<div style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family: 'Tahoma'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#006666">Rowan couldn't help stifling a laugh as she yanked open the door, her cherry red garb sliding delicately up her thigh as she slung one leg inside, followed by the other. He watched with intrigue, not caring to hide his attraction to the champagne-haired femme. After she was clipped in, he retracted his car from the parking spot with a squeal, storming off with a force that could only be accompanied by his type of vehicle. His daughter. His child. He cared so dearly for it. And at the same time, he cared so little about his own life, that he drove recklessly just in case.<br/>
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What Annie didn't know was that her family would go missing. What she didn't know was that there were two ways for them to be released. One: Kill yourself. Two: Play the game until they tell you to stop. By now, he was worn to the bone. He didn't care. He just couldn't show it. He had to conceal his genuine feelings from everyone. Mascarade was the name of his game.<br/>
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"<b>Wanna come back to my place? I've got candy.</b>" He razzed, pretending to sound creepy, though unintentionally still coming off as flirtatious. He was long gone from the police by now. His account was stocked. They could do anything then. Anything. But they couldn't, at the same time. They were limited. Concern gently crept up on him. Had it already happened to her? He resolved to test the waters. "<b>Hey. If we're spending more time together, your family might get worried. Wanna check up on them? You can charge your phone here.</b>" Rowan nonchalantly handed her the cord to her type of phone, as he had several types.<br/>
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They ended up continuing down an empty road, pulling up to a clump of boat-shipped storage units. It was night time, and no one was permitted to be here. But he had a special spot. A special place.<br/>
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"<b>Sketchy. Yes. But safe, definitely.</b>" He smirked dauntlessly but noted the goosebumps on her skin. It most likely wasn't the monotonous music playing on the radio. Was she cold? He removed his jacket and handed it to her, giving a diminuitive wrinkle of the brows. "<b>Come on. Put it on. I've got something to show you, stranger.</b>" He razzed, putting his car in park and hopping out.</span></span></span>​</div>