Chapter 117 Half Measures
Violet
I don’t even realize he’s moving until his hand is on me.
Firm.
Unyielding.
Pulling.
“Rowan—”
I barely get his name out before he drags me out of the kitchen, away from the chaos, away from Theo and Devin and the man tied to the chair still sobbing behind us. My feet stumble to keep up with him as he moves fast, purposeful, like he’s trying to outrun something clawing at the inside of his chest.
“Rowan, what are you—”
And before I can say anything else—
I’m pressed against the wall.
Hard.
The impact knocks the breath from my lungs, but I don’t get a second to recover because he’s already there, already crowding into my space, already taking.
His mouth crashes against mine.
It’s not gentle.
It’s not careful.
It’s possession.
My hands come up instinctively, gripping his shirt as he kisses me like he’s trying to prove something, like he’s trying to anchor himself to something real. His hand slides up, fingers curling around my throat, not tight enough to hurt, but firm enough to remind me exactly who I’m dealing with.
My breath catches.
Not from fear.
Never from fear.
His teeth catch my lower lip, biting just enough to pull a sharp inhale from me before he soothes it, his mouth moving against mine again, slower this time but no less intense.
“You kept it on,” he murmurs against my lips, his voice rough, threaded with something darker than I’ve ever heard before.
I swallow, my pulse racing under his hand.
“Rowan—”
“You kept it on,” he repeats, quieter now, but heavier. His thumb shifts slightly against my throat, feeling the rhythm of my pulse. “Even when I gave you an out.”
My fingers tighten in his shirt.
“You did that with a gun to my head,” I shoot back, my voice breathless but sharp. “That doesn’t exactly scream fair choice.”
His gaze flicks up to mine, dark and intense.
“And you still chose me.”
The words land deep.
Too deep.
My stomach twists.
“You’re insane,” I whisper.
“Probably,” he says again, like it doesn’t matter.
Like it never has.
His forehead presses briefly against mine, his grip on my throat loosening just slightly, not releasing me, just… easing.
For a second, the room feels quieter.
Contained.
Like everything outside that door doesn’t exist.
But it does.
And I remember it all at once.
“The guard,” I say quickly, my breath still uneven. “Rowan, what are you going to do with him?”
His expression shifts.
Not softer.
Colder.
Controlled again.
“He’s not going anywhere,” Rowan says.
That tone again.
Final.
“He’s evidence now.”
I search his face. “You’re not going to—”
“No.”
The answer is immediate.
Firm.
But something flickers behind it.
Something dangerous.
“I want to,” he adds quietly. “But I won’t.”
My chest tightens.
Because I believe him.
Both parts.
“Marcus,” I push, needing to understand something, anything. “Who is he? You called him like—like this is normal. Like you just—summon federal agents to your house whenever you feel like it.”
A faint, humorless smile pulls at the corner of his mouth.
“Not whenever I feel like it.”
“Then what?” I press. “Who is he to you?”
Rowan leans back just enough to look at me fully, his hand dropping from my throat but not leaving me, settling instead at my waist, steady, grounding.
“Someone who knows how this works,” he says. “Someone who isn’t compromised.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“It answers the one that matters.”
I let out a frustrated breath. “God, you’re impossible.”
“And you’re still here.”
I glare at him, but there’s no real heat behind it.
Because he’s right.
And we both know it.
“What about the house?” I ask, pushing again. “You said we’re moving? Just like that?”
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
No discussion.
Just a decision already made.
“Rowan,” I say, exasperated. “You can’t just—pick up and move people like chess pieces every time something goes wrong—”
“This isn’t something going wrong.”
His voice sharpens slightly.
“This is a breach.”
The word lands heavy.
“This house was built to be secure,” he continues, his gaze locking onto mine. “If someone got in once, they can do it again.”
My stomach twists.
“And I’m not putting you back in a place that’s already been compromised.”
Something in my chest shifts at that.
“You don’t get to decide everything for me,” I say, quieter now.
His eyes darken slightly.
“I do when it comes to your safety.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“It is now.”
Silence stretches between us.
Tense.
Loaded.
I shake my head slightly. “Why does it have to be like this?” I ask, my voice softer now, more tired than anything else. “Why does everything have to be so… extreme with you?”
Rowan studies me for a long moment.
Then he lifts a hand, brushing his thumb just barely along my jaw.
Not soft.
But not harsh either.
Measured.
“You saw what happened out there,” he says quietly. “This isn’t a situation that gets handled halfway.”
My chest tightens.
“That man put a gun to your head.”
His voice drops lower.
“Because someone paid him to.”
I swallow.
“And if I don’t end this properly,” he continues, “someone else will try something worse.”
The truth in that settles deep.
Uncomfortable.
Unavoidable.
“I don’t do half measures, Violet.”
His gaze sharpens again.
“Not when it comes to you.”
My breath catches slightly.
Because there it is again.
That line.
That edge.
That thing in him that should make me run.
But doesn’t.
“You’re not normal,” I mutter.
“No,” he agrees easily. Then, quieter... “I don’t need to be.”
His hand tightens slightly at my waist, grounding, steady.
“And neither do you.”