Page 43 of Siren

And if I’m being honest, I never trusted his loyalty. Jalen was still in it for the money.

“That’s not his call to make.”

Her voice cut sharp—angry. Passionate. I felt it in my chest. And lower.

“That fire in your throat,” I said, voice low, “I felt it last night too.”

She looked away. But not before I caught the flicker of heat beneath the surface.

“I’ll talk to him,” I added. “Make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“Good.” Her tone was clipped. “Because this thing’s already blurry enough.”

She was right. Blurry and messy were the names of the game when it came to public speculation, and the plan was never that. It was to build anticipation and wonder, but once the world got inside of your house or bedroom, in this case, they could tear up whatever was special to you.

I’d tried to stay focused. Tried to remember the music. But all I could hear was Sienna’s breath stuttering against my throat.

All I could feel was her nails in my shoulders, her voice in my ear, her body trembling around me as she came again—tight, wet,mine.

We hadn’t talked about what it meant but I wanted an answer that couldn’t fit in a press packet. She shifted. Crossed her legs tighter.

Her tongue flicked across her bottom lip.

She whispered, “We’re not supposed to do it again, right?”

I stared.

Dropped my gaze to her chest.

Then back up to her eyes.

“Right,” I rasped.

“So we won’t.”

“Right.”

But we both sounded like liars.

She stood, reached for her coat. “I’m ready when you are.”

Our flight was boarding in ten.

Dre was already waitingwhen we stepped through Arrivals at Pittsburgh International.

Posted near the private pickup zone—cleared, quiet, shielded. A black Escalade idled at the curb, windows dark, engine soft. His stance was relaxed, but his eyes clocked everything.

Security had walked us from the gate to this point without incident, keeping press and gawkers at a distance. The kind of escort that said:these two matter.

He spotted us through the glass and stepped out just as we approached. I could tell—he’d seen the photo. The look in his eyes wasn’t judgment. Just awareness. And maybe a quiet warning:don’t play with her unless you mean it.

“Good trip?” he asked, moving to grab our bags off the cart.

Sienna gave a small nod, but her gaze slid to me—and held.

There was fire in it. Banked low. Controlled. But burning.

The kind of fire that made you forget what silence was even for.

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