Off Chance

10

I think my head may seriously be fucked up.

Otherwise... why would I be sitting on this train, seriously contemplating grabbing Rowan and plunging my hands into her hair? Why do I have this almost insane urge to pull her to me for a kiss? Why is this woman plaguing all of my thoughts?

Watching her now, she’s completely oblivious to how I feel. I’ve tried to be very careful with my feelings, which have morphed from concerned bystander, to over-protective friend, to someone who now wants nothing more than to immerse myself in her body.

No, that’s not exactly right. I mean—I do want her. Badly. I jerked off in the shower thinking about her this morning, imagining her going down on me with the hot water pouring all around us.

But it’s more than that. So much more.

I thought Rowan was brought into my life because she was broken and needed fixed. I know that is exactly why I offered her help, why I opened my home to her. I was trying to make up for all the ways in which I failed Marney. There is no way I can ever completely atone for that, but my warped sense of justice makes me try to add up all the checks in the “Flynn Does Some Good” column, and hope they can get me close to being even.

That’s what I thought about Rowan—at first. But over the past three days, I’m starting to realize something.

She’s not broken. Not in the slightest.

Oh, she’s dinged up a bit. And she’s clearly been through things that have damaged her. But whatever has happened in her past, it has created a person that is strong and independent. She’s not broken—she’s just a bit hard.

And now I’m obsessed with softening her up.

The past three days, we have settled into an easy friendship. She’s actually lightened up, and our relationship just feels natural. Unfortunately, this has made it easy for me to look past the circumstances that brought Rowan into my life, and look toward circumstances that may keep her there.

She intrigues me and I want to know more about her.

I have to know more about her.

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

Forcing myself to focus, Rowan comes into sharp relief and her gray eyes are pinning me with a quizzical look. Luckily, I’m saved from answering as we come to our stop and the train rocks to a standstill.

We stand up and exit the train, stepping out onto the crowded platform. Since I’m not overly familiar with Prospect Heights, the neighborhood where Rowan worked, I follow her up and out of one of the many subway stations that come out on Flatbush Avenue. She turns left down Bergen Street and walks swiftly.

“Zeke’s is just a few blocks this way,” she says.

“Let’s make this quick, okay? I don’t like the thought of you being in places that he could find you.”

“No need to tell me that. I want my money and then Zeke’s will be a fading memory for me.”

“How long did you work there?”

Rowan shrugs her shoulders. “Maybe nine months? It’s just one bar on a list of many I’ve worked at. It’s all I’ve ever done really. I guess it’s all I’m good at.”

“That’s bullshit,” I tell her.

She looks over at me in surprise and gives me a patronizing smile. “You don’t know me well enough to know what I’m good at, Flynn.”

“What about dogs? You’re awesome with Capone. Look how well trained and behaved he is. You’re like a dog whisperer or something.”

Her head swings back toward me, and she searches my eyes. It’s a look that I’ve come to recognize from Rowan. She wants to know if I’m telling the truth, and she believes the eyes are the gateway to the soul or something.

No matter, I am telling the truth. She’s fucking amazing with the fleabag.

Whatever she sees reflected back to her causes her cheeks to turn red. She turns quickly away from me, but not before I see a satisfied expression on her face.

It makes me feel invincible that I put it there.

She rounds the corner of a building and we stop in front of Zeke’s Bar. It’s an unassuming place, nestled in between a small supermarket and a locksmith. The worn sign over the door has seen better days, and the windows are a tad grimy. The neon “Open” sign beckons us in, and Rowan doesn’t hesitate.

As we step inside, my eyes take a second to adjust to the gloomy atmosphere. The place is completely empty and had the door not been unlocked, I would think it was closed.

“George?” Rowan calls out.

“Who’s George?”

“He owns the place.”

“Then who’s Zeke?”

Rowan shrugs her shoulders. “Never bothered to ask. Wasn’t important.”

I smile inside. That’s the Rowan I’ve come to know. She doesn’t sweat the small stuff and is very much a big picture kind of person.

A door from the back opens and a small, wiry man comes out from behind it. He’s probably close to sixty if the gray hair he wears in a military buzz cut is any indication, but his forearms are laced with ropy muscles, indicating this guy is in shape.

He looks at me, then at Rowan, and a grin splits his face wide open. “Damn, Rowan. It’s good to see you, honey. I was worried sick.”

I’m assuming this is George and he walks up to Rowan, giving her a hug. I notice it’s short because Rowan steps away first. She has a warm look on her face, but I’m guessing physical displays of affection bother her. It’s probably why she stepped away from me so quickly this morning when I tucked her hair behind her ear.

“Hey, George. I was wondering if I could get my pay from the last week I worked?”

“Sure thing, darling. But sit down for a second. You have to tell me what’s happened to you. When you didn’t show up for work, well, I just feared for the worse.”

Interesting. This guy was worried for Rowan and I’m guessing it has everything to do with her ex.

Rowan looks around, and I can tell she’s on edge. “We really don’t have time, George. If you don’t mind, I’d really like to just get my money and go.”

George’s eyes flick to me, lingering just a second in an attempt to figure out who I am. Then they slide back to Rowan. “Are you hiding from Juice?”

Rowan grabs her lower lip in between her teeth and gives him a short nod. She looks vulnerable, which is not a good look on a woman as tough as her, and it makes me just want to sweep her into my arms and hug all of her problems away.

George sees it too, and his gaze hardens. “All right. Sit tight and let me get it.”

When George disappears back through the door, I reach my hand out and softly lace my fingers through hers. She doesn’t even turn to look at me, but just stares down at our hands. I give her a short squeeze, telling her it will be all right. She squeezes back and then releases me from the grip.

True to his word, George is back almost immediately with the money. He counts out three-hundred and fifty dollars into Rowan’s hand.

“This is too much, George. I should only be getting three hundred.” She tries to hand the money back to him but he lays a gnarled hand over her, pushing it back to her.

“Take it,” he says. “Take it and just be safe, okay?”

“But—”

George grabs her by the shoulders and turns her my way. Giving her a gentle push, he says, “Get out of here, kid. It’s not safe for you to be around this area.”

Rowan gives George one last look, and I can see the affection written all over her face. It says, I want to hug you, old man, but I don’t know how.

Instead, she gives him a nod and walks past me toward the door.

I look at George one last time and his look says, Take care of her. I also give him a nod and follow her out.

When I step out on the sidewalk, Rowan is tucking the money into her back pocket. She looks up at me. “I can’t believe that old goat did that. I’ll have to figure out some way to pay him back.”

I mentally roll my eyes at Rowan’s need to shy away from generosity and take her by the elbow. “That’s fine, but let’s get out of here, okay?”

I start leading her away from Zeke’s—back west down Bergen Street, toward the train station. But we don’t make it twenty feet before doors are opening on a dark sedan parked by the curb, and two burly men step out into our path.

Rowan immediate freezes and I can feel recognition pouring off her. The guys are dressed in jeans and t-shirts, completely innocuous, but the menace pouring off them tells me there’s going to be trouble.

The back door of the car opens, and a guy steps out. He’s dressed in jeans too, but they look designer and he’s wearing a black silk shirt. His dark blond hair is slicked back from his face and he’s pinning Rowan with a look that makes my blood instantly flame.

“There’s my girl,” I hear him say, and there’s no doubt I’m looking at the infamous Juice—kidnapper and potential murderer.

Rowan takes an involuntary step backward, stepping right into my body. I immediately take my arm and push her behind me, never taking my eyes off the three men standing before me.

Juice’s gaze narrows on me as he watches my protective move. His lips peel back and he sneers, “Ah... my girl is stepping out on me. Interesting.”

“Not your girl anymore,” I tell him, keeping my arms loose beside me.

He doesn’t take kindly to my proclamation and his face darkens in fury. He never even hesitates before he says, “Get this piece of shit out of my way. Rowan and I have places to go.”

I tense because I know the attack is coming, and it’s quicker than I can even prepare for. Both guys lunge at me, grabbing me by the shoulders and driving me down toward the sidewalk. I manage to tear one arm free, swinging my elbow at the nearest face. I hear a resounding crack when my elbow meets his mouth and blood sprays everywhere.

I don’t even have time to enjoy the victory of that blow, because the other guy lands a solid punch to my right kidney while the other dude’s knuckles drive into my left temple. My knees buckle and the sidewalk rises up to meet me, but not before a knee rises up and catches me under the chin. My teeth slam together with my bottom lip caught in between and blood fills my mouth.

Fuck, that hurt!

Rowan lets out a piercing scream, the word “Stop” reverberating through my bones. I’m dizzy and struggling to hold onto consciousness as both guys really start landing some blows. They have me at such a disadvantage with their coordinated attack, I’m only able to block a few of the punches and kicks they’re aiming at me.

To my surprise, Rowan screams again and tries to jump on the back of one of the guys that’s hammering on me. Then I see Juice come up behind her, grabbing her around the waist to pull her back. She screams again in outrage and my stomach flips over when I see Juice actually nuzzle her neck.

The sensual move practically shuts Rowan down and I can see the light exit her eyes, her body going limp. I’m enraged this fucker has the power to do this to my girl... yes, my girl... and I push my way to my feet, throwing one of the guys backward. I don’t hesitate, ramming my shoulder into the other guy, driving him back onto the hood of the car.

But again, it’s another short-lived victory and, within a matter of seconds, both guys have me back down on the ground again. While one holds my shoulders, the other aims a well-placed kick into my ribs, which causes stars to burst in my head from the pain.

My mind is frantically still working though—trying to figure out how to get me out of this mess and get Rowan out of that fucktard’s arms—when I hear the unmistakable sound of a shotgun cocking.

“You tell your goons to get off that boy or I’m going to splatter your brains all over the sidewalk in front of my bar.”

Everyone goes still—one of the guys who is whaling on me has his arm cocked back, ready to throw another punch. But I don’t have time to worry about that… my gaze goes to Rowan.

She staring back at me with a look that is so intense with worry, I can feel it down into the marrow of my bones. Juice, on the other hand, is gritting his teeth together, a vein in his temple throbbing in anger.

“Now, let Rowan go.”

Juice doesn’t comply at first and George takes the shotgun that he has pressed up against the back of Juice’s skull and nudges him hard. Juice slowly unwinds his arms from around Rowan’s waist and she shoots out of his grip, running to my side.

The two goons immediately back away, their arms out slightly to the sides. I watch warily as Rowan crouches beside me, her face awash with fear. Her hand comes up and she grazes her thumb softly against my jaw, possibly the only place I had not been hit.

“Rowan... you and your fella get over here behind me,” George says.

Rowan stands up and tries to pull me to my feet. My ribs scream in agony as I stand but it doesn’t stop me from putting my arm around Rowan’s waist and leading her to George.

Giving another hard shove with his shotgun, George pushes Juice toward his cronies. He turns to look at George and murder is reflected in his eyes.

“You just fucked up, old man,” Juice sneers. “Nobody crosses me.”

George only laughs at Juice. “You think a two-bit punk who walks around with thugs because he’s too scared to take on someone himself bothers me? You’re pathetic and I suggest you get out of here because my trigger finger is getting a little twitchy.”

Juice doesn’t make a move to leave and neither do his goons. I suspect they have guns on them and they’re figuring out how to get the drop on George. I instinctively push Rowan behind me, anticipating an unloading of bullets in the near future.

George calmly keeps the shotgun trained on Juice and reaches into his pocket with his other hand. Pulling out his cell phone, he hands it to Rowan.

“Call the cops, honey. Tell them we have some trash to pick up.”

Rowan grabs the phone and I can see the look in her eyes is conflicted. She’s afraid of this situation but she’s afraid of the cops as well. However, before she can make the choice whether to dial or not, Juice lowers his hands down and turns toward his car. He never says a word, but shoots a last, lingering look to Rowan before he gets in, his cronies following.

We all three watch in silence, tense and ready for something to happen, until the car pulls away from the curb and it disappears from sight.

Satisfied that I’m safe for the moment because George is still holding his shotgun, I hobble over to the steps in front of his bar and sit down with a grunt. Holding my hand against my ribs, I find that helps the pain diminish from a ten to a nine.

“Call the cops, Rowan,” George says.

“No.” She hands the phone back to him. “They’re gone. And we need to get going.”

Her face is panicked and, given her aversion to cops, I’m not surprised she wants to get gone. I force myself to stand, grunting with the exertion. Holding my other hand out to her, I say, “Let’s go.”

“Call the goddamn cops, Rowan!” George yells.

Both of us startle and turn toward George. He is pissed and thankfully, his gun is pointed to the ground.

“Excuse me?” Rowan says. She’s shocked that George yelled at her, and so am I.

“You heard me.” His voice is just as hard and is brooking no nonsense.

I can feel Rowan stiffen beside me. Even though she is scared, she’s feeling backed into a corner and is going into protective mode. “Yeah, I did hear you, but I’m not doing it. I don’t like cops and I’m not calling them.”

George stares at her for a few moments and then he sneers, “You ungrateful little snot. I just saved your ass—”

“Now hold on a minute,” I growl, stepping toward George, shotgun be damned. “Watch how you talk to her.”

Rowan lays a hand on my arm to stop me. “No, I want to hear what he has to say. So say it, George.”

My heart actually lurches, because I can tell by the tone of Rowan’s voice, that George is getting ready to say something that’s going to hurt her. It lurches because Rowan doesn’t have to stick around and listen to it. I’m more than willing to leave with her right now. But for some reason, she’s going to take her lumps and listen to what the old man has to say.

George takes a deep breath and lets it out. His voice is extremely gentle when he says, “Rowan... I know how you feel about cops, but we have to involve them. I know you don’t like it, but think about others for a change. By defending you, I probably just signed my own death warrant. You don’t think Juice isn’t going to come back and demand a little vengeance for my interference? And what about your fella there? You saw the way Juice looked at him. He’s as good as dead, too. You may not need the cops help, but I do. And you two are my witnesses to what just went down here.”

Oh, man, I never even thought of it that way, and I’m sure Rowan didn’t either, judging by the stricken look on her face. I have a feeling George is completely right about this but I’m not going to make Rowan do something she doesn’t want to do. I promised her early on we wouldn’t involve the police if she didn’t want and I’m not about to go back on that promise.

“It’s okay, Rowan. I can handle myself, and I’m sure George can, too.” I grab her hand and start pulling her down the street, while George looks after us sadly. She moves along with me passively for a few steps, then she digs her heels in and stops.

“No, wait.”

I look down at Rowan and she’s scared... I can tell. I reach up, running a thumb down her cheek, and her eyes close from my soft touch.

“We don’t have to do this,” I assure her.

She shakes her head and opens her eyes, pinning me with resolve. “Yes, I do. It’s the right thing and until Juice is in custody, none of us are safe. If it were just me, I wouldn’t do it. But I’m not going to put you and George at risk.”

Releasing my hand, she walks back toward George while she pulls her own phone out. To my surprise, she also pulls out the card that Buzz had given her a few days ago. Giving me a small smile, she turns her phone on and dials.