by Zoey Parker
Rowan had been there, in the dark at the side of the road, where they always met. Look for the cluster of trees and the picnic bench. That was what he told people. Just after mile marker 58. He’d been there, waiting. He should’ve brought a few of his guys. He always did for stuff like this, but he’d gotten the call on his way home from getting food and they wanted to meet right away. That was his first mistake. He’d been too eager for the sale and had broken his own rule. Never meet alone.
And now that he thought about it, Abram probably had guys tracking him, watching to see when he was alone, then he’d had that guy Max call to ask for a deal. Abram had planned this whole thing to make it as easy as possible for him. No one on one fighting like men. Not even club on club. Oh no, had to make it seven to one. Seven to one. What kind of an asshole did that?
Rowan had sat in his car in the dark, ready to take off if anyone happened along who shouldn’t be there. Then he saw the car flash its lights three times. This was the sign. The car pulled over and Max got out. Rowan went to meet him behind the cover of his car.
“This stuff is pure?” Max asked.
“Taste it.” Rowan waited while Max peeled open the bag and stuck in a wet pinky to taste the cocaine.
Max nodded. “Where’d you get this? This stuff is good.”
“Five hundred.”
“You sure that’s all? How can you afford such low prices? You know that other guy charged me six.”
“Yeah, well, I guess you found the better deal, then, didn’t you?”
“Too bad you didn’t.” This voice had come from behind him and he recognized Abram.
It took him a half second to realize this wasn’t just another drug deal. This was a set up. Max, if that was even his real name—probably wasn’t—took off with the money and the coke. Then, a group of men piled out of a car and came at him.
Rowan managed to get his gun out. He rarely went anywhere without it, especially when he was doing a deal, and he wouldn’t dream of not having it on him, loaded and ready to go.
From behind, Abram tackled him to the ground. That, Rowan had not been expected. Guns, knives, fists, yes. But he’d had his eye on the guys approaching and though he hadn’t forgotten Abram was behind him—in fact, he was moving to get in a better position so Abram wasn’t behind him—Abram had taken him by surprise.
Rowan kicked himself for that repeatedly, but in the end, it likely wouldn’t have mattered. Seven men converged on him. They punched him and kicked him. One of them took a knife and slashed up the Jagged Rebels logo on the back of his jacket. They cut straight through the leather, into his skin, and every slash was a hot whip that made him arch his back in agony.
Once he was on the ground, they’d gotten his gun from him quickly and he hadn’t been able to reach for the knife in his boot. One of them had found it, and to add further insult, had made a point of saying it was his own knife that had cut up his back. That was why he thought they would just shoot him. So it could be his own gun that killed him. But for whatever reason—sheer stupidity maybe—they hadn’t. And they’d pay for that mistake.
He wondered about his car. They’d taken his keys, and when he came to, the car was gone, but surely, they hadn’t taken it. It would lead the cops right to them if they thought they’d killed him. Being in possession of a dead man’s car would require quite an explanation, or quite the bribe. Maybe it was just pushed into the woods. More likely, it’d been stripped and sold off for parts. Good thing he hadn’t driven his bike. If they’d messed with his bike, they’d really pay.
Rowan leaned his head against the pillow and closed his eyes. But every time he did, he saw flashes of fists hitting his face, felt them kicking his sides and stomach, felt the stinging cuts across his back. And then the eerie silence. When he’d passed out, they’d stopped at some point. He woke up and the world around him was so still. He’d tried to sit up, but everything spun and he collapsed again, kissing the gravel. He’d lain there, hoping for salvation. For one of his boys to come along and see him. For someone to help him. And then Becca was there.
When he’d opened his eyes enough to see her, she seemed to glow. Of course, it might have been him half hallucinating from the pain, but he’d never forget that first sight of her. The concern on her face, the way she reached out to see if he had a pulse. And then how she’d helped him into the car, had listened when he said not to take him to the hospital. How many women would have done that? And then she’d cared for him ever since. If he didn’t know better, he’d think he was falling for her already. And then figure in her perfect face and body. She was the whole package. Despite whatever he tried to tell himself, he wanted her. Badly.
Chapter 3
Becca looked up from her book at the flashes of red and blue light on the wall. She went into Emma’s room and looked out the window. In the parking lot below was a cop car with its lights on. Immediately, she panicked and hurried into her bedroom.
“Rowan, are you in any sort of trouble?”
He’d been lying there with his eyes closed and now they opened to look at her. “What?” he mumbled, and pushed himself to sit up.
“Are you in trouble?”
“Usually. Can you be more specific?”
“With the police? Is there any reason the cops would come looking for you?”
He looked over toward the window at the red and blue light. “I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so?” She went to the window to look out again. She didn’t see anyone. “Have you done anything illegal lately?”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “Maybe?”
She sighed, then went to her front door. The peephole was grungy but she could see out of it. No cops in the hall. No cops coming to knock on her door. She went back to the bedroom and looked out again, hoping to gain some insight as to what was going on.
“What are you into? Guns?” That was what Nick had been into. Buying and stealing and selling guns illegally to people who couldn’t buy them or didn’t want to buy them through legal channels.
“I have guns,” he said.
“Do you sell them? Illegally?”
“No.”
“Then what it is?”
“Why do you assume I’m a criminal?” His voice gained a slight hard edge.
She put her hand on her hip. “Well, you were beaten within an inch of your life and left for dead. You didn’t want me to take you to the hospital because they’d come to kill you. Usually people in those situations want help from the police. So, if you don’t, it’s usually because you’re into something illegal.”
“Guess you have a point.”
“So, what is it, then? What illegal thing are you into?”
“How many cops are out there?”
She looked again. “Just one. Oh.” She saw him finally. He got out of his car and went to a car parked nearby to hand the man inside something. Then they both drove off. “Maybe he was just giving someone a ticket. He’s gone now.”
“Then nothing to worry about.”
“Were you worried? That the cops might show up here to arrest you?”
“No.”
She looked at him for a moment.
“Look, you don’t have to worry,” he said. “As soon as I can get up and walk on my own, I’ll go. I appreciate all you’ve done for me, and I’d never want to overstay my welcome.”
She thought of him going to the bathroom earlier and how he could nearly walk on his own. She’d helped him a little, but it wouldn’t be long before he could move without her help. He’d made significant improvements since last night. So, he wouldn’t be here much longer. The thought saddened her. But in the next thought, she knew that was ridiculous. Her first thought when she’d seen the lights was that Rowan was in trouble. She couldn’t be with someone like that. Someone who might get arrested and disappear at any time.
There was a knock on the door. Rowan looked at her and she looked back, worried again.
“Expecting someone?
” he asked.
She shook her head.
At the front door, she looked out the peephole again and saw two people standing in front of her door. One, the shortest one, had on a bright pink sweatshirt and a t-shirt with a gray kitty underneath. She smiled and opened the door.
“Mommy!” Emma jumped into her arms.
“I am so sorry, Becca. I just got a call that my mom was taken to the hospital. I’m sorry to just drop her like this with no warning. Is your friend still here?”
She said “friend” as if Becca had been up to no good last night and that was the reason she wanted Emma to stay.
“No problem, Lucille. Go to the hospital. See your mom. I appreciate you keeping her last night.”
“Okay, then. Bye, Emma.” Lucille waved and walked away, and Emma waved back as Becca closed the door.
Emma wiggled free of Becca’s arms and dashed into her bedroom, emerging a moment later with armfuls of stuffed animals. She turned toward Becca’s bedroom and froze.
“Mommy, there’s a man in your bed.”
Becca felt her face go warm. The way she’d said it made it sound so much less innocent that it was. “Yes. Come meet him.” She guided Emma into the room. “Emma, this is my friend, Rowan. He’s not feeling well, so he came here to get better.”
“Oh,” Emma said.
“Hi, Emma.” His eyes softened and the less swollen one crinkled in a half smile.
Emma dropped the animals on the bed. “These are all my friends.” She picked up a black and white cat. “This is Spot. And this is Cuddles.” She held up the purple bunny Becca had slept with last night. Emma went through several more animals.
Rowan, to Becca’s surprise, nodded and looked carefully at each one.
“Okay, Emma, let’s let Rowan rest and get some lunch, okay?”
Emma picked up her animals and dumped them on the couch in the living room before joining her mother in the kitchen. Becca took out some bread and cheese. She started to make a grilled cheese, and by the time she was done, she noticed Emma was no longer in the kitchen, sitting at the table with her stuffed cat.
Becca went to find her and she was sitting on the bed beside Rowan, a handful of cards in her hand. She was explaining, “You have to get all the same colors and then you win. See?” She showed him her hand of nothing but red cards. “I win.”
“Oh, I see.” Rowan looked down at his own hand. “How do I get all the same color cards?”
“Well, you just give me the red ones.”
“And what about the black ones?”
“You keep those. Or put them here.” She patted a spot on the bed where a short stack of cards sat.
“What if I want to collect red cards, too?” he asked.
Emma shrugged. “You can. But you have to have only red cards to win.”
“Gotcha.”
Emma handed cards back and forth, and Rowan picked up the ones she dealt him to add them to his hand.
“Are you teaching Rowan to play cards, Emma?” Becca asked, leaning in door frame.
“Yup! I won!” She eagerly showed her mother her hand of all red cards.
“Good job. Your lunch is ready. Come eat.”
Emma hopped down from the bed. “We can play again when I’m done.” Then she dashed from the room.
“Sorry about that,” Becca said. “I wasn’t expecting her back yet, but my babysitter had an emergency come up.”
“It’s okay. Gives me something to do.” He smiled at her.
“If you need a book or magazine or something—”
“No, really, it’s okay. She’s fun.”
Becca raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you have kids? Or nieces or nephews or anything?”
“No.”
“Then it might not be fun for too long. Preschoolers take some getting used to.”
“How old is she?”
“Four.”
He nodded. “Seems like a fun age.”
“It is. Until she’s tired or mad or doesn’t get her way. Then it’s tantrum city. I made her a grilled cheese. Do you want one? Or something else? I can make you a sandwich or something.”
“I’m okay. I don’t know that I could eat yet.”
Becca pulled her mouth to the side in thought. “You should probably eat something soon, though. You need to keep your strength up. Maybe some soup?”
He nodded. “Sounds perfect.”
A few minutes later, once it was done heating and she was sure Emma was settled, Becca took a steaming bowl of chicken soup to him. She grabbed another towel and folded it so he could set the bowl on his lap to eat.
“Thank you,” he said, blowing on a spoonful. “I’m actually feeling hungry now that I smell food.”
“Good.” She watched for a moment as he ate. He slurped a few spoonfuls after blowing on each one. “How does your stomach feel?”
“Empty.” He laughed. “I needed this.”
“Let me know if you want toast or something to go with it.”
He swallowed another spoonful. “Actually, yes, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure.”
By the time she came back with two pieces of toast on a plate, he’d eaten half the bowl. She handed him the toast and checked his complexion. “You don’t feel like you’re going to throw up or anything?” she asked.
He took a big bite of toast and shook his head. “I feel better. My head isn’t spinning as much.”
“Maybe you got dehydrated. Drink more water.”
He took a few long sips between bites of toast.
“I think you should still take it a little slow.” She took the empty plate from him. “I’ll gladly bring you more food, but we should wait to make sure your stomach can take it.”
He nodded and closed his eyes, leaning back against the pillow.
“Let me know if you need anything. I’ll make sure to keep Emma out while you’re resting.”
“You can let her in. It’s okay.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. She’s fun.”
Becca left the room, closing the door behind her. He really thought her daughter was fun? Emma’s own dad hadn’t even thought that.
###
When he woke the next morning, Rowan felt markedly better. The aching in his muscles had lessened, as had the swelling in his face. Good. Abram’s idiots couldn’t even manage a decent punch. He could open both eyes fully now. The stinging cuts on his back burned less, and, overall, he felt stronger. Less dizziness, less fatigue, less foggy mind. But that meant it was time to go. Time to leave her be.
Yet his feet didn’t hit the floor. He didn’t try to get up to see if he could walk on his own, like he’d told Becca he’d need to be able to do before he left. He watched the morning sun brighten through the sheer curtains and waited. He could wait a bit. That wouldn’t hurt anything.
A while later, she came in the room. Becca’s face was slightly puffy with sleep and her hair stuck out in all directions from her face. But if this were what she looked like in the mornings, he wanted to wake up to her every morning.
“How are you feeling today?” she asked.
“Getting there.”
“Good. Do you want breakfast?”
His stomach growled just thinking of it. He’d eaten a full dinner yesterday. An awesome dinner of meatloaf and mashed potatoes with gravy and green beans. Of course she was a good cook, too. Why wouldn’t she be good at everything? Like she was trying to torture him.
“Breakfast would be great,” he said. “Or even just another protein shake. Don’t go to too much trouble or anything.”
She dropped her head to the side. “Eggs? Pancakes? French toast?”
“I’m a sucker for scrambled.”
“Coming right up.”
She left the room and minutes later, he smelled eggs cooking. How long had it been since someone had cooked for him? He really needed to get a girl again. He wanted Becca, but she was far too good. He needed someone like her who he didn’t have t
o worry about ruining. Especially now that this thing was going on with Abram. What he really needed was a girl who could take care of herself. Win a fight, carry a gun or a knife. That way he wouldn’t have to worry about her all the time.
Becca came in with a bowl of scrambled eggs and orange juice. She watched as he dug in the fork and put a bite into his mouth. It was perfect. Moist and flavorful, like his mama made them.
