Page 10 of My Reckless Biker

His hand is still on my shoulder and we're sitting close enough that I can feel the heat of him on my skin.

"You're calculating right now," he says quietly. "I can see it. Trying to figure out what I want to hear."

"I'm always calculating. That's what I was trained to do."

"Good," he says.

"Good?"

"Calculating means you understand the stakes. Means you're not walking around here thinking everything's fine when it's not. Means you're not stupid." His hand moves to my shoulder, thumb brushing against the fabric of my shirt. This touch feels different somehow. Less mechanical. "But if you're lying to me, if this is your father's play and you're here to fuck us over, being smart won't save you. You understand that?"

"Yes."

"Say it. I need to hear you say it out loud so we both know you understand what you walked into."

"I understand that if I'm lying, someone in Vigil will kill me. Probably not you specifically, but someone will, and it won't be clean or quick or merciful. That's the world I walked into. That's what I chose when I came to you instead of the police or the feds or any other option that didn't involve a motorcycle club at war with my father."

"Why did you choose us?"

"Because you're the only ones who'll actually fight him. Everyone else will hesitate or negotiate or try to manage the situation diplomatically. You'll just act. And my father doesn't hesitate, doesn't negotiate, doesn't manage things diplomatically. If I'm going to survive what comes next, I need people who operate the same way he does. Just on my side instead of his."

He watches me for another long moment, and I can see him processing what I just said, weighing it against what he already thinks he knows about me.

"That's a calculated answer," he says.

"Everything I say is calculated. I told you, I don't know how to stop." I meet his eyes. "But it's also true. I came to Vigil because I knew you wouldn't hesitate when the time came. And the time is coming, probably sooner than any of us want. So you can keep looking at me like I'm the enemy if that makes you feel safer, but I'm here because I need you to be exactly what you are. Dangerous. Fast. Willing to do what needs to be done. That's what I'm counting on."

He nods slowly, like I've passed some small test he didn't tell me he was giving.

His arm stays across my shoulders and we sit like that while the bar fills up around us.

While people drink and talk and take pictures they think we don't notice.

I can feel the weight of observation, can track at least three phones pointed in our direction, can see Walt watching us from behind the bar with that knowing expression that says he's filing this away for later.

I count exits. Assess the crowd for potential Marrow presence. Note which brothers are Vigil and which are just civilians who happen to be here.

This is what I do. This is what I've always done.

Calculate. Assess. Plan three moves ahead.

And right now, sitting beside Diesel with his arm across my shoulders and his suspicion radiating like heat, I'm calculating something I didn't expect to calculate.

I want him to believe me.

Not for the arrangement. Not for safety. Not for strategic advantage.

I want Diesel to look at me and see something other than Victor Crane's daughter.

I want him to see me.

And that want is personal and dangerous and has nothing to do with survival or strategy or anything I can control.

After an hour, he stands and offers me his hand.

I take it and let him pull me up, and his hand engulfs mine, callused and rough and warm.

We walk out the way we came in, his hand on my lower back again, and I can feel eyes tracking us all the way to the door.