Page 12 of Siren's Salvation

Blackjack shrugs, “Nah, don’t think Davina has it in ‘er. That Aggie on the other hand, man.”

He shakes his head, chuckling under his breath. “She’s a firecracker just waiting to explode.”

"A ticking time bomb," I agree, exhaling slowly. "But, I think she needs guidance, not punishment."

Blackjack nods thoughtfully. "You might be onto something there, Siren." He looks at me with tired eyes. "You've got a way with the teens in the club. I notice that. I see it. All the old heads do. The kids, they get pretty damn chatty with you."

My heart pangs at that.

While it's true that I have good relationships with most of the club kids, I don’t know if it’s a positive thing.

I brush off the compliment. "Sure, because they think I'm cool."

Blackjack grins knowingly. "Not just that, they respect you."

I let out a pained sigh and reach for the half-smoked joint, needing its soothing balm more than ever now.

"Somehow, I highly doubt that," I concede reluctantly, bringing the joint to my lips.

I light it and take a drag before continuing, “They think I’ll let ‘em get away with shit. Tonight was proof in the pudding.”

His grin fades, replaced by an all-too-serious expression. "I’m gonna teach you a hard lesson though. They might respect you, Siren, but tonight… what happened, that's not respect. That's manipulation."

I let out a short laugh, brushing a rebellious strand of hair from my face.

"Welcome to the world of teenagers." The bitter taste of truth in my mouth has me reaching for the joint again.

Blackjack's gaze stays on me, unblinking and unnerving under the dim light.

The silence stretches, filled only by the distant sounds of music and laughter echoing from inside the clubhouse.

His bluntness stirs something within me that I'm not ready to acknowledge.

He finally breaks the silence. "Maybe they're more like you than you think."

Now it's my turn to be serious.

I meet his gaze square-on, my fingers tightening around the joint. "What does that mean?"

He leans back against the railing, crossing his arms over his chest in a relaxed pose that’s at odds with the intensity in his eyes. "Just what I said, Siren. You've been through hell and back. You're strong because of it."

I open my mouth to deny it but no words come out.

It's a simple fact I've been trying to escape: I am who I am because of my past ... my mother, my sister Stiletto, and now the club.

All these pieces mold together to make up Siren—someone who cuts straight to the chase and doesn't take shit from anyone.

The realization hits me hard, like a punch to the gut.

Suddenly the night air feels too cold and the joint between my fingers burns too hot.

And Blackjack, the old bastard is too damn perceptive.

Shaking off the unexpected bout of vulnerability, I toss the spent joint away into the darkness and push away from the railing. "I'm calling it a night, VP."

I walk away and his words echo in my head over and over.

Maybe he's right.

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