by Zoey Parker
She felt unsettled and unsafe. She wished she could call Rowan and have him come over for a while. She’d felt safe when he was there. And that had made her feel even worse. She’d called him sobbing so late at night and he’d dropped everything to run to her. He had protected her through the night, like he’d said. And he’d made her feel like nothing could hurt them. But now, without his protection, anything could.
She missed him. Which didn’t make much sense because she hadn’t known him that long, but she did. She wanted to call him or see him. Wanted to find out about the flowers and the money. She’d tucked the envelope behind her dresser, where she hoped no one would find it if her place was broken into. She’d have to take it to the bank in the morning to deposit it so it was safe and she could pay bills with it. Maybe she would use some of it to buy that gun finally. And to get some shooting lessons.
But what to do about Rowan? She didn’t know where he lived, but she had his number. She could call or text him. But if he were really as mad as he’d seemed, maybe that wouldn’t be good. She still wasn’t sure what his breaking point was, though everyone had to have one. That point where, no matter what, you had to hit something or break something or hurt someone. It was just a matter of finding out—or hopefully never finding out—what his was. If she called him or texted, that’d be safe enough, right? He wouldn’t be there in person. The worst he could do was yell, which would be bad enough, but she wouldn’t feel physically threatened by only yelling.
And she couldn’t leave things as they were. It would haunt her forever if she did. She had to apologize and tell him she was wrong about him. She knew that. Had known it even as she was saying it, but still couldn’t stop herself. She wished she’d found out he was an MC leader some other way than when he was in her house having breakfast after they’d spent the night together. It was too big of a shock after such a horrible incident with the gunman and then such a wonderful time with him. Too much up and down and she’d gone into her default mode. To be scared and see him as she saw the only other MC leader she knew, Nick. But he was no Nick. And she had to tell him that.
That night, she went into her bedroom and paced for a few minutes, thinking. She wanted to find out about the flowers and thank him for the money. Wanted to apologize and ask for forgiveness. She’d tell him she knew he wasn’t like that and hoped that he would still want to talk to her again. She practiced what she’d say several times. Then, with a racing heart, she scrolled to his name.
But then she couldn’t do it. What if he did get mad? What if he did yell? He might need a day to cool off. The fight had only happened that morning, so maybe this was too soon. She’d set the phone back down and decided to wait. But that hadn’t stopped her from keeping the phone at her side in case he was the one to call or text first.
# # #
But he hadn’t. She hadn’t heard from him at all last night or at all today. Now her work day was almost over. There had been no strange flowers or envelopes today. Nothing that seemed like it could be from him.
“Becca, could you help me?”
Penny’s voice made her jump and broke her Rowan trance. “Oh, sure, Penny. What do you need?
“I want to move around some of these shirts. The same ones have been in the front too long and they don’t seem to be selling as well as the others. Let’s make sure the sizes are all together, too.”
Becca went to the rack of t-shirts and began sorting them as Penny went to the other rack and did the same.
“Everything okay?” Penny asked.
“Yeah, I’m okay. Just have a lot going on, I guess.”
Penny picked up a purple shirt and moved it to Becca’s rack with the other purple shirts. “You just seem a little unfocused today. And yesterday.” Penny paused to look at her. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”
“I know.” Becca sighed. “It’s guy trouble, I guess. I kind of met someone, but I think I messed things up.”
“Oh? What happened?”
“Well, remember my sick friend I was taking care of last week? He was actually more like half dead, left on the side of the road, and I took him to my apartment to recover. But then I just found out that he’s maybe more of a bad boy than I thought. But he’s really nice and sweet, and not like most guys who are like that, you know?”
Penny nodded. “It’s easy to make assumptions about people.”
“Yeah. And I think I assumed wrong.”
“Well, there’s one way to fix that.”
Becca shuffled around a few shirts, putting them in order from smallest to largest on the rack. “I’m not sure it’s fixable. We got into a fight and I said some mean things. We haven’t known each other that long, so I don’t know what he’s thinking right now or anything.”
“How long ago was this fight?”
“Yesterday morning.”
“You haven’t heard from him?”
“Well…” Becca made a quick glance around the store. She’d gotten in the habit of doing this. Looking for the man who’d come in to warn her, looking for anyone else who might be looking for her. Everyone seemed to be just regular customers today, though. “There were flowers on my car yesterday. But there was no note or anything, so I don’t know for sure that they’re from him.”
“Hmm. If they are, that’s a good sign.”
“I know. But I don’t want to act on that and assume they were from him and then find out they weren’t.”
“Who else would they be from?” Penny raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Is there someone else you’ve been talking to?”
“No. That’s the thing. I have no idea who else would have done that.”
“Sounds like it’s your guy, then.”
“I hope so.”
Penny moved another shirt to her rack. “Let’s move this shirt design to the front. People seem to like it.” She held up a green shirt with an image of a tree on the front. They started moving the shirts. “I’m sure they were from your guy. What’s his name?”
“Rowan.”
Penny smiled. “Maybe you should call him. You’re saying it was kind of your fault? The fight?”
“No, it was definitely my fault. You’re right. I have to call him. Unless I want to let him go forever.”
“Doesn’t sound like that’s what you want.”
“No. It’s just so hard for me to trust people. What if he turns out to be like Nick?”
Penny put her hand on Becca’s shoulder for a moment. “Of course you have trouble trusting people. That’s to be expected. And I’m sure you know what signs to look for.”
Signs. Like being in a motorcycle club? She reminded herself that Rowan hadn’t actually acted like Nick at all, and just because they did the same things didn’t mean they were the same type of person. What if they had both been accountants? She wouldn’t be having these thoughts then.
Maybe Penny was right. Did she know the signs, though? Nick had been so charming and nice in the beginning. Kind of like Rowan was now. Though Nick had often lied and made big promises that he didn’t come through on. He’d make plans to take her out, then cancel at the last minute or not bother to show at all and swoop in the next day with an apology and a sparkly bracelet or some other romantic gesture to make up for it.
Rowan had already made good on the one thing he’d said he would do—paying for the damages—and he’d been reliable, though there wasn’t much to go on. It was just so new. She didn’t have much to compare and time usually revealed things. Well, if time would reveal it, then she’d watch for it. She would know what to look for. Anything that felt or sounded like Nick would be a warning. Enough warnings and she’d end it. But so far, the only thing on that list was that they both happened to be MC leaders and have similar interests. Bikes, crime, fighting.
Thinking of all that again made her stomach ache. Even if he was different, he did have a dangerous lifestyle. The gunman, the crime. Would she have to bail Rowan out of jail a bunch of times like she did for Nic
k? Did Rowan keep wads of cash hidden all over his house in case he was arrested? That way, she could pay to get him out on bond by just going in and grabbing a wad or two.
Even if Rowan was different, did she want to be part of that life again? How much of that could affect Emma? And the real question, if they got together and stayed together, would he ever give up that life? She’d tried to get Nick to, many times. Find a straight job and live on the up and up. He’d refused. Said he never wanted a normal job. Too little money, too much time, too exhausting. She couldn’t blame him. When she’d considered the ways their lives would change if he did, the money thing was significant. But wasn’t it worth it? How much money had they spent on bonds and lawyer fees and bribes over the years? They’d have none of that if he weren’t running around breaking the law constantly.
But if Rowan were so different, maybe he had other plans and aspirations. Maybe he already wanted to get out of the life of crime. It wasn’t something you could really talk someone into. Not really. He might do it. Leave and give up his club and everything if she begged him to. But then he’d hate her for it someday. That was never a good plan. Either he’d have to want to leave on his own, or she’d have to assume he never would. And was she okay with that?
None of these things could be decided here on her own. She’d need to talk to him first. If he wouldn’t talk to her, there was no sense in worrying about anything else. So that was it. She would call him. She would talk to him. Apologize and hope he’d forgive her. Then they could go from there. She could get to know him better and see what he was really like. How hard was his life really? And could she be part of it for the long-term?
Though even at that thought, she had some hesitation. What if she got to know him, fell in love with him, and then discovered he would never give up his life of crime? She’d have to be okay with it. Or she better not fall in the first place.
Throughout the rest of her day, she changed her mind at least a dozen times. Yes, definitely call him and work things out. No, don’t call him because you aren’t going to be okay with his lifestyle.
She finally settled on sending him a simple text. Hey. Can we talk about the other day?
She held her phone in her hands for several minutes, hoping he’d respond quickly. But after five minutes, she put her phone back in her pocket. After thirty, she figured he was either busy and couldn’t answer, or the answer was no.
She tried to focus on work and think about what she’d make for Emma for dinner that night. She had some chicken and vegetables. Probably there was still some rice in the pantry. That would work. She had laundry to do, and Emma’s room could stand a vacuuming. She made a mental list of everything she’d fill her time with. Hopefully it would be enough.
Toward the end of her shift, her phone buzzed in her pocket. It wasn’t a text; it was a call. Her heart leapt. Maybe he’d decided to respond to her text by calling her. She pulled her phone from her pocket and her heart sank when she saw Lucille’s name on the screen. Rowan still hadn’t responded.
“Hi, Lucille,” she said, making sure her voice still sounded cheerful. It wasn’t Lucille’s fault that she hadn’t been who Becca was hoping had called.
“Becca? Are you at work?” Her voice sounded frantic and panicked in a way Becca had never heard before. Her whole body tensed instantly.
“Yes. What’s wrong?”
“It’s Emma. She’s gone.”
Chapter 9
Rowan approached his house, his mind already spinning. Had any of his guys gotten there? Was anyone inside? How bad was the fire, and would his house be damaged beyond repair? Too many things to think about right now. This was a time for action, not thought.
He sped up and raced to his house. When he was a few hundred away feet away, he saw the flames. Angry red and orange licked out of the windows. It was bad. The fire looked like an inferno already. The smoke turned black and even thicker.
He stopped his bike at a safe distance away and ran toward the house. His helmet was still on, making the scene even darker. He yanked it off and carried it under his arm. He pulled his phone from his pocket as he ran, but the screen was dark and it wouldn’t turn on. Damn it. It must’ve died. Great timing on that. Hopefully a neighbor or someone would call the fire department. His house might already be destroyed, but someone would need to put out these flames.
As he ran to the house, he saw a man standing out front. The smoke was thick enough on the ground to disguise his face, but he thought maybe it was Nate. Another man was on the ground, on all fours.
“Hey!” Rowan shouted.
Their heads turned. The man on the ground coughed and tried to wave the smoke from in front of his face. The man standing had a bandana over his nose and mouth, but said, “Row? That you, man?”
It was Nate’s voice. Rowan reached them and clapped Nate on the back. The roar of flames and crackling wood was so loud they had to shout to each other to be heard.
“Let’s get you out of here,” Rowan said. “There’s too much smoke.”
“Can’t.” Jameson, on the ground, broke into a coughing fit.
Then he saw Ricky run out the door. “I can’t find him!”
Rowan’s heart sunk. Someone was inside still? In this blaze and heat and smoke? “Who?”
“Marcus is in there,” Nate shouted, leaning close to Rowan to be heard. “Jameson and I made it out, but Ricky was trying to find him. He was in the bathroom when we smelled the smoke. But by that time, smoke was already coming in the room and there were flames everywhere when we opened the door.” He coughed several times and bent over, his hand on his stomach.
“All three of you, get across the street and make sure the fire department is on their way.” Rowan pointed and reached down to clasp Jameson’s hand. He pulled him to his feet and Nate and Ricky helped him walk. “Is anyone else here?” Rowan shouted after them.
Nate turned back. “Just Marcus!”
Rowan pulled his shirt up over his nose and mouth. He wished more than ever he had his Jagged Rebels leather jacket. It’d be much better protection than his riding jacket. He zipped it up as he bent over to avoid the smoke as much as possible. He popped his helmet back on for protection, even if it made things darker. Better to keep his head safe.
The front door was open and thick black smoke poured out. He dropped to his knees and crawled through the living room. It was hard to see anything. He didn’t have to worry about his face shield making things too dark. There was already too much smoke to see through. He felt his way around, careful not to put his hands on anything hot or burning. He listened carefully, too. If it sounded like the roof was going to collapse or the walls were going to fall in, he’d have to get out fast. It wouldn’t help anyone if he got trapped, too.
He felt the opening that was the doorway from the kitchen down to the basement. They always met in the basement. He’d finished it off years ago to make it nice down there. Carpet, couches, the whole deal. He’d even had a bathroom put in. That was where Marcus was now, or nearby. Ricky had known he was in the bathroom and couldn’t find him, so maybe he’d come out and got trapped trying to get out.
He coughed, and his chest burned. The shirt covering his mouth and nose wasn’t doing much at all. His head spun already with dizziness. Just keep going, Rowan. Got to find Marcus and get him out. He couldn’t let one of his guys die in there. Especially not like this.
He thought he heard the faint wail of sirens. Good. Help was on the way. He hoped.
He felt the first step with his hand. “Marcus!” He listened for any sound of movement or a voice. But it was so loud with the flames. Who knew fire could make so much noise. And the heat was getting to him. He felt sick to his stomach. His head was spinning worse than before. And he was wet with sweat.
But he had to keep going. Had to save Marcus. Help was on its way.
He turned around and slid his knee back until he felt the floor disappear. He moved his knee down carefully, crawling down the steps backwa
rd. Going face first had seemed far more dangerous than going backward.
Rowan tried to see down the stairs, but the smoke was coming up too thick and fast. He went as quickly as he could, keeping his throbbing head down as much as possible to get it out of the worst of the smoke. His helmet felt like it weighed fifty pounds, but he didn’t dare take it off.
“Marcus!” No response again. If he’d been in this house the whole time, he was likely passed out already. Maybe he was even dead. No. He couldn’t think of that. He would save him. Had to. He could not die here like this.
Finally, his knee hit the harder basement floor. There was a small layer of air that was less smoky and he lay flat on his belly for a moment to breathe. Maybe he could just take a quick nap right here. That would give him more energy to move forward. To find Marcus.
