“No, but everyone keeps saying some version of it.” Her eyes flicked to me. “Reckless. Desperate. Risk. Stray.”
The last word hit Regan. I saw it.
It hit me harder.
Sienna grabbed her coffee off the fender and took a step back, putting space between herself and all of us. “I appreciate breakfast. I appreciate the bandage. I appreciate the unsolicited rescue brigade and the roadside autopsy of my truck. But I need to get to Santa Fe today, and I need to do it without becoming everyone’s new project.”
Quiet settled.
Even Bandit shut up.
I should’ve kept my mouth closed. I knew that.
I didn’t.
“You think needing help makes you weak?”
Her eyes cut to mine. “I think needing help gives people leverage.”
There it was.
Honest enough to bleed.
I stared at her, and something old in me shifted. Rylee in a cream dress on River’s phone. Rylee saying she wanted a life that felt secure. Rylee looking at everything I offered and seeing liability instead of love.
Then Sienna, standing in front of a dead truck wearing grease-smudged jeans and a shirt stuck to her skin, too proud tosay she was scared because fear had probably cost her too much before.
I understood leverage.
I understood not wanting anyone’s hand on the back of your neck.
I rubbed my thumb along the rag in my hand. “No leverage.”
She looked suspicious. “What?”
“You need to get to Santa Fe. I’ll take you.”
Her brows pulled together. “In what?”
I nodded toward my bike parked near the side of the house.
Her eyes followed.
Then widened slightly.
“No.”
Regan said, “Actually?—”
“No,” Sienna repeated, louder.
Amber leaned against the porch post, smiling like Christmas came early. “This is going to be fun.”
“No, it is not.” Sienna pointed at the bike. “I have luggage. Field equipment. A cat with unresolved violence. I am not straddling a motorcycle behind a man who thinks I’m a cartel intern.”
Despite myself, I smiled.
Her eyes snapped back to me. “Don’t.”
