Page 17 of Siren's Salvation

We came here for answers, not a family reunion.

But as the smell of garlic bread wafts through the air, I decide that maybe, just maybe, we can have both.

I slide into the booth, the worn leather creaking beneath me.

The familiar sound brings a smirk to my face—some things are universal, no matter which charter you're in.

"So," I say, leaning forward and resting my elbows on the table, "how long we plannin' on stayin' up here in Big Sky Country?" I direct the question at Kade, knowing he's the one with the real answers.

Kade leans back, his face a mask of contemplation. "Couple weeks, maybe a month tops," he says, his voice low. "But it all depends on how shit goes while we're up here."

I nod, processing the information. "Sounds good to me," I reply, surprised by how much I mean it. "Gotta say, it ain't exactly breakin' my heart to be away from Vegas for a bit."

The tension in my shoulders, a constant companion these past few weeks, starts to ease.

Montana's vast skies and crisp air are a far cry from the chaos of Sin City.

It's not home, but it's a damn good place to clear my head.

Hell, I never thought I’d think any place was home after I left Texas, but Vegas became that for me.

Octavia's voice cuts through my thoughts, and I look up to see her approaching, two steaming plates balanced in her hands. "Some hot grub comin' right up!"

But it's not Octavia who catches my eye.

Behind her, carrying another plate, is a woman I'd almost forgotten about.

Siren.

Fuck me, but that name fits her like a glove.

I remember meeting her once, years ago when we were all wannabe prospects with more attitude than sense.

But the years... damn, the years have been kinder to her than they had any right to be.

Octavia sets plates down in front of Kade and Cobra, but my eyes are locked on Siren as she approaches.

She's carrying my plate, and for a moment, I forget how hungry I am.

I don’t want to eat my meal.

I want to dive straight into dessert.

"Here you go, Shiver," Siren says, her voice a mix of honey and smoke that hits me right in the gut.

She sets the plate down, and I catch a whiff of her perfume—something subtle and spicy that makes my mouth water.

"Thanks, darlin'," I drawl, my Texas accent thickening as it tends to do when I'm caught off guard. "Looks mighty fine."

I'm not just talking about the food, and judging by the knowing look in Siren's eyes, she's well aware of that fact.

As she turns to walk away, I can't help but think that maybe this stay in Montana might be more interesting than I'd initially thought.

As Siren hands me the cutlery, our eyes lock.

The intensity in her hazel-green gaze makes my breath catch.

I manage to croak out a "Thank you," my fingers deliberately brushing against hers as I take the fork and knife.

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