His thumb traced lazy circles on my skin as he looked at me, his gaze intense, a hint of something vulnerable softening the hard edges I’d come to know. The silence between us was no longer charged with the unknown, but with a quiet understanding, a shared intimacy born from the storm we’d weathered. He didn’t speak, but his eyes conveyed a thousand unspoken words. There was a possessiveness there, yes, but now it was mingled with profound tenderness, a recognition of the trust I had placed in him.
I knew, without him having to utter another word, that this was just the beginning. The lines had blurred, yes, but in their place, something new, something raw and exhilarating, was taking shape. And as he pulled me closer, his lips brushing against mine in a kiss that was both a promise and an acknowledgment, I knew I was irrevocably his, not just as a pet, but as something far more profound.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Rowen
I wasn’t shocked or surprised when Sinclair slid into the co-pilot seat of the plane. The flight was especially full this morning; not only was Sinclair beside me, but Dante and Dr. Roxanne Franks were also aboard, each settling into their seats and preparing for the journey ahead, while Melissa occupied Danika with coloring books and crayons. The hum of anticipation mingled with the quiet buzz of the aircraft as I prepared for takeoff.
“Silas will be meeting us at the airport,” Sinclair absently said, but I ignored him and continued with my checklist. I adjusted my headset, glancing at Sinclair out of the corner of my eye. His presence was a silent annoyance amid the chaos of checklists and pre-flight procedures, his fingers tapping rhythmically against his knee—a nervous habit I’d noticed only when he flew. Outside, the tarmac shimmered in the early morning light, but inside the small cockpit, the air felt thick with unspoken words and warnings.
As the engines whined to life, the familiar vibrations of the plane filled the cabin, signaling the start of our journey. I turned in my seat, seeking out Melissa among the passengers. Our eyes met, and she offered a small, encouraging nod. That simple gesture brought a smile to my face, easing the tension lingering from last night. The weight of our confessions and the intensity of what Melissa and I had shared still hung in the air between us, woven into every glance and every subtle brush of fabric.The memory of our connection echoed quietly, a reminder of the vulnerability and trust that now bound us together.
As I taxied the plane down the runway, my focus shifted to the task at hand. The hum of the engines grew louder, blending with the anticipation of flight. Sinclair sat beside me, his hand gripping the armrest tightly, knuckles whitening with every acceleration. When the plane finally lifted into the sky, leaving the earth behind, a quiet resolve settled over the cockpit as I clearly saw Sinclair close his eyes, pinch the bridge of his nose, and sigh. “You can’t ignore me forever, Rowen.”
That was where he was wrong.
I could ignore him forever if he would be so kind and do the world a favor and die. But knowing I wasn’t that fucking lucky, I stayed silent. The fact was, I had nothing to say to the man.
Was I being a little petulant? Absolutely.
Did I care? Absolutely not.
“You can’t be angry at me for doing as you requested.”
I didn’t respond, and instead gazed out the small window, watching clouds drift past as we climbed higher. The cockpit, usually a place of calm focus, felt taut and charged, every instrument light reflecting the tension between us. I kept my eyes straight ahead, hands steady on the yoke, determined not to let him rattle me.
After a few minutes, he spoke again, softer this time. “Rowen, we’re all in this together. Whether you like it or not.” His words floated in the close air, but I didn’t waver. The engine’s steady drone was a welcome distraction, drowning out the noise of old wounds and grudges. I focused on the horizon and the promise of what lay ahead, refusing to let Sinclair drag me back into the past.
The cockpit door opened. “Everything okay in here?”
Sinclair grumbled, getting up from his seat. “Maybe you can talk some sense into him.”
“And why would I do that?” Melissa challenged. “It seems his position on the matter was rather clear.”
I didn’t turn around. Melissa’s voice was steady, but her presence shifted the atmosphere in the cockpit. Sinclair brushed past with a huff, leaving a lingering resentment in the space he’d vacated. I kept my eyes on the instruments, determined not to let the interruption rattle me. Through the window, the sky stretched wide and blue, a silent promise of distance from everything I wanted to leave behind.
Her gentle hand rested on the back of my seat. “Rowen?” There was concern there, but I refused to acknowledge it just yet. The routine of flight—gauges, dials, steady breath—was my shield. I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of everything unsaid pressing at my chest. Maybe, up here above the clouds, I could find space to breathe, if only for a little while.
As soon as we turned into Sinclair’s Chicago residence, the scene was impossible to ignore. Three motorcycles were parked right on the manicured lawn, a clear violation of Sinclair’s unwavering standards for order and presentation. The grass, usually trimmed to perfection, seemed almost offended by the intrusion of rubber and chrome. On the front porch, Silas sat with his elbows on his knees, watching the spectacle and shaking his head in quiet disbelief. His message was clear: whatever awaited inside was already in motion.
Stepping out of the SUV, the sounds of heated yelling from inside the house reached my ears. Sinclair, standing beside me, growled under his breath but remained silent, his frustration palpable.
Suddenly, Danika’s excited voice rose above the commotion. “Papa here!” she squealed, squirming to break free from Dante’s arms. As Dante set his daughter down, I watched my niece dash eagerly toward the front door, just as it swung open and Sypher emerged, a broad smile on his face.
“Baby girl!” Sypher called out, scooping Danika into his arms and showering her with kisses, her giggles ringing with joy. Dante approached, placing a kiss on his husband’s cheek, while Roxy embraced her youngest son. Beside me, Melissa reached for my hand, her grip reassuring and firm as we took in the scene.
Amidst the reunion, I heard her quiet declaration. “My brother is here.”
“How do you know?”
She looked toward one of the parked motorcycles and pointed. “That’s his bike.”
As if on cue, a formidable biker stepped out, his imposing frame and stern gaze fixed in our direction, arms crossed over his chest. Beside him, a striking woman appeared, her annoyance evident in the way she slapped his chest and muttered something under her breath that I couldn’t quite make out. Without hesitation, she turned and strode toward us, calling out, “Missy!”
Before I could react, the woman closed the distance and pulled Melissa into a tight embrace. Melissa’s brother watched from the steps, his gaze unwavering and directed at me, my hand still intertwined with Melissa’s.
Melissa introduced us. “Rowen, this is my best friend, Dr. Haizley Walker.”
