Chapter 7 Sin
SEVEN
SIN
The safe house has a way of shrinking time. No schedules. No traffic noise. No city hum. Just trees outside the windows, a quiet that presses in, and the steady awareness that someone out there wants Rowan afraid enough to stop talking.
Rowan sits on the couch with her legs tucked under her, coffee mug cradled in both hands like it’s an anchor. Her hair is pulled into a loose knot, but strands keep slipping free and brushing her cheek. She should look disheveled. Instead, she looks like temptation wearing a casual outfit.
I stay standing near the window, posture relaxed on purpose, attention split between the tree line and the woman behind me. It’s a bad equation. She’s safe here.
I’m not.
I can do a perimeter check in my sleep. I can sweep rooms, lock down exits, map escape routes, monitor cameras, all without breaking a sweat.
What I can’t do with the same level of ease is stand in a warm living room with Rowan Sands watching me like she’s trying to decide if I’m a threat or a comfort.
Or both.
“Okay,” she says, drawing out the word. “So what do we do now?”
“Now we wait,” I answer.
Rowan makes a face. “I hate waiting.”
“I know.”
She tips her head, eyes bright in a way that’s always a little too sharp. “How do you know?”
“Because you’ve been vibrating since you woke up.”
“I have not.”
“You have.”
Rowan huffs. “Fine. Maybe I have. I’m not built for captivity.”
“This isn’t captivity.”
“It feels like it.” She gestures around the safe house. “I can’t leave. I can’t call my friends. I can’t check my usual sources. I don’t even have my phone, which was basically a limb until it betrayed me.” Her voice goes tight at the end.
I don’t soften. Softening gives people permission to think you’ll bend. But I do step closer, just enough that she can feel me without me looming. “Cal’s tech team is building your new digital life,” I say. “We’ll get you clean accounts. Your sources can reach you through controlled channels.”
Rowan’s mouth twists. “Controlled channels. Sounds like a cult.”
“It’s security.”
“It’s a cult with better branding.”
A laugh almost gets past my guard. Almost. Rowan watches my face like she’s hunting for cracks. I keep mine locked down.
“What?” I ask.
She shrugs, pretending she’s casual. “Nothing. Just… you’re very serious.”
“I’m paid to be.”
“Do you ever turn it off?”
“No.”
Rowan’s gaze drops to my hands, then my forearms, then back up, and my body responds like it’s been waiting for her attention.
Heat. Awareness. A pull.
I shift my weight to keep myself grounded. This is the problem with being holed up. There’s no distance. No buffer. Just hours stacked on hours, and every time she looks at me I have to remind myself that desire is not a reason to act.
Rowan leans back into the couch, the movement slow and deliberate. Not flirtation exactly. More like curiosity testing the edges. “So,” she says, voice light, “how do we pass the time?”
My mind answers before my mouth can. With your legs around my waist. With your mouth on mine. With your laughter turning into that soft sound women make when they stop pretending they aren’t hungry. Dirty thoughts. Unhelpful thoughts. Thoughts that would break every rule I live by.
I keep my face neutral. “We keep you busy.”
Rowan’s brows lift. “Busy how.”
I don’t miss the way her gaze flicks to my mouth. I also don’t miss the way my pulse spikes like I’m a rookie. “Routine,” I say. “Food. Rest. Basic training. Situational awareness. We run drills.”
She stares. “Drills.”
“Simple ones,” I add. “If something happens, you don’t freeze.”
Rowan’s lips part, then press together. “I’m not freezing.”
“You already froze last night.”
Her eyes sharpen. “When?”
“When you got that text. Your face went blank. You stopped breathing for a second.” Rowan’s posture tightens, like she hates that I saw it. I keep going anyway. “You’re brave,” I say. “Brave people still freeze when they get hit from the side.”
Her throat moves. “I don’t like being predictable.”
“Then train.”
Rowan’s gaze holds mine, then her expression shifts into something playful that doesn’t quite hide what’s underneath. “Okay,” she says. “Training. Great. But what about when we’re not running drills.”
My jaw tightens.
Rowan’s tone goes a touch softer. “Sin. You can’t tell me you don’t get bored.”
“I don’t get bored.”
“Lie.”
I look at her, and she smiles like she just won something. I shouldn’t indulge that. I do anyway. “I don’t get bored on assignment.”
“What about off assignment?”
“This is assignment.”
Rowan’s smile lingers. Then she sets her mug down and scoots forward, elbows resting on her knees.
She looks too earnest for what she’s about to say.
That’s what gets me. “Okay,” she says. “Let’s say we’re stuck here for days.
Maybe a week. We can’t go anywhere. We can’t talk to anyone except your people.
We’re in forced proximity.” She pauses like she’s letting the words hang.
Forced proximity.
My mind immediately supplies an image of her in my bed again, hair loose, mouth parted, asking me to stay.
I clamp down hard.
Rowan continues, voice carefully casual. “We’re adults. We’re stressed. We’re in a weird, scary situation. People make dumb decisions when they’re stressed.”
My eyes narrow. “Where is this going?”
Her cheeks flush slightly, but she doesn’t back off. That’s Rowan. She’s scared and she still pushes. “I’m saying,” she says, “we could… make an arrangement.”
My body goes still. Every instinct locks on her like she just pulled a pin. “An arrangement?” I question.
Rowan nods, words coming faster now. “Friends with benefits. No feelings. No complications. Just… something to take the edge off while we’re stuck in this bunker cabin.”
The room goes quiet in a way that makes my skin feel too tight.
Rowan holds my gaze. Her eyes are steady, but her pulse is jumping at her throat. She’s nervous. She’s trying not to show it. She wants me.
That’s the real bomb.
I take a slow breath. My mind is already running scenarios, and every scenario ends with me forgetting why I have rules.
I don’t do attachments. I don’t blur lines.
I don’t touch the principal. Because when you touch the principal, you stop thinking clearly.
You start reacting emotionally. And that gets people killed. I keep my voice calm. “No.”
Rowan blinks. “No?”
“No.”
Her chin lifts, pride flickering. “Okay. Wow. Rejection. I didn’t realize we were doing that today.”
“This isn’t about you.” I want to tell her how badly I want her. How I’d fuck the hell out of her right here on the living room floor.
“It feels like it is.”
“It’s not.” I step closer, stopping a safe distance away, the kind that keeps me in control. “You think fucking will take the edge off?”
Rowan’s eyes widen a fraction at the blunt word. “I mean… yes.”
“It won’t,” I say. “Not for me.”
Her brows knit. “Because you don’t enjoy it?”
My mouth almost twitches. “That’s not the problem.”
“Then what is?”
I hold her gaze, and for a beat I consider lying. It would be easier. But she’s too smart to buy it, and I’m tired of treating her like a child. “The problem,” I say, voice low, “is that I would enjoy it.”
Rowan goes still.
I continue, because I need her to understand this isn’t a game for me.
“I would think about it when I’m supposed to be watching cameras.
I would hear a noise outside and instead of assessing it, part of me would be thinking about you.
I would start making decisions based on what I want, not what keeps you alive. ”
Rowan swallows. “So you’re saying you want me?”
I don’t answer that directly. I can’t. Not without stepping over a line I’m already standing too close to. “I’m saying it’s a risk,” I reply.
Rowan’s voice softens, almost vulnerable. “And you don’t take risks.”
“I take calculated ones.”
She leans back again, disappointment flickering across her face before she hides it. The bravado tries to rise, but it wobbles. “You’re very self-controlled,” she says, a little too sharp.
I don’t miss the sting. “It’s not control. It’s discipline.”
“Sounds lonely.”
It is.
Rowan’s gaze holds mine. “I’m not asking you to marry me, Sin. I’m asking how we’re supposed to survive the waiting. The fear. The constant tension.”
My jaw clenches. Because she’s not wrong about the tension. It’s everywhere. It’s in the silence. In the way we keep circling each other. In the fact that I spent last night watching her sleep and thinking about kissing her until my teeth hurt.
I keep my voice steady. “We survive it by staying focused.”
Rowan’s lips press together. “You make it sound easy.”
“It’s not.”
Her eyes flicker again, that sharp intelligence taking inventory. “So you’ve thought about it?” she asks softly.
I don’t move. I don’t speak. How can I?
Rowan’s breath catches, and her cheeks flush deeper.
That’s answer enough.
She looks down, then back up, and her voice is quieter. “Okay.”
I expect her to crack a joke. To deflect. To retreat behind sarcasm. She doesn’t. She simply nods once, like she’s respecting the boundary even if she hates it. And something in my chest tightens at the sight of her being brave in a new way.
I step back, giving her space. “We’ll find other ways to pass the time.”
Rowan’s mouth curves faintly, bittersweet. “Like drills.”
“Like drills.”
She leans her head back against the couch and stares at the ceiling. “My life is weird.”
“Yeah.”
“I should have dated a dentist.”
“You’d be dead,” I say flatly.
Rowan looks at me, startled.
I continue, because it’s the truth. “A dentist wouldn’t know how to get you out. A dentist wouldn’t have the resources to cut off your digital trail. A dentist wouldn’t recognize surveillance patterns. You picked a fight with people who don’t care about the rules.”
Her voice is small now. “And you do?”
“I care about you living,” I correct.
The air thickens again.
Rowan’s eyes lock on mine. “You keep saying things like that.”