Off Chance by Sawyer Bennett Page B

a while and I stare blankly out the window while he drives. Finally, he says, “What do you believe?”
    “I don’t know. Juice isn’t a nice guy... He’d probably kill someone in a heartbeat. But... I don’t think he wanted me dead. He just wanted me back.”
    “He kidnapped you and chained you up,” he reminds me.
    “I know... I mean... I don’t know. I have no clue what the hell is going on. I really just need to disappear and start over again.” I hate that my words have a whiny sound to them but I’m starting to feel the pressure of my situation.
    Just this morning, I was thinking it would be cool to hang at Flynn’s for a few days, absolutely positive I’d figure a way out of this mess. Now I don’t know what to do. And now I have Flynn involved, and while I’ve known him for less than twenty-four hours, he’s done so much for me that I don’t want him to be at risk.
    “It’s probably best if I move on, Flynn.”
    I’m startled when Flynn moves one hand off the steering wheel and grabs ahold of mine. The warmth of his skin against mine immediately sets my pulse fluttering. “Absolutely not. I told you I’d help you out, and I will.”
    Sighing, I squeeze his hand so I have his attention and his eyes flick to mine briefly. “No cops, though.”
    He squeezes my hand back. “No cops. I promise.”

“I better go put some underwear on.”
    Those words practically make me groan as I watch Rowan walk down the hall to the guest bedroom, her shopping bag filled with what I can only imagine is black lace.
    When we got to Gateway Center, she reached into her jacket and pulled out a roll of cash. She peeled off a few bills to pay me back for her thrift store purchases, and then hopped out of the car, promising she’d be back soon.
    While she was inside shopping, I tried to keep my mind off the fact that she was bare under that tiny mini-skirt and I tried not to imagine what she was buying. Instead, I tried to focus on the bigger issue... and that was what to do with Rowan. I’m bothered by the fact that she has a deranged ex-boyfriend searching for her, who may or may not have tried to murder her, but certainly was deviant enough to chain her to a bed so that he could keep her. That’s about as fucked up as you can get.
    Rowan’s talk about disappearing has me slightly freaked and I have no clue why. It would certainly make my life easier if she left, and I have no allegiance to her, nor do I owe her anything. Except, for some demented reason, I feel utterly compelled to see this through.
    And while this started out, no doubt, as nothing more than a manifestation of my old hero complex running amok, it’s turning into something different. Now, there is not only a connection to Rowan forged out of the bizarre circumstances of her rescue, but I’m feeling a personal attraction to her as well. And not just an attraction to her beauty, although there is plenty of reasons to have me fantasizing about what lies underneath that mini-skirt, but I’m attracted to her entire character.
    Her stubborn pride has me intrigued, and her bravery in the face of some scary fucking danger makes me respect her. She’s tough as nails and as beautiful as an ocean sunrise. I find that combination to border on the addictive side.
    Yes... it’s too fucking late for me. I’m fully invested in seeing this through with her.
    My mind briefly goes to Marney. I don’t think of her every day, but I do think of her often. I wonder if she’s looking down on me now, shaking her head and thinking, “Poor bastard.” While not many thoughts of Marney have me smiling, this one does.
    “What’s so funny?”
    I look up and Rowan is walking back into the living room, followed by Capone. She’s changed into another thrift store outfit—a pair of worn jeans and a tight, vintage t-shirt that says “Mountain Dew” on the front. The material is thin, because the t-shirt is probably older than dirt, and hugs her breasts like a glove.