I ignore him, staring down the scope as I step closer until my legs are bracketed on either side of Rowan’s head. “Attack him again, and I'll shoot.”
“Sunshine…” Rowan’s low tone of disbelief is like a soothing blanket across my shoulders, taking the weight of the world off of me. The bridge of my nose stings, but I don't shed my tears.
He came for me.
Fuck. I could kiss him.
“A, the safety is off,” Logan speaks calmly, attempting to talk me down. “If you pull the trigger—”
“I know how a fucking gun works,” I snap.
Hands gently grab my ankles, and Rowan’s thumbs rub across my skin in an achingly affectionate caress. “Sunshine, I’ve got you. You can put it down. I'm here.”
My body nearly sags with relief as I flick the safety back on and crumple on top of him. The gun thumps to the floor, and Rowan sits up, wrapping his arms around me as I nestle into his lap. He pushes my hair away from my face, solace easing into his features.
“You’re okay,” he whispers. “I’ve got you.”
“You came for me,” my lip quivers, and my voice sounds broken.
“Always,” he promises. “I’ll always come for you.”
Intense gratitude and serenity urge me forward. I press my lips to his in a consuming kiss that bleeds longing. Rowan cups my cheeks, deepening it before we both pull away.
He’s here.
My anchor.
“She’s okay?” A deep voice pulls me from our shared moment, and I peer at the cabin’s doorway. A tall, built man with messy blonde hair stands on the porch. He pushes up his wire-framed glasses as I recognize him as the person from the bar.
“She’s okay,” Rowan reiterates with relief flowing from him. He’s still holding me tightly, as if I'll disappear again if he releases me.
Logan scoffs, crossing his arms as blood drips down his chin and his cheek begins to swell. “I wasn't going to hurt her. She’s my fucking family.”
Rowan gives him a death glare. “I don't forgive easily, Hughes. You’ve just made an enemy out of the Midwestern branch.”
My cousin chuckles humorlessly. “And what are you going to do? She can't leave. Not while she's under our jurisdiction.”
His words cause confusion to stir in me as I draw back from Rowan. “What does that mean?”
My boyfriend’s jaw ticks. “He’s using the Northwestern rules against us. If you're under their jurisdiction, you can't leave the compound. They’ll come searching for you.”
My blood runs cold as I turn to look at my cousin with disbelief. “You can't do that. I'm not a part of the syndicate.”
“You are now,” Logan says cockily. “Your mom made sure of it as soon as she got here.”
“Son,” a deep baritone calls from outside. The voice is rugged, like pure gravel. I recognize it instantly from my childhood.
Uncle Ford.
Blondie steps out of the doorway, allowing my uncleto level all three of us with a glare. His dark hair is messy, now streaked with grey, and his hazel eyes—more brown than green—scan the cabin with keen sharpness. He’s a few inches shorter than Rowan, but just as imposing with his wide build. The dark jacket covering his arms only adds to his bulk, and he stops when his eyes land on me.
Those hard features soften by a fraction. “Addison…”
“Hey, Uncle Ford,” I say sheepishly.
He swallows, blinking before he glances at his son. “Get everyone to the main house. There’s a lot that needs to be discussed.” My uncle is gone before Logan can answer him.
An awkward quiet settles over us as I pick myself up from Rowan’s lap. He follows behind me, intertwining our fingers.
