26
ROWAN
The safe house the prospect took me to wasn’t really a house; it was more like an old storage building they had reinforced with steel doors and boarded-up windows. It smelled like dust and motor oil, and the single overhead bulb flickered every few seconds like it was nervous about what was coming, too.
I was pacing before the door even shut behind me.
The two club members posted near the entrance stood like statues, arms crossed over their massive chests, dark eyes scanning every shadow. The prospect who’d brought me hovered close, trying to look calm, but his knee bounced every time he shifted his weight. It was obvious that he wanted to be back with the other men. That he wanted to be a part of the fight. I wondered if I should feel guilty about that, but it seemed like a ridiculous thing to feel guilty over.
This whole situation was ridiculous though, and I couldn’t understand how my life had been turned into an NC-17-rated movie, when just last month I had been shopping for new underwear and wondering what color to paint my childhood bedroom.
Now people were trying to kill me.
The cartel was trying to kill me.
It was ludicrous and terrifying.
I couldn’t stop moving. My thoughts were too loud, and too sharp. I pressed my palms to my eyes, trying to breathe around the ache in my chest. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to hold on to everything—hold it all together—without dropping everything else I’d been carrying.
My parents’ faces flashed through my mind. My mother’s laugh, my father’s steady, calloused hands. I missed them so much right now despite that this was a mess they had gotten me wrapped up in. The grief felt like a bruise that had never healed. I wondered what they would say if they could see me now. If they’d tell me to run. If they’d tell me to fight. If they’d tell me to trust Tex.
And then the ranch. God, the ranch.
The smell of hay in the mornings. The creak of the large barn doors. The way the sun hit the fields at dusk, turning everything gold and beautiful. It was the only place that had ever felt like home to me. The only place that had ever felt safe.
It was the last of my parents.
And now my choice was give it up or die.
Or maybe it wasn’t a choice any longer. It didn’t feel like one anymore.
I wrapped my arms around myself, pacing faster. Tex had looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered. Like he’d tear the sky open if it meant keeping me alive. And I didn’t know how to carry that either.
The prospect’s phone buzzed.
He jumped like he’d been shot, fumbling it out of his pocket. “Yeah?” he whispered, turning away from me. “We’re secure. She’s?—”
He stopped and his shoulders tensed. I walked toward him, around him, so I could look at him. His face was drained of color and he wouldn't look me in the eye.
“Okay, yeah…” he said, nodding firmly once.
My stomach dropped. “What is it?”
He didn’t reply to me, just kept on nodding and replying to whoever was on the phone. “All right. I’ve got it.”
He hung up, his gaze finally flicking to mine. Baby blue eyes holding steady, despite the nervous tick to his jaw.
“Can you give me a minute?” he asked, and he sounded so sincere that I found myself nodding yes when really I wanted to scream no.
He turned away, going toward the other two men. They talked amongst themselves for several moments.
“Tell me,” I said, stepping toward him. “Please.”
When he looked back over at me it was with an expression I didn’t recognize. Sympathy, maybe? But something else also.
“Ma’am…” he started, voice tight. “I don’t know if I should?—”
“You should,” I said, sharper than I meant to. “Tell me.”
