Page 2 of My Reckless Biker

She stops at the table, looks at Clint, not at the rest of us.

Her hands are loose at her sides, but her fingers are pressed together just slightly too tight, the only tell that she's afraid and working to control it.

"My name is Sienna Crane," she says, and her voice is steady, clear, like she's introducing herself at a business meeting instead of in enemy territory. "Victor Crane is my father. I have two years of comprehensive documentation on Marrow's operations and I'm offering it to you in exchange for protection and resources to disappear."

Clint leans back in his chair, studying her with the kind of patience that makes people nervous when they don't know him. "Why."

"Because I'm done being his daughter."

"That's not an answer."

She doesn't flinch, doesn't look away. "I've spent two years documenting his operation because I knew I'd need leverage to leave. Financial trails, distribution networks, contacts, internal communications. Everything you'd need to prove what Marrow is and who's responsible. I'm offering that to you because you're the only people with the resources and motivation to protect me from him, and the only people who can use what I have."

Cain's laptop is already open, fingers moving across the keyboard. "Where's the documentation?"

"Encrypted. Stored digitally across multiple secure locations. I'll provide access once I have assurance you won't kill me the second I do."

Tate shifts beside me and I can feel the same thing he's thinking, the same suspicion working through every brother in this room.

This is too clean, too convenient. Victor Crane's daughter shows up with exactly what we need right when we're planning our next move against him? The timing is perfect.

Too perfect.

Clint asks the questions I would ask, voice even and deliberate. How long has she been documenting? What specifically does she have? How did she get access without her father knowing? Why now? Why us instead of the police or the feds or any other option that doesn't involve walking into a motorcycle club that's been at war with her father for half a year?

She answers everything with the same precision, complete sentences that don't hedge or apologize. No emotion. Just facts presented like a business transaction, which is exactly what she's making this.

I watch her the whole time, looking for tells, for cracks, for any indication this is a setup.

The way she stands, the way she breathes, the way her eyes track Clint's face without dropping or darting away.

She's good. If she's lying, she's exceptional at it.

Her fear is controlled but present in the set of her shoulders, the way she's standing with her weight slightly forward like she's ready to run if this goes bad.

But her voice never wavers and her eyes never drop. She holds Clint's gaze like she knows exactly what she's walking into and chose to do it anyway.

Either she's genuinely brave or she's very well trained. Both options are dangerous.

Clint asks about her father's response when he finds out she's gone.

"He'll come for me," she says. "That's why I need protection."

"And you think we can provide that."

"I think you're the only ones who will, because what I'm offering is valuable enough to make it worth your while."

She's right. If her intel is real, it's exactly what we need to move against Marrow in ways that actually matter, ways that stick. If.

Clint looks at Cain. "Verify what you can. Cross-reference with what we know."

Cain nods, already typing, and I can see his eyes moving fast across the screen.

"You'll stay here while we confirm your information," Clint tells her. "Room upstairs. Brothers on watch. You try to leave or contact anyone, the deal's off and you deal with the consequences."

"Understood."

Clint stands, and the room shifts with him, everyone reading the signal. "Outside. Brothers only."