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.

Sienna

"Zane Calloway, how could you do that to me...?"

The treachery filled my insides with uneasiness and as the car wheezed away in the chilly night, it did nothing to calm the storm raging in my chest. I stared out of the tainted window, my hands were clenched into fists in my lap, trying to put my rage to words. Nothing.

I hadn't spoken to Zane since we left the bloody and messy ruin of the lounge. I couldn't bring myself to say the words to express my hurt and betrayal without breaking.

Why did you put me in danger like that? And why did you keep me in the dark about the whole plan?

Those questions kept popping in my head until I could feel them seeping through my veins. Sweat beads formed on my forehead, while I soaked in air through my mouth. He had not only put me in danger but kept me in the dark about his plan. If the Cartel had believed they had walked in on the guys by surprise, I wouldn't be fooled. From the way Zane and his friends conducted the fight, I knew right away it was planned. Why had he withheld his plan from him? The same man whose hands had traced my skin while his breath warmed my neck as he whispered my name had used me as bait, luring them to the lounge like I was some expendable piece in his chess game. Had he suddenly realized he could no longer trust me with the cartel plan?

I tilted my head, watching him from the corner of my eyes. After the bloody chaos, he sat there with hands tight on the steering wheel, his knuckles still bruised from the fight, acting like it was just another night. Like he hadn't ripped my heart out and left it bleeding on the lounge floor. God, that fight. The way he had moved was like he was in sync with the wind itself, cutting through professionally. I heaved a sigh to ease the buzz my body felt at the memory, my pulse quickened as I processed the way he had taken down those men without flinching.

My protector.

It was infuriating, how much I wanted him even now. When I was so angry, I could have screamed at him.

"Sienna" Zane started to say when the car slowed, turning into the driveway of his place.

I opened the door and hopped out of the car, cutting him off. I slammed the door hard enough to make the frame shudder. He needed to know I wasn't pleased with his decision.

I heard his door close behind me.

"You don't get it, Sienna wait." Zane called after me, yet I quickened my pace, covering the distance to the elevator in quick strides. He strode toward me, his steps heavy. I couldn't let him catch up with me.

Of course, he was. Zane was always in control, who was I fooling, thinking I had earned his trust. I spun to face him, ready to let the words fly, but his eyes stopped me dead.

They were dark, stormy, like twin hurricanes ready to devour everything in their path. He was pissed too.

The nerve of it set my blood boiling. He had no right to make the moment about himself.

"Zane," I whispered.

He stopped abruptly, eyes searching for mine like he was trying to read the chaos swirling inside me. Then, without a word, he grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me to the elevator with a force that made my breath hitch... I tried to fight him off, but I knew I was no match for the man. I gave up trying. Waiting for him. Once again, he had taken control of my rage.

My body betrayed me. Despite the anger and hurt, all I wanted was to close the distance between us, to press my lips to his and forget the world. Blame it on the way he'd fought earlier, the raw power and confidence that radiated off him in waves. Or maybe it was just that I was hopelessly tangled up in him, no matter how much it hurt.

I stared at him, heart pounding, waiting for him to explain. Waiting for the truth.

The elevator doors slid open, and he pulled me inside the penthouse, not giving me the chance to even catch my breath. Zane's hands were in my arms, pushing me back against the door. He pressed his body into mine, pinning me between the door and himself. We were so close that I could feel the heat radiating off him like a wildfire.

My heart hammered in my chest, each beat louder than the last, echoing in my ears. I was dizzy with anticipation, the sharp ache of longing twisting deep in my gut. His face was so close, way too close, and when his lips brushed mine, I closed my eyes without hesitation. His lips brushed mine softly, and it sent a shiver racing down my spine. Oh, Zane!

I parted my mouth, aching to let him take me at that moment, to drown out the confusion and pain I was feeling at that moment. I was ready to forget, just for a moment, how he'd used me, how he had left me in the dark. I hated how much I wanted him, despite the betrayal still burning in my chest.

Then he chuckled in an intentional, low, mocking sound that sliced through the haze of my desire. My eyes snapped open, and the emptiness hit me, catching me as I stepped away, leaving me standing against the door, nothing but the weight of my own longing holding me up. My cheeks burned with humiliation, twisting down to my gut. How could I be so stupid? How could I still want him after everything that's happened?

He turned, walking toward the center of the room.

I yelled at him. "You pull me in, you push me away. "What the hell is wrong with you, Zane?"

He froze mid-step, his back to me, and for a moment, the silence was deafening. Then he turned, locking his eyes onto mine. They weren't just angry anymore; they were filled with a suspicious glare, like he was seeing me for the first time.

"Who are you, Sienna? How about you start by telling me your real name?"

The questions hit me like a slap, stealing my breath. I stared at him, my mouth open, but no words came. I thought we were past this. I thought he would trust me. But the way he was looking at me now, like I was the enemy, made my stomach twist.

"What?" I finally managed to voice out. "Zane, what are you talking about? You know me."

"Do I?" He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing. "Because I'm starting to wonder. You show up out of nowhere, get close to me, get under my skin, and now..." He cut himself off, his jaw tightening as he ran a hand through his hair. "What's your angle, Sienna? What do you want from me?"

My heart pounded, a mix of hurt and anger swirling in my chest. I swallowed hard, trying to make sense of what had changed, what had turned him into this distrustful stranger. He had held me like I was his lifeline, his hands gentle. Now, he was looking at me as if I were a threat. What has happened between then and now? Had someone said something? Had he found something? My mind raced, searching for answers, but all I could feel was the sting of his doubt.

He moved suddenly, closing the distance between us in two long strides. Before I could react, he had me pinned against the wall, his hands on either side of my head, caging me in. His face was so close that I could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes and feel the heat of his breath on my skin. "Tell me who you are, Sienna," he said, his voice low and commanding, sending a shiver down my spine despite my anger. "Tell me everything."

My breath hitched, my body betraying me again as it leaned toward him, drawn to his intensity like a moth to a flame. I wanted to shove him away, to scream at him for doubting me, but my hands were trembling, and my heart was racing for all the wrong reasons. God, he was so close, his scent filling my senses, making it hard to think.

"I'm not playing a game," I said. "I'm the same person I was before tonight, Zane. The same person who trusted you, who let you in, who..." I stopped, my throat tightening as the memory of his hands on me, his lips against mine, flooded back. "You know me. You know my name. Sienna Carter. Why are you doing this?"

His eyes searched mine, relentlessly, like he was trying to peel back my skin and see the truth underneath. "Because things don't add up," he said, "You're too good at this, Sienna. Too calm in a firefight, too quick to pick up on things most people wouldn't notice. You're not just some girl who stumbled into my world. So, who are you? Really?"

My stomach dropped. He wasn't entirely wrong. I had never told him about the years I had spent scraping by, learning to survive in places where trust was a luxury I couldn't afford. I had kept those parts of me buried. But now, pinned against the wall, his eyes boring into mine, I realized those omissions were coming back to haunt me.

"I'm not hiding anything. I told you who I am. I told you why I'm here. I didn't ask to get caught up in your world, Zane. You pulled me in, and then you..." My voice cracked, and I hated how weak it made me sound. "You used me. You put me in danger without even telling me, and now you're acting like I'm the one who betrayed you?"

He flinched, just barely, but I saw it. His hands dropped from the wall, but he didn't step back, his body still close enough to make my skin hum. "I didn't want to hurt you," he said. "But I need to know I can trust you, Sienna. I need to know you're not playing me."

"You think I'm the one playing games after tonight?"

He stared at me. "Sienna, these men don't just think you are a threat without a reason. They have intensified their attacks since you showed up here. They stayed away for years and suddenly they are acting this reckless just because of you and I am going to find out why you are this person of interest to them."

"No," I snapped, stepping forward, closing the distance between us again. "You don't get to do this. You don't get to make me feel like I'm the one who's done something wrong. I've been honest with you, Zane.

His hands were on me again, gentle this time, one cupping my face, the other gripping my waist. "I'm trying to protect what's mine."

"What's yours?"

"Yes, Sienna, you either come clean or nothing. I have come too far to project Atlas to let you ruin it," he said.

The air between us crackled, heavy with everything unsaid. My body was screaming for him, my lips aching to close the distance, but my heart was bruised. I didn't know if I could continue the confrontation, but I knew I was ready to walk away.