Page 17 of My Reckless Biker

Tonight we're supposed to go out again. Bigger venue, more people, make sure the photos spread faster and farther until my father can't ignore that I'm not just gone, I'm actively aligned against him.

I need to look like I want to be there.

I need to perform better than last night.

I need to convince a room full of strangers that Diesel and I are real while he watches me for signs I'm still lying even though this morning felt like progress, felt like maybe he was starting to believe me.

I head downstairs and the common room has more brothers in it than usual, the atmosphere tighter, more focused. Everyone moving with the energy that means threat assessment is active and ongoing.

Diesel is near the window talking to Cain, his back to me, cut stretched across shoulders I can picture too clearly now after being pressed against them on his bike twice.

"She's still a liability," he says, voice low but not low enough. "Even if she's genuine, even if everything she's given us is real, having Victor Crane's daughter here makes us a target in ways we weren't before."

The words land like ice water.

Still a liability. Still a problem to manage.

This morning he asked what I think and looked at me like maybe he was starting to see me as something other than his enemy, and apparently that lasted exactly as long as it took for the reality of Marrow threat to reassert itself.

Cain says something I don't catch and Diesel responds, "I know. But knowing she's probably telling the truth and actually trusting her are different things. And I can't afford to trust her yet."

I turn and head back upstairs before either of them can see me standing there, before the frustration and anger building in my chest can translate into something visible on my face.

I'm in my room with the door closed when I hear boots on the stairs, heavy and deliberate. A knock follows.

I open the door.

Diesel stands there in dark jeans and black shirt, cut over it, looking exactly like he did this morning except now I know what I'm looking at. Someone who spent the day convincing himself I'm still lying even after everything I've given him.

"We're leaving in ten," he says.

"I heard you downstairs."

His expression doesn't change. "Then you know we need to go."

"I heard what you said to Cain. About me being a liability. About not being able to trust me yet."

Something flickers across his face, too fast to read. "You're standing at the top of the stairs listening to conversations you're not part of?"

"I was coming downstairs when you decided to announce to the room that I'm still a problem you're managing. So forgive me for overhearing what you apparently didn't care who heard."

"That wasn't—" He stops, jaw tightening. "That was tactical assessment. Not personal."

"Everything about this is personal. You asking me what I think this morning was personal. You taking me through Marrow territory to test me was personal. You looking at me in that church room like maybe you were starting to believe me was personal. And now you're telling Cain I'm a liability like this morning didn't happen."

"This morning you didn't slip up on a test ride. That doesn't mean I trust you. It means you passed one test."

"How many tests do I have to pass? How much do I have to give you before you stop looking at me like I'm about to betray you?" I step forward and he's still in the doorway, still close enough that I can see the muscle in his jaw working. "I gave you two years of documentation. I've answered every question Cain asked. I sat on your bike this morning and didn't signal anyone even though I knew that's what you were watching for. What exactly do I have to do to prove I'm not working for my father?"

"Keep doing exactly what you're doing. Keep being exactly where you are when things get dangerous. Keep not running when running would be the smart choice."

"And then what? You'll trust me? Or will you just find another reason to keep me at arm's length while you touch me in public and pretend it means something?"

His eyes narrow. "It does mean something. It means we're selling the arrangement."

"That's all it means to you? Just performance?"

"What else would it mean?"