Page 16 of My Reckless Biker

I head outside, need the heat and the open air and space to process what just happened in that church room.

The yard is quiet, just the cicadas and the distant sound of traffic on the county road. I light a cigarette and lean against the building, letting the sun press into my shoulders through the cut.

She didn't signal anyone on that ride. Didn't try to make contact. Didn't do anything except hold on to me and trust me to bring her back.

She answered my question without a prepared response, and I saw the exact moment she realized no one had ever asked her what she thinks before.

She's not running. She's staying. And she wants her father to fail when he comes for her.

I take a drag and exhale smoke into air that's too thick to carry it far.

Maybe she's lying about something. Maybe there are pieces I'm not seeing yet.

But right now, standing here with the taste of her honesty still sitting in my chest, I think she might actually be telling the truth.

And that changes everything.

Because if she's telling the truth, if she actually walked away from Victor Crane and gave us everything she has to hurt him, then she's more alone than anyone should be.

And I know what that's like.

I crush the cigarette under my boot and head back inside, and I catch sight of her through the window still talking to Cain, still processing intel, still being exactly what she said she was.

Someone trying to stop being Victor Crane's daughter.

Someone trying to be just Sienna.

And for the first time since she walked through our gate, I think maybe I want to see that too.

Not Victor Crane's daughter.

Just her.

The door opens and Tate steps out.

"She good?" he asks.

"Getting there," I say.

Chapter 4 — Sienna

I'm in my room getting ready for the second night of public appearances when I hear voices downstairs, low and urgent enough to carry through the floorboards.

"—spotted on Main Street this afternoon asking questions at the hardware store. Wasn't subtle about it." That's Tate, voice tight with the tension that means trouble is close.

"Descriptions match two Marrow prospects we've got photos of." Cain, calmer but no less serious. "They're watching Bloomfield now. Which means Crane saw the photos."

"How fast can he move?" Another voice I don't recognize yet.

"Fast. If he wants to make a point, could be tonight. Could be tomorrow. But it's coming."

The voices fade as they move away from wherever they were standing, and I sit on the edge of my bed feeling my father's presence settle over Bloomfield like a storm front moving in.

He saw the photos. He knows I'm with Vigil. And he's sending people to watch, to gather information, to figure out how to hurt me in the way that hurts the most.

I stand and move to the mirror, looking at myself in the same dark jeans and the blue shirt I wore last night that Diesel barely looked at before we ended up not going anywhere.

My hair is down again because I'm tired of pulling it back, tired of the severity, tired of looking like Victor Crane's daughter instead of just me.