voice that says the subject is a scar. Not fresh, but deep.
So I adjust. I go softer. “Are you in danger too?” I ask.
His jaw flexes once. “I’m always in danger.”
“That’s a very you answer.”
He glances at me for half a second. In that brief look, I see it. Something guarded, something tired. Not fear. Not exactly. Weight. “My brothers are chasing a lead,” he says. “A family thing. Cal just wanted to know details.”
“And what are the details?” I ask.
He grips the steering wheel a little tighter. “They found a name tied to an old consultancy. A name that matters to us.”
I watch him, waiting. He doesn’t volunteer anymore.
“So Cal pulled you away to talk about… your brothers?” I ask carefully.
“And to remind me I can’t split my focus.”
“What did you say?”
He answers without looking at me. “That I can.”
A chill slides under my skin, because that’s the kind of confidence men have right before the universe tests them. “You don’t even know what you’re dealing with,” I say.
His voice stays calm. “Neither do you.”
Ouch. Fair.
We drive for another few minutes, the road humming under us. I try to ignore how my body keeps leaning toward him, like it’s seeking warmth. Like it’s seeking certainty.
Eventually I speak again, because I’m me and I can’t help it. “Where is this safe house?” I ask.
He doesn’t hesitate. “You’ll see.”
I stare at him. “That’s what kidnappers say.”
He flicks his gaze to me, expression flat. “Do you want to know the location or do you want to be safe?”
“I want both.”
“Pick one.”
“I hate you,” I mutter.
“Noted.”
I huff, then immediately regret it because it makes me sound like I’m twelve.
The problem is, the fear is still there.
It’s just… managed. Kept in a cage by the fact that Sin is beside me, steady as a metronome.
Which is insane. I met him a few hours ago on an airstrip, and now my nervous system is acting like he’s my personal security blanket with biceps.
We take an exit I don’t recognize. The highway gives way to a narrower road lined with pines and darkness. No streetlights. Just Sin’s headlights cutting through the black.
The silence presses in.
I glance at him again. His profile is all angles and restraint, like he was carved out of stubborn stone. The dash lights pick out the faint scar on his cheek, the edge of his mouth, the concentration in his eyes.
My heart does a stupid little stumble. I swallow. Focus. Not the time.
The road turns into gravel. The car crunches forward, and my stomach knots because gravel roads at night are how horror movies begin. Then the trees part. A small airstrip appears, lit by sparse runway lights that look like they’ve been forgotten by civilization on purpose.
A single plane sits at the end of the tarmac, engine idling.
My breath catches. “We’re flying?” I ask.
Sin’s answer is simple. “Yes.”
“We’re moving again,” I say, and my voice tips toward disbelief. “We just got here. We just handed over my phone. We just…”
He pulls up near the plane and kills the engine. “We just confirmed you’re being monitored. Which means we don’t stay put.”
I turn in my seat. “This feels like a lot.”
“It is.”
He gets out, walks around, and opens my door. The cold night air hits my face, sharp and clean. I step down, and my feet crunch on the gravel. The plane’s prop wash pushes at my hair.
A man stands near the aircraft, headset on, posture relaxed. Another Salt & Steel operator. He nods at Sin with the casual confidence of people who do dangerous things before breakfast.
Sin doesn’t linger. He guides me toward the plane with a light touch at my back. My skin sparks where his palm rests, and I hate that too, because my body’s a traitor.
We climb into the cabin. It’s smaller than the jet from earlier, but comfortable. Two rows of seats, leather, clean lines. A faint scent of fuel mixed with something citrusy, like someone tried to make a plane smell like a spa.
Sin sits across from me, angled slightly so he can see both me and the door. Of course he does.
I buckle in, then look at him. “Now will you tell me where we’re going?”
“We’re heading south,” he says.
“That’s ominous.”
“You’ll see.”
I narrow my eyes. “You really love that phrase.”
“I love staying alive more.”
The pilot’s voice comes through the small intercom, announcing takeoff.
The plane begins to move, rolling down the runway with a smooth surge.
My stomach lifts. The world outside blurs into dark trees and lights.
Then we’re airborne. I grip the armrest, not because I’m afraid of flying, but because everything about tonight is too much motion, too much uncertainty.
My life has become a chessboard and I don’t even know which piece I am.
Sin’s gaze is on me. “You okay?”
I nod quickly. “Fine.”
His eyes hold mine. “Lie.”
I glare at him. “Stop doing that.”
“Stop lying.”
“I’m not lying,” I say, then my voice drops. “I’m just… trying not to fall apart.”
Something shifts in his face. The hard edge doesn’t disappear, but it changes shape. It’s less sharp. “You don’t have to perform for me,” he says.
I laugh softly, because if I don’t, I’ll cry. “That’s unfortunate. I had a whole routine prepared. Jokes. Deflection. Possibly jazz hands.”
His mouth twitches. “No jazz hands.”
“I can’t make promises.”
He watches me for a beat, then glances away like he’s giving me privacy to be human. And the strangest thing happens. My heartbeat slows. Not because the threat is gone. But because he’s here. Because his presence is like a wall. Like nothing can get through it.
I hate that I need that.
I also want it.
The engine hum becomes steady white noise.
The cabin lights are low. The vibration of the plane seeps into my bones like a lullaby I didn’t ask for.
I stare out the small window at darkness and scattered lights below, and my eyelids get heavier than they should.
Exhaustion hits like a wave. Adrenaline withdrawal.
Shock. The body finally realizing it’s allowed to rest for a minute.
Sin shifts in his seat, jacket creasing softly. I keep my eyes on him because it’s easier than thinking about what could have happened last night.
His gaze is back on me again.
“What?” I whisper.
“You’re fading,” he says.
“I’m not fading,” I argue, already fading.
His eyes go to my face, then my hands. “Sleep.”
“I can’t.”
“You can. I’m here.” That shouldn’t be as comforting as it is.
My throat tightens. “You say that like it’s a guarantee.”
“It is,” he says, voice low and absolute.
My heart does that stupid thing again, like it’s trying to rewrite my entire dating history based on one sentence. I swallow. “You barely know me.”
“I know enough.”
I want to ask what he means by that, but my brain is turning syrupy. My eyes keep closing against my will. I force out one more question, stubborn to the end. “If I wake up and we’re in a basement with porcelain dolls, I’m going to haunt you.”
His mouth curves slightly. “Noted.”
“And… don’t let them hurt me,” I whisper, and I hate how small it sounds.
Sin’s voice is quieter, closer to something gentle. “Nobody touches you.”
The words wrap around me like a blanket and I lose the fight. Sleep takes me.