Sienna.

"Get to your desk. We will handle this."

I mimicked Zane's orders under my breath, not hiding my disgust at the nerve he had shown, commanding me around like I was a child. I hated not being in control of my decisions as badly as I wanted to be rid of the men after me. The sick bastards watching my every move.

The door to Zane's office clicked shut behind me when I stepped off the sensors. I stood in the hallway feeling light-headed. I pressed a shaky hand against the cool wall to steady myself. I let out air through my mouth in wide puffs. I repeated the act a few more times, until the panic attack had passed, and I felt a grip on myself. I wanted to storm back in, scream at him that I would rather take my chances out there than be caged with him. But I didn't. I couldn't, because deep down, I knew he was right. He was the only one who could keep me safe. Somehow, the cartel was on my trail again. I had not been careful enough, as my father had asked of me. They must have caught my careless slips, and now I have to face the consequences of my actions.

Out of habit, my fingers twisted the locket at my neck. I was not some mastermind pulling the strings of the messy events I have had to endure for five years. I was a survivor, carrying the scars he would never imagine. My mind drifted to another man who had looked at me with that same desire to protect me. Ian Baldwin. My first love. The memory of my past hit me hard, pulling me once again to a time when I had just turned twenty, the cold night my world took another turn.

֍ flashback ֍

I stood on the side of a highway, my backpack slung over one shoulder. My heart had not stopped racing from the memory of that night while the flames swallowed our manor. I had been running for weeks, sleeping in bus stations, stealing food from unsuspecting stores.

The rumble of bikes grew louder and from the sound of their honks, I knew it was a pack of them. I should have hidden in the scrub brush, but I was too weak to move. They slowed as they passed, and my eyes caught their leather vests gleaming as they stared at me with curiosity. One of them pulled over and hopped off his bike and stepped closer to me.

"You look like you could use a ride," he said. He was older, maybe his late twenties. His voice felt dangerous in a way that made my pulse skip. "Name's Ian."

I hesitated, my thumb brushing the locket hidden under my shirt. My father's last words echoed through my mind. Trust no one

. But I was starving, and the road was endless. "Sienna," I said, the lie slipping out easy. I had stopped using my real name the day I ran.

Ian grinned, nodding his head toward the bike. "Hop on, Sienna. We're headed to Wyoming. Got room for one more."

I climbed on, my arms wrapping around his waist, the leather of his vest cool against my skin. The bike roared to life, and we sped off, the wind tearing through my hair. For the first time since that night, I felt something close to free. And that was how the biker gang of six guys, two women, took me in like I was one of their own. They called themselves the wild eye, a name that felt fitting for the way they lived wildly, and untamed.

Ian kept me close, his eyes lingering too long, his hand brushing mine when he passed me a beer. I didn't mind. He was a distraction and my protector and I needed both. He taught me how to pick a lock, how to spot a mark and blend into a crowd. The Wild eyes were petty thieves, shoplifting from gas stations, lifting wallets in crowded bars. I learned fast, my hands steady, my guilt buried deep. It was better than starving.

Ian and I fell into what was a reckless love. He would pull me onto his lap by the fire, his lips hot against my neck, whispering promises he swore to keep. I let him, because his touch drowned out the screams in my head, because his arms felt like safety, even if I knew they weren't. Because, despite the freedom, I knew the cartel was never far behind.

I had caught glimpses of men in dark jackets watching from across the street, a car trailing us too closely. When I pointed this out to Ian, he laughed it off and called me paranoid, but I knew better. They were hunting me, and I was a fool for thinking I could outrun them.

It all came crashing down at a mall in Cheyenne. Ian and I had gone to lift some cash from a department store. Our usual game was to flirt around, distracting the attendants, then steal. I was charming the cashier, my smile fake but effective, while Ian slipped behind the counter. But then I saw them enter, two men in suits, their dangerous eyes scanning the shoppers. My stomach dropped. I knew that look. I saw it the night my parents died.

"Ian," I hissed, grabbing his arm. "We need to go. Now."

He frowned, glancing over his shoulder. "What's got you spooked, babe?"

I didn't answer, just pulled him toward the exit, my heart pounding. But they were already moving, cutting through the crowd like sharks. I ducked into the women's restroom, shoving Ian toward the stalls. "Hide," I whispered. "They're here."

"Check the vents. You should be able to crawl through to the other end." He cursed, his boots scuffing the tile. I locked myself in a stall, my breath shallow as my trembling hands clutched my locket. The door to the restroom creaked open cautiously slowly and I bit my lip to keep from whimpering. Heavy footsteps echoed, stopping just outside my stall.

"Come out, little girl," a voice said. "We know you're here."

I didn't move, didn't breathe. Ian was silent in the next stall. The man kicked the door, and I stifled a scream. Another voice joined the first. "We have your boo."

My eyes darted upward to the vent above the stall was loose, just wide enough for me to squeeze through. I stood on the WC, my fingers shaking as I pried it open, the metal scraping against my skin. The men were arguing now, their voices muffled as they searched the other stalls. I hoisted myself up and crawled into the dark vent.

I moved as fast as I could, the metal cold against my palms. Behind me, I heard a crash, Ian's stall door giving way. He shouted, a sound of defiance cut short by a sickening thud. I froze, my heart in my throat, tears burning my eyes.

"Where's the girl?" the first man growled.

Ian gasped. "I don't know, fuck, let me go!"

I kept crawling, my body shaking with guilt. I should have gone back, but I was a coward. I shook off the feeling and continued to crawl through the vent. It sloped downward, leading to a service corridor.

Then I heard a single gunshot and that stopped my world for a split second. Ian. I clapped a hand over my mouth, stifling a sob while my body curled in on itself in the tight space. Just like my parents, Ian was gone too. Because I had brought this curse with me, everyone who got close, tended to get killed.

I didn't know how long I was staying there, trembling as the echo of that shot rang in my ears. Eventually, I crawled out, dropping into a dimly lit corridor, my legs barely holding me up. I ran out the back exit, into the cold night. I looked up to the sky to watch the stars mocking me with their indifference as they shone brightly. I didn't stop running until I was miles away and just like the night my parents had died, I was hitchhiking to the next town, and my next life.

֍ ֍

"Excuse me, Miss Carter"

The words pulled me out of my head. I hastily snapped out of the memory of my haunting past, pulling myself back to Zane's hallway. I turned around to face the direction of the voice with a smile ready. "Yes Kate?" I said, reading the name tag on the lady's white T-shirt smartly tucked into a blue pant.

"I have been to your office out back after trying to reach you via the intercom," Kate said, eyeing me curtly.

"Oh, my bad. Sorry about that. "What is it?" I raised a brow in response.

"You have a guest in the lobby..."

My heart started to pound, but I swallowed, calming my nerves that were starting to act up. "Who is it?"

"Kate's tone came off with an edge, "Says her name's Belinda Adams. She's not scheduled for your appointment and Mr. Calloway's."

I sighed a relief at once, nodding my head. "Sure please. She is my friend. Thank you."

"Alright," the lady said, walking away.

I smoothed my pants as I checked my reflection in the glass partition. I glanced into the office and noticed Zane was on the phone. I walked away from his door to my corner.

"Belinda Adams" I smiled, remembering how we had bonded while I was on the run years back.

Sienna,

֍ flashback ֍

I had been sitting on a cracked plastic bench while my eyes darting to every shadow at the smelly bus station when my eyes caught it. The faded flyer was taped to the lamppost for a Volunteer Unit with Food and Shelter pecks. I tore it down and followed the address to the rundown community center on the edge of town. The volunteer unit was a patchwork of do-gooders and drifters, run by a Sister Margaret McCain, a missionary.

While I waited for my turn to be interviewed by the matron in charge, the previous night's event of Ian's scream still echoed in my ears, just like my parents. At twenty, I had the guilt of witnessing three people die, and it had left me soulless. Maybe I couldn't help my parents, but I could have helped Ian by crawling out. Without a second thought, I had left him to die in that mall restroom just to save my own skin while his blood stained the tiles. The guilt ate me up from the insides, numbing me to the hunger gnawing at my stomach and the fear that the cartel was a step behind me.

I had ditched Wyoming that night and after an hour at the bus station I had my hair tucked under a stolen baseball cap and a hoodie that hid my locket. If Ian was there, he would have been proud of me for putting my skills to work. I couldn't go back to pick-pocketing now that the bikers were no longer there to guide me through or could I apply for odd jobs and anything that required an ID, that would lead the cartel straight to me. I needed to disappear just as my father had warned.

When it was finally my turn, I was told the unit fed the homeless, handed out blankets, and offered cots in a drafty gymnasium for those willing to work. I signed up as Sarah Goldberg, a name I plucked from thin air, claiming I'd lost my ID in a fire. The kind Sister's eyes narrowed, but she didn't press further to my relief. "God sees the truth," she said, handing me an apron. "Work hard, and you will find peace."

I had nodded like a naïve homeless person she thought I was. Even though I knew that the peace she promised was a lie, yet the food and a bed were real. I kept my head down, washing dishes, sorting donations, avoiding eye contact. The other volunteers were a mix of college kids earning service hours, recovering addicts looking for redemption, and people like me, hiding from something. I steered clear of their stories, knowing that was a luxury I couldn't afford.

Belinda Adams joined the unit a week later. She was my age, maybe a year older, with a sharp wit and a laugh that could fill a room, her braided hair swinging as she hauled boxes of canned goods. She had this way of seeing people like she could spot the cracks we all tried to hide. I didn't want to be seen, but she didn't care. She had plopped down beside me during breaks, offering half her granola bar, talking about her dreams of moving to Los Angeles, finding a job in a fancy company. I would nod, giving her nothing, but she kept coming back, like she knew I needed her more than I had admitted.

I had kept away from trouble until one evening, about a year into my stay. I was taking the donation box to the office when my eyes caught a spooky-looking man loitering outside the center that morning, and instantly I knew that the cartel had found me again. Panic had been my shadow all day, whispering that I needed to run.

I held the donation box in my shaking hands, wondering what I was going to do. The center had over a hundred people on site and I couldn't bring them to their death. I glanced down at the wooden donation box, improvising my escape. It was padlocked, yet stuffed with crumpled bills and coins from locals who thought their spare change could save the world. It was nothing Ian and the gang hadn't taught me to pick.

I glanced over my shoulder, my pulse racing, then slipped a bent paperclip from my pocket. The foyer was empty since the other volunteers in the kitchen were prepping dinner. Ian had taught me how to pick locks, his hands guiding mine in a Wyoming motel room, his laugh warm against my ear. I flinched at the memory while I worked the clip into the padlock. It clicked open, and I lifted the lid, my fingers snatching a handful of the crumpled twenty-dollar bills.

"Sarah?"

I froze, the bills crumpling in my fist, my heart slamming against my ribs. Belinda stood in the doorway, her eyes wide in accusation. I dropped the money back into the box, slamming the lid shut, my face burning with shame.

"I didn't see anything," she said quickly, stepping closer, "But you need to be careful. The sisters here have got eyes like a hawk."

I stared at her in shock. "Why aren't you ratting me out?"

She shrugged, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Because I have been where you are. Running from something, stealing to survive. You don't strike me as a thief, Sarah. You're just... scared."

I wanted to deny her word and to tell her she didn't know me, but I couldn't. She saw me, and it terrified me. "Don't say anything," I whispered.

She nodded, her eyes softening. "I won't. But you owe me one, okay?"

I didn't get a chance to answer her as Sister Margaret's voice cut through the foyer. "Girls! What's going on here?"

Belinda turned to her, smiling brightly. "Just chatting, Sister. Sarah was just helping me with the donation box, checking if it was full."

Sister Margaret's eyes narrowed, her gaze flicking to the box, then to me. I stood frozen, my hands shoved into my pockets, the paperclip burning against my palm. "It's been tampered with," she said.

My stomach dropped, but Belinda didn't flinch. "Must have dropped outside," she said.

Sister Margaret didn't look convinced, but she didn't press. "This is not over. Let's get to the kitchen"

I followed her back to the kitchen, my head down, guilt twisting in my gut. Belinda stayed quiet, her shoulder brushing mine in silent support. That night, we lay on our cots in the gymnasium, but I couldn't stop staring at the ceiling and thinking of how she had protected me. Her loyalty made me feel safe.

She didn't owe me anything, but she'd protected me, just like Ian and my parents had. And like Ian, she would have to pay for it. I couldn't have her die either. Right there, I planned my escape from the volunteer, and it had to be the next day without saying goodbye to any of them. I couldn't anyway. Goodbyes were for people who stayed, and I was a curse, always having to run from my past.

While we went about the morning devotion the next morning, I trailed behind, calculating my escape. Belinda walked beside me, her shoulder brushing mine, her silence louder than any words. I couldn't look at her. She had seen me as the thief I had become, and I didn't deserve her loyalty.

We reached the narrow hallway leading to the dorms, but Belinda grabbed my arm, pulling me into a shadowed alcove beside a bulletin board. Her grip was as firm as her eyes blazing into mine and I braced myself for the accusations I had been dodging since the foyer.

"Spill it, Sarah. Why do you need it?"

I shook my head, tears stinging my eyes, my hands fisting at my sides. "You wouldn't understand. I have to run from here Belinda."

"Then make me," she said, her arms crossed. "You're not leaving until you tell me what's going on. Who are you running from?"

I laughed and slid down the floor as my knees gave out. "You don't want my story, Belinda. It's a mess."

She crouched in front of me, her eyes level with mine. "Try me."

I looked at her hazel eyes and saw something I hadn't expected. It reeked of pain. She wasn't just some do-gooder volunteer. She was also carrying something heavy beneath the happy girl facade. And maybe that was why I felt she could be trusted.

"My parents were murdered," I said, "Three years ago. I was there, hiding in the attic when they arrived. These men with guns. They wanted something my father had. I don't even know what. They shot my mom, and then my father, and burned our house to the ground. I ran, and I didn't stop."

Her breath hitched, but she didn't interrupt, just sat there, listening as I told her about meeting Ian and our escapades with the other bikers. My voice broke as I described the gunshot in the restroom that killed him. I told her about my guilt and fear as the reason I had been looking over my shoulder.

"They're still after me," I whispered, my fingers clutching the locket but leaving that out of my confession. "Belinda, I stole the money because I needed to run again. I saw a man outside this morning, watching me. I can't stay here, Belinda. I can't. These people are really dangerous, and they don't mind burning this place down to get to me."

Tears streamed down my face and I buried my head in my hands. I waited for her to walk away or get Sister Margaret alerted, but instead, I felt her warm arms around me, pulling me into a hug. It felt like home.

"I'm so sorry. You didn't deserve that. None of it," she said, patting my back gently.

I clung to her, my sobs muffled against her shoulder, the first time I had let myself break since Ian's death. She held me until my tears slowed.

"You're not alone anymore, you've got me now." She said,

I shook my head, wiping my face. "You don't want to get mixed up with me, Belinda. I'm a curse. Everyone who gets close..."

"Stop," she cut me off, her hand squeezing mine. "You're not a curse but a survivor. And I'm not going anywhere."

I stared at her, my heart aching with something I hadn't felt in years. It was hope. "Why are you doing this? You don't owe me anything."

She exhaled, her gaze dropping to the floor, her fingers tracing the edge of her sleeve. "Because I know what it's like to lose everything," she said.

"My parents died six months ago in a car accident. Left me enough money to start over, but no amount of cash fills that hole, you know? I came here to figure out who I am without them. And then I saw you, trying so hard to be invisible, and I couldn't look away."

"I'm sorry about your parents," I said, noticing how our world may have been different, yet we carry the same emptiness.

She nodded, "Thanks. And I'm sorry about yours. About Ian. But you're not running alone anymore, okay? We will figure this out together. How about we start by knowing your real name?"

"Sienna" I said, not bothering to be careful at that moment.

"Nice to know, Sienna" She winked at me.

I didn't know what to say, so I just squeezed her hand. "Let's clean up before Sister Margaret comes sniffing around. And next time you need money, ask me. I have got enough to share."

I laughed, for the first time since that night in the safe house, I felt like I wasn't alone, like I could breathe without looking over my shoulder.

֍ ֍

The door creaking open pulled me out of my thoughts seconds before Belinda's delightful squeaks reached my ears and I jumped out of my seat, running straight into my friend's arms. "Oh Belinda!" I said, blinking back the teary memory of our friendship brought to my eyes.

Zane.

I could have chosen to cut the CCTV feeds and kept the cartel men in the dark. Instead, I saw it as a chance to lure the rival cartel into the open. Let them think we're sloppy. Let them strike.

The lounge was filled with the scent of bourbon and cigarette ash, the low thrum of a jazz baseline vibrating through the floor. Dim lights spilled shadows across leather booths. I leaned back in a corner booth, my arm slung over the backrest, Sienna pressed against my side. Her laugh rang out as Noah spun a story about a deal gone sour in Miami.

My eyes flicked to her, searching for fractures in her façade, but her face was smooth, her smile honed to an edge. I kept my hand steady on my glass.

Liam sat to my left, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm on his whiskey, his eyes scanning the room with a predator's focus. Noah sprawled across from me, playing the part of a man with no weight on his shoulders.

Ethan and Damian were at the bar, their laughter loud, deliberate, drawing glances from the crowd.

Every patron in the place was one of our trained men, from the brunette woman in the red dress by the jukebox, her hips swaying to the music, who had a knife strapped to her thigh, to the plump guy nursing a beer in the corner, his eyes half-lidded with a pistol kept under his coat. Even the couple whispered at a high-top, their hands brushing, each carried enough hardware to level the room down to the bartender, who kept filling wine glasses professionally, but I knew he could draw a gun faster than a heartbeat. They were all ours, every one of them ready to snap into action when the time came.

The plan was for the cartel men to see us here, laughing, drinking, and believing that we had our guard down, and they would think they had caught us sleeping. That would trigger them to move. And when they did, we would be ready to beat them at it.

Sienna shifted in her seat, putting a thigh over another, her hand resting against the couch. "You're quiet tonight," she murmured, "Something on your mind?"

I leaned forward to her to hear her better against the loudness of the room, "Just soaking it in," I said, my eyes locked on hers, searching for the truth in them. Despite my lustful desire to loop her in on the plan, I didn't tell her this wasn't another hangout time for the boys and me, but work. I had to be certain she was who she claimed to be before I trusted her with details of our operation.

"Okay, I still don't understand why you dragged me out here anyway."

"Because it is my job to protect you, even if you do not agree with my method," I winked at her. She glared at me without responding, and I was grateful she had chosen to remain silent instead of arguing again. I turned my eyes away from her to my friends.

Noah leaned forward, his glass sloshing, his voice carrying across the booth. "Zane, you remember that time in Vegas? "Ethan nearly lost his car in a poker game." He laughed. It sounded a bit forced and I shook my head at him, silently giving him the cue to stop.

Ethan shot him a mock glare from the bar, raising his glass. Though he remained in his usual relaxed posture, his eyes were fixed on everything, as he kept track of the room.

Damian leaned against the bar beside him, his fingers brushing the edge of his jacket, where I knew a blade was hidden. The crowd buzzed with chatter, the clink of glasses and the murmur of voices blending with the jazz, a saxophone wailing softly in the background. My eyes flicked to the door and the windows at minute intervals as every nerve in my body was taut, waiting for the action to unfold.

I sipped my vodka, swallowing slowly, so it could burn my throat and keep me alert. Glancing at Sienna, I saw how tensed she was, feeling out of place. I reached to her and wrapped my arm around her protectively. Nudging her body warm against mine. She didn't fight it. That was progress.

She laughed again at something Noah said, her head tilting back, which exposed her silk porcelain skin, and for a moment, I could almost forget the photos and the plan, only to take her out of the lounge and perhaps to the car. Almost. My fingers tightened on my glass as I struggled to gain control of my desires. Not right there.

Liam's fingers stopped tapping, sliding his hand under the table, his fingers brushing the grip of his gun, a movement so subtle only I'd notice his eyes locked on something across the room and I followed his gaze, my pulse kicking up, but it was just the woman in red by the jukebox who had walked out of the lounge.

Sienna leaned closer, her lips grazing my jaw, "You're tense, really. You should relax, I am the one in danger," she said.

My eyes flicked to hers, searching for the lie, but her face was a mask, her smile a shield.

I leaned in. "You would tell me if something was off, right?" My hand slid to her waist, my fingers brushing the edge of her dress, feeling the contours of her, the warmth of her skin against mine.

She raised her eyes to mine, "Always," she said. She reached for her drink, the glass catching the neon light as she took a sip.

Noah kept talking about Vegas spinning on, but his eyes flicked to me again, his grin faltering for a fraction of a second. Ethan and Damian were still at the bar, their laughter quieter now.

The lounge door swung open, and the air snapped instantly as three men stepped inside, all dressed in glossy leather jackets and pants. When their eyes swept the room with a predatory focus. I knew at once who they were. The Cartel. They had taken our bait and showed up.

My pulse roared in my ears, but I kept my arm around Sienna as I gave Liam a nod. His body stilled in response as his gaze locked on the newcomers. Ethan and Damian shifted at the bar, their laughter gone, their hands hovering near their jackets. The woman in red turned fully now, her hand inside her purse.

The guy in the corner leaned forward while the bartender set his glass down, his movements slow, deliberate, his fingers brushing the edge of a hidden panel.

"Here we go," I said, my eyes flicking to the three men, now spreading out, one heading to the bar, the others moving toward the back, their hands close to their jackets.

The cartel had walked in, thinking they'd caught us slipping, but they were the ones in our crosshairs now.