Chain of Scars: Book 4 of The Black Chains

Rowan’s POV

The town looked smaller than I remembered. I know it wasn’t physically smaller, obviously. The same cracked road, crumbling even more as my tires pressed over it. The same faded empty storefronts lined Main Street. The corner store where I would get a pack of gum before each week of classes started. The same rusted water tower stood crooked against the morning sky as if it had survived every bad decision this town had ever made. But after two years, everything felt different. Or maybe it was just me who had changed.

Or maybe I was the one who changed.

I slowed at the red light near downtown, my fingers tapping absently against the steering wheel while exhaustion settled deeper into my bones. Eight hours of driving on top of three straight days of packing had officially pushed me past the point of functioning like a normal human being. My shoulders ached. My eyes burned from staring at the road too long. My brain felt completely fried.

The coffee I picked up a few hours ago had gone completely cold in the cup holder next to me. I glanced at the old restaurant I used to love and smiled. It honestly felt like nothing here had changed at all, but part of me wondered whether coming back was a mistake.

The light turned green. I drove mindlessly for a few more blocks. It took me a second to find the right number and pull into the lot of my new apartment. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was clean and quiet, which is all I need. Plus, it was close enough to downtown that I knew coming and going from a job wouldn’t drive me crazy once I found one.

Temporary. That’s what I kept telling myself. This was temporary until I figured out what came next.

I parked, shut the engine off, and sat there for a second in silence. God, I was tired.

The past two years had been nonstop. Classes. Research. Internship hours. Late nights buried in behavioral reports and case studies. Long interviews with offenders that left me mentally exhausted for days afterward. It had been everything I wanted and somehow more draining than I’d imagined. Criminal psychology sounded exciting when people heard it out loud. Most didn’t understand the reality of it. You spent enough time studying violence, and eventually, you started seeing the cracks in everyone. The manipulations, warning signs, and the masks people wore.

Sometimes it made normal conversations feel exhausting, but I loved it anyway.

I loved the work, the challenge, and trying to understand why people became what they became.

The internship had been incredible. Competitive enough that getting selected still felt unreal sometimes. Two years working alongside behavioral specialists, profiling teams, and forensic interviewers. It was the kind of opportunity people built entire careers around. And now it was over.

Which meant I was suddenly a thirty-year-old, back in my hometown, unemployed, and sitting in the parking lot of a mediocre apartment complex with half my life stuffed into the back of my SUV. Not exactly the dramatic success story younger me had envisioned, still, I made it further than most people expected, including me.

I grabbed my keys and climbed out into the warm Texas morning. The air smelled like sunbaked pavement and fresh-cut grass. Home.

The apartment manager had left my key in a lockbox since I’d arrived earlier than expected. Ten minutes later, I finally stepped into my new place for the first time. It was small, but nice.

The kitchen was open with a small movable island in the middle. It felt simple but functional. There was some decent natural light spilling into the living room area through the windows. It softened everything up a bit; I might not even need the lights. The dark wood floors actually looked nicer than I expected. The living room looked out over the parking lot. Nothing fancy, just real life happening below. There was even a tiny balcony, which had just enough space for a chair if I squeezed it in right. It was enough for now.bit

That mattered more to me than flashy countertops or oversized bedrooms. After growing up watching people drown themselves in debt trying to impress strangers, practicality became a habit.

I dropped my duffel bag near the couch and turned slowly in a circle. Mine.

A slow breath left my lungs.

Okay, I could do this.

The unpacking process took nearly two hours because I moved with the efficiency of someone operating on fumes. By the time I finished assembling my coffee maker and locating clean sheets for the bed, I felt like I deserved some sort of Olympic medal.

I shoved the last flattened cardboard box near the door and rubbed both hands over my face, done enough. Not fully unpacked or organized, but survivable for the day.

My phone buzzed against the kitchen counter.

Mom: You alive, Rowan?

Barely, I thought. I typed back quickly.

Me: Yes, Mom. Just got some of my things unpacked.

Mom: ”Call Stella yet?”

I couldn’t help but smile. It seemed like everyone had collectively decided that my social life was in desperate need of a total makeover.

I hadn’t seen Stella and Bree in person since Christmas nearly two years ago. Life had just gotten in the way for all of us. Stella was busy with Brandon, and Bree was caught up in whatever crisis she happened to find herself in at the moment.

And I was buried in work. Still, they’d never stopped feeling like home.

College had thrown us together in the strangest way possible.

Stella had been quiet and guarded back then. Sweet but careful, like she expected the world to disappoint her eventually. Bree had been the complete opposite. Loud, flirtatious, and chaotic.

I spent half of our first year keeping Bree from getting all of us arrested. That girl found trouble wherever she went. I was also making sure Stella ate something other than instant ramen and microwave pizza. Somehow, it worked. We balanced each other out, and even now, we still do.

I grabbed my phone and hit Stella’s contact before I could talk myself out of it. She answered on the second ring.

“Well, look who finally remembered the rest of us exist.”

Warmth spread through my chest instantly.

“Hi to you too.”

“Oh my God,” she laughed. “You’re actually here.”

“Physically? Yes. Mentally? Debatable.”

“I told you she’d say something sarcastic first,” another voice shouted in the background.

Bree. I smiled automatically.

“Was that supposed to hurt my feelings?”

“Rowan!” Bree practically screeched. “You’re back!”

I pulled the phone slightly away from my ear. “You still don’t know how volume control works, huh?”

“Nope. Never will.”

I could practically hear her grin through the phone.

“How was the drive?” Stella asked.

“Long. Miserable. I’m pretty sure my spine has permanently fused with my driver’s seat.”

“You should’ve flown.”

“With what money?” I walked toward the kitchen and leaned against the counter. “I just paid the first month’s rent and a security deposit that felt borderline criminal.”

“You got the apartment though?”

“Yeah. It’s actually nice.”

“See?” Bree cut in. “Fresh start. Hot girl apartment. New job coming. We love this for you.”

I laughed quietly. “Please never say ‘hot girl apartment’ again.”

“No promises.” That easy banter eased a tension inside me. I’d really missed this. It felt like old times again, actually being around people who knew me.

“When did you get in?” Stella asked.

“This Afternoon. Around noon.”

“And you’re just now calling us?”

“I had to unpack.”

“You could’ve called while unpacking.”

“I was carrying boxes.”

Bree gasped dramatically. “Did you hear that, Stella? She’s already making excuses not to see us.”

“I’ve been behind the wheel for eight straight hours.”

“Your point being?”

I rolled my eyes, the exhaustion hitting harder. “My point is that I despise both of you.” ”

Love you more,” Bree chimmed.

I shook my head, a faint smile breaking through.

“So,” Stella started, her tone filled with intent, “we’re going to dinner tonight.”

I blinked and cleared my throat.

“That didn’t sound like it was a question, Stella.”

“Nope.”

“I’m exhausted.”

“Exactly why you need food you didn’t microwave yourself.”

“I do own cookware, you know.”

“Using a coffee maker once doesn’t count as cooking.”

“She’s got you there,” Bree added.

Traitor. I pushed off the counter and wandered into the living room, stepping around another unopened box.

“I don’t know. I kinda just want a shower and be unconscious.”

“Rowan.”

The warning tone in Stella’s voice made me laugh softly.

“You’re not allowed to move back after two years and hide in your apartment.”

“I’m not hiding.”

“You absolutely are.”

“She’s definitely hiding,” Bree agreed.

I rolled my eyes toward the ceiling.

“I unpacked half of my life today. That’s productive.”

“And now you’re rewarding yourself with dinner.”

“I can barely keep my eyes open.”

“So, coffee.”

“Bree, coffee is not a personality trait.”

“It absolutely is.”

I snorted. God, I missed them. That realization hit harder than expected. There had been so many nights during the internship when I’d sat alone in my tiny apartment three states away, wondering if I was becoming one of those people who sacrificed everything personal for career momentum. It was easy to disappear into work when the work mattered, too easy.

“I already told Brandon we’d meet up tonight,” Stella said casually.

There it was—the ambush.

“You planned this before asking me?”

“Correct.”

“That feels manipulative.”

“It is manipulative,” Bree said proudly. “We know you.”

Unfortunately, they did.

Stella’s voice softened slightly. “Come on, Ro. Just dinner.”

I closed my eyes briefly. Normal people probably would’ve said yes five minutes ago. But exhaustion made everything feel heavier.

The crowds, the noise, and having a conversation. Even people I loved.

“I look awful,” I muttered weakly.

Bree gasped. “Impossible.”

“I’ve been in leggings for fourteen hours.”

“So wear different leggings.”

I barked out a laugh.

“Please,” Stella said more quietly. “I miss you.”

That did it, straight to the emotional weak spot.

“You fight dirty.”

“I learned from the best.”

I sighed dramatically. “Fine.”

“Yes!” Bree yelled.

“But if either of you tries making this some huge social thing, I’m leaving.”

“No huge social thing,” Stella promised immediately.

“Just us?”

A tiny pause. I narrowed my eyes automatically.

“Stella.”

“What?”

“That was suspicious.”

“It’s dinner.”

“With suspicious hesitation.”

Bree burst into laughter in the background.

“Oh my God,” I muttered. “What are you two plotting?”

“Nothing,” Stella said entirely too innocently.

“Liar.”

“Okay, technically, Brandon might come.”

I rubbed a hand over my face.

“Stella.”

“What? You like Brandon.”

That was true. Brandon Harris was probably the least intimidating biker I’d ever met in my life, which said more about him than it did me, considering the man looked like he could throw another human through drywall. The first time I’d met him years ago, I’d expected arrogance and aggression.

Instead, I got calm, protective, and observant. Very obviously obsessed with Stella. Which, honestly, had softened my opinion of him immediately.

“You said just us.”

“It is just us. Plus Brandon.”

“That is mathematically incorrect.”

“You’re exhausting.”

“You called me.”

Bree cut back in. “Derick might come too.”

“Oh, absolutely not.”

“Rude,” Bree said.

“I’m serious. I’m too tired for whatever weird alpha-male staring contest those men constantly have going on.”

“They do not have staring contests,” Stella argued.

“Stella, I’ve watched Brandon and Derick communicate entire conversations without blinking.”

“That’s club stuff.”

“That’s serial killer behavior.”

Bree cackled loudly. I smiled despite myself and moved toward the bedroom to start digging through boxes for clean clothes.

“When?” I asked.

“Seven.”

“Wow. That’s just...like… an hour.”

“You’ll prevail.”

“That’s debatable. I might pass out in the middle of my floor soon.”

“We’re picking you up.”

“No, you are not.”

“Yes, we are.”

“I have my own car.”

“And you’re tired.”

“I drove here alive, didn’t I?”

“Barely,” Bree answered.

I sighed again. “Fine. But if I fall asleep in my food, I’m blaming both of you.”

“That’s acceptable,” Stella said.

A softer silence settled for a second. Then Stella spoke again.

“I’m really glad you’re back, Rowan.”

Something in my chest tightened unexpectedly.

“Yeah,” I admitted quietly. “Me too.”

After we hung up, the apartment felt quieter than before. Not lonely, just still. I stared around the room for a moment before exhaling slowly and forcing myself toward the bathroom. A shower helped. Not enough to erase the exhaustion, but enough to make me feel human again. Steam filled the small bathroom while I stood beneath the hot water longer than necessary, letting my brain finally slow down for the first time in weeks.

No deadlines, evaluations, presentations, and no professors expecting perfection.

Just… my home. That thought should’ve felt comforting. Instead, it felt uncertain. Starting over always did. By the time I finished getting ready, the sun had started dipping lower outside the apartment windows. I kept my outfit simple—black jeans, boots, a fitted dark green top, and a leather jacket. Comfort over effort. Always.

I dried my hair halfway before giving up and leaving the rest loose around my shoulders. Good enough. My phone buzzed again right as I finished putting on mascara.

Bree: “WE’RE HERE”

Followed immediately by:

Bree: ”And if you make us wait longer, I’m coming to get you.”

I grabbed my purse quickly. Threat acknowledged. The evening air had cooled slightly by the time I stepped outside. Stella’s SUV sat parked near the curb, Bree hanging halfway out the passenger window dramatically.

“There she is!”

“You’re loud in public,” I informed her while locking my apartment door.

“And yet people still love me.”

“Questionable.”

Stella climbed out before I reached the car and pulled me into a hug so quickly I barely had time to react. Warm.

She looked happy. Healthier than I remembered, too. There had always been a sadness lingering around Stella in college. Something quiet and buried deep. Now? Now she looked lighter.

“You cut your hair,” she said immediately.

“You noticed that before saying hello?”

“It looks so good. I’ve never seen it this short.”

I rolled my eyes but hugged her back tighter anyway.

“I missed you. And it’s only a few inches.”

“I missed you, too.”

“Okay,” Bree announced loudly from the passenger seat. “This is emotional and disgusting. Group hug or we move on.”

I laughed and walked around the car. Bree launched herself at me the second I opened the door.

“You smell like expensive shampoo and bad decisions,” I told her.

“Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

She ignored me entirely and squeezed tighter before finally letting go. Bree looked exactly the same somehow—blonde hair, bright eyes, and way too much energy for a normal person.

“You got hotter,” she informed me seriously as we climbed into the SUV.

“Oh, good. Starting strong.”

“I’m just saying. Criminal psychology apparently works for you.”

“I spent two years sleep-deprived and surrounded by violent offender profiles.”

“Mysterious and sexy,” Bree decided.

“Concerning and unhealthy,” Stella corrected while starting the car.

“Agree to disagree.”

I leaned my head back against the seat with a quiet laugh. Normal, this felt normal. Traffic rolled slowly through downtown while Stella filled me in on everything I’d missed. Bree interrupted constantly.

Apparently, Stella adopted another plant, which she named Princess Prickle.

Brandon had become even more protective than usual, I’m guessing because of the twins.

And the club was dealing with the usual “club stuff.”

“You nervous about finding another job?” Stella asked after a while, checking her phone.

“Yeah, a little bit actually.”

That was the honest answer. I really didn’t want to think about it too much.

“Not because I don’t think I can get one. Just…” I shrugged lightly. “Got used to the internship.”

“You earned that internship,” Stella said immediately.

“I know.”

“And now you have experience most people your age would kill for,” Bree added.

“Morbid wording.”

“You studied criminals. You’ll be just fine.”

Fair point. I watched the passing streetlights through the window for a second before speaking again.

“I think I just got so used to constantly moving forward that stopping feels weird.”

“You’re not stopping,” Stella said softly. “You’re just transitioning into a new phase of life.”

“That sounded aggressively curative.”

“Thank you. Brandon says I’m emotionally intelligent.” She said while placing her hand over her chest.

“Brandon says lots of things while staring at you like you invented happiness.”

Bree pretended to gag from the front seat, and Stella flipped her off. I smiled at them and looked back out the window. This town really did feel different, but there’s one thing that has stayed the same, and it’s these two girls I love more than anything.