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“My Sienna was taken from me, from her family. She was strung up, raped, beaten and bled to death before her father could get to her. He was killed trying to bring my baby home. I lost half my family in one day, and Matthew, he lost his light.”

The popping of gunfire is all around me, but I can’t see anything. I can feel the whizzing of bullets next to my ear, hammering into metal in the not so far distance. Men are screaming, bullets ripping through flesh, shattering limbs, blowing off heads. Grown men cry out for their loved ones, the words; ‘please make it stop’ and ‘please Lord save me’ swirls around in my head. I crawl away from the screams, away from the destruction, away from the death. Away from it all.

I am standing still in the dark, but the screams are gone. There’s nothing but silence, silence and dark. I blink my eyes, trying to focus and see, but it’s no use. I’m blind. I inch forward, hands out in front, trying to find something, anything. I wave my hands until I feel warm, soft flesh. Feeling around, I realize it's a leg. I hear a soft whimper as I my way up. Soft but firm flesh, legs wet, sticky. I move my hands further up, past soaked, shredded bottoms. They’re soft, maybe cotton.

"Matthew." My name is muffled, but I can make it out. Even muffled, I know that voice; deep in my bones, I know it's my sister, Sienna. Before I can react or touch her again, there's a whoosh of air, and I hear her yelp in surprise. Then she’s gone. My hands reach out, trying to grab her, trying to stop her from leaving, but I only grasp air. She’s no longer there.

Bright lights illuminate the room. I jerk my hands to cover my face, allowing my eyes to adjust. Blinking, I look up and there she is, my sister. Hanging from the steel beams of the building, arms tied above her head, blood running down her arms. The shorts, her favorite sleep shorts are hanging in threads around her waist. Once a pale pink, they’re now smeared with crimson red. Her left leg is bent at an odd angle; I can see it’s broken. Twisted beyond repair. Red and purple gashes, angry welts, cover what was once smooth, tanned skin. She bobs her head, trying to be strong, trying to focus on me. She’s gags, a blood stained rag covering her mouth, tied tight around her head. Her dark brown hair, the same as mine is matted and soaked in blood. I take a step forward only to have her yanked away from me again. She screeches in pain, the bindings cutting into her skin.

She shakes her head, pleading with me not to take another step, begging me with her eyes to save her, but not to take another step. How, how can I save you? Blood streams down her legs, a clear sign of violation. My insides twist, anger boils within my veins. Vengeance is the only word on my mind. Payback. Retribution. Death. I will kill whoever hurt her. I will make them suffer.

Her eyes focus over my head. Fear present in her stare. She whimpers, her body shakes, tears fall from her eyes. They streak the blood, and run down her swollen cheeks. I try to look, to see what she sees, but I can’t. My focus is locked on her face, on her fear. Her eyes widen, I hear it, the discharging of gunfire, and the whistling of bullets.

The death of my sister.

I bolt from sleep. Heart racing, sweat covering my skin. The same dream, repeatedly, for years, it’s the same dream. I feel movement to my right, the moonlight barely making my room visible. But I don’t need light to know that she’s in my bed. Kara, the one who fills my nights on occasion, who occupies my bed, but who will never have my heart. She knows the drill; she’s a Fallen, nothing more and nothing less. I nudge her, her fake bare breasts barely moving by the action. I nudge her again, hard.

“Get up.” I order her. “Get the fuck outta my bed.” She whimpers in disapproval, trying to snuggle up to me. “I said get your fucking skank ass out of my bed!” She sits up, looking over at me. Without a word, she scoots her way to the edge of my bed, throwing her legs over the side. I roll over, taking the sheet with me, and try to go back to sleep.

I’ve been resting and recuperating at Bianca’s for two weeks, taking care of myself, without the fear of upsetting anyone. I'm not walking around on eggshells or catching myself before I speak. Two weeks, and it’s been wonderful. Throughout the whole time, I’ve slept in Sienna’s room exactly zero nights. I can’t take up the space of someone who should be there, or someone that was so loved. I refuse to do it. It feels like I’d be overstepping. Like I’m trying to be someone, I’m not. I don’t want to take over Sienna’s life. Bianca, God love her, understood, so she made up the pullout in the office for me instead. Sin, when hearing the news didn’t say a word. Then, what can he say?

The times that Hawk has come over, we’ve talked. He told me a little about his background, his mom and the fact that she left when he was younger. I guess you can say that we’re becoming friends. Hawk isn’t the man that I want to get closer to, but I wasn't fussy when it came to whom I spent my time with. I guess you could say I’ve been feeling lonely. Hawk’s a genuinely nice guy. He hasn’t allowed club life to harden him like it has Cut or even Lick.

Sin’s asked me to help at the shop so he could get some work done on the bikes. It’s been small things like accounting and filing but it’s nice to feel useful. I have a feeling that request was Bianca’s doing and not his. But I took his offer. It helps to get out of the house. There’s even been a handful of times when it’s been just him and me. Times when he’s surprised me and given me the courage to do things I never thought I’d do.

*****

“Let’s go. Get dressed.” Sin is standing in the doorway to my room. Like the days before, he’s wearing a tight fitted t-shirt, worn denim jeans and his black boots. His dark brown hair is mussed like he normally wears it. I’ve found that he run his hands through his hair a lot. It’s his tell when he’s stressed, worried, or when he doesn’t want to talk about certain things.

“Where are we going?” I ask as I rub the sleep from my eyes. When I open them, I find him staring at me. Looking down, the tank top I'm wearing appears to be a bit more sheer than I remember. The pink of my pebbled nipples are on full display. “Eyes up here, please.” I pull the sheets, covering myself up.

He smirks. “I thought you’d like to get out of here for a while. Change of scenery.”

“Alright, give me a minute to get ready.”

“Okay.” He says, not moving.

I laugh. “I kinda need you to leave so I can get ready.”

“Oh, right. I’ll be in the kitchen.” He turns and leaves my room.

“I’m not getting on that.” I say as he walks to his bike. “Where’s your truck?” I’ve ridden in his truck before. I know he has one.

“That’s not my truck. It’s Hawk’s, hence the bike. Come on, sugar.” He swings his leg over the bike and sits down. He produces a helmet from the side compartment and hands it to me.

“I can’t, Sin. Can’t we ask your mom to borrow her car or something?”

“I’m not asking my mama to borrow her car. I’m not a kid, Savannah. I’ve ridden motorcycles from the moment I could walk. This right here” he smacks the metal of the gas tank, “is like an appendage for me. It’s natural, this bike. It’s part of who I am.”

My mind races with the reasons why this is a bad idea. It’s not just me that I have to worry about. But then, he doesn’t know that, does he? Maybe I should just tell him why I can’t get on the bike.

“Did your mom always ride with your dad?” I ask, still standing in the same spot.

He drops his hand with the helmet in it. “Yes, why?”

“Always? Like all the time, what about when you guys were little.”

He shakes his head. “Well obviously they couldn’t take us on the bike with them. But she rode up until he wasn’t here anymore.” I still wasn’t aware of the event that led to Devin’s death, just that it was club related and that I would find out whenever he felt I needed to know. Always an outsider.