Page 108 of Desert Rain
We kept walking, my arm slung heavy around her shoulders, her body still glued to my side like we were some kind of matched set. The sidewalk felt wider now, the neon glow from the bars fading behind us into the quieter stretch of street that led back toward her complex. My bare skin prickled where the night air hit it, but the heat from her palm on my back—fingers splayed like she owned every inch of ink and scar there—kept the chill at bay. For a minute, it was almost peaceful. The knot in my chest had loosened another notch, thanks to the way she’d just staked her claim in front of Rylee like it was nothing. Like I was worth claiming.
But peace never lasted long with Sienna.
Her steps slowed after half a block. Then stopped dead. She pulled back just enough to look up at me, and the fire in her eyes wasn’t the good kind anymore. It was the kind that came from hurt stacked on top of pissed-off, the kind that made a man brace like he was about to take a tire iron to the ribs.
“You,” she said, voice low and shaking, “are the reason Bandit’s out there somewhere right now. Probably scared shitless. Or hit by a car. Or... or God knows what.” Her arms dropped from around me, and she shoved both hands through her hair, yanking like she wanted to rip it out. Or maybe mine. “I told you not to open that door. Itoldyou. And you just... you stood there with that stupid grin on your face after he tore my place apart, like it was funny. Like it washisfault for being a cat who hates being cooped up.”
I opened my mouth, but she jabbed a finger into my chest hard enough to make my pec twitch.
“Don’t. Don’t you dare say he ‘missed me too’ again or some bullshit like that. You blamed him back there, Mason. Like he’s the asshole for bolting the second you gave him an escape route. He’s not the one who opened the damn balcony door after I’d spent weeks trying to get him settled in a new place.Youdid that. Because you had to play big tough biker and air out your bloody shirt like some dramatic movie scene.”
Her voice cracked on the last word, and just like that, the anger splintered into something rawer. Hurt. Real hurt. Her eyes went glassy under the streetlight, and she blinked hard, like she hated that I was seeing it. She spun away from me, pacing a tight circle on the sidewalk, arms wrapped around her middle now like she was holding herself together.
“I’m pissed at him too, okay? He’s a little shit. But he’smylittle shit. He’s all I’ve got right now that doesn’t come with club drama or exes or... or whatever the hell this is.” She gestured between us, wild and frustrated. “And now he’s gone because you couldn’t just leave the damn door shut for five minutes while we figured out... whatever we were figuring out in there.”
I stood there shirtless under the buzzing streetlamp, boots planted, blood still flaking off my knuckles from the punch I’d thrown for her earlier. The taste of lime and chocolate was still on my tongue from that kiss, but it soured fast under the weight of her glare. Guilt chewed at my gut like bad whiskey. She was right. I’d been so caught up in the heat of her, in the way her mouth had opened for me and her hands had grabbed on like she needed me, that I hadn’t thought twice about cracking that balcony door. Just wanted the wet shirt out of the way, wanted air, wantedherwithout all the complications crashing in.
“I’m sorry,” I said again, quieter this time. No grin. No deflection. “I fucked up. Should’ve thought. He’s your cat. Your home. I get it.” I took a half-step toward her, hands loose at my sides, not crowding. Not yet. “But I wasn’t blaming him. Notreally. I was just... trying to cut the tension. You were already lighting me up in there, and then he went full tornado. I didn’t mean it like that.”
She stopped pacing. Looked at me sideways, chest still heaving, that thin shirt of hers clinging to her curves from the run and the sweat. The envy on Rylee’s face from a minute ago flashed in my head again—how Sienna had turned it around, made me feel like the prize instead of the trash—and it twisted something deep in my chest. Made me want to pull her back against me, kiss her until the hurt smoothed out. But she was hurting now, and it wasn’t about my ex or the bar fight or any of that. It was about the gray furball who’d just reminded her how much she’d already lost.
“I know he hates being locked up,” she muttered, voice smaller. “I know it’s my fault for taking him in the first place, thinking I could... I don’t know, give him stability after everything. But he’s out there alone, Mason. And I’m here with you, doing...this.” She waved a hand at the space between us again, but this time it landed on my bare chest, palm flat like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to push me away or pull me closer. Her fingers curled in, nails scraping lightly over one of the scars low on my ribs. “God, I’m so mad at you. And I still want to climb you like a damn tree. What the hell is wrong with me?”
A rough laugh escaped me before I could stop it. Couldn’t help it. She was a goddamn storm—pissed, hurt, fiery as hell—and it only made the pull between us stronger. I caught her hand on my chest, held it there, thumb brushing her knuckles.
“Nothing’s wrong with you,” I said, voice dropping low. “You’re allowed to be mad. Hell, I’d be pissed too. We’ll find him. I’ll help. Flashlight, the bike, whatever it takes. But first... you gonna let me make it up to you? Or you want me to keep standing here shirtless while you yell some more? ‘Cause I can take it. Long as you’re looking at me like that while you do.”
Her eyes flicked up to mine, still shiny with unshed tears but sparking again. That mix of irritation and fire I couldn’t get enough of. She didn’t pull her hand away. Instead, her fingers spread wider, tracing down the center of my abs slow enough to make my stomach tighten.
“You’re impossible,” she whispered. But she stepped in closer anyway, body brushing mine, the night air suddenly not so cool anymore. “And if Bandit gets hurt because of this...”
“I know,” I cut in, forehead dropping to rest against hers. “I’ll own it. All of it. Just don’t shut me out yet, darlin’. Not when you feel this good right here.”
She exhaled shaky against my mouth, lips inches from mine, and for a second I thought she might kiss me again. Or slap me. With Sienna, it could go either way. But she didn’t do either. She just stayed pressed there, the fight still humming under her skin, the hurt still raw, and me—bare-chested idiot that I was—holding on like the road ahead might actually let us figure this mess out together.
The knot in my chest? It wasn’t gone. But with her this close, mad as hell and wanting me anyway, it felt like something I could ride through. For once.
We stood there under the streetlight for another long beat, foreheads pressed together, her hand still warm on my chest. The anger and hurt over Bandit still simmered in her eyes, but so did that other thing—the pull neither of us could seem to shake. She was a mess of fire and vulnerability, and damn if it didn’t make me want to wrap her up tighter even while she was glaring daggers at me for the whole damn night.
“Come on,” I said, voice low. “Let’s head back. We’ll grab a flashlight from your place and do another loop around the complex. He can’t have gone that far.”
Sienna nodded stiffly, but she didn’t pull away immediately. We started walking back toward her apartment, my arm drapedaround her shoulders again like it belonged there. The silence between us felt charged, heavy with everything unsaid. Every few minutes she’d call Bandit’s name softly into the shadows, voice cracking with worry. I hated that I’d caused it—hated the guilt chewing at my gut more than the dried blood still flaking off my knuckles.
By the time we made it back to her building, we still hadn’t found the little bastard. The complex was quiet now, just the hum of AC units and the occasional distant car. She let us into her apartment, the mess from Bandit’s earlier rampage still scattered across the floor—dirt from the cactus, mail everywhere, fresh claw marks on that brand-new couch. Without a word, she walked out to the balcony, grabbed my Henley that had been drying over the railing, and thrust it at my chest.
“Here. Your shirt.”
I took it, our fingers brushing. The fabric was dry now, the blood stain mostly gone thanks to the quick scrub earlier. I pulled it over my head, the cotton still carrying a faint trace of her scent from when she’d been pressed against me earlier. It felt like a shitty consolation prize after the way the night had spun out.
I looked down at her, chest tight. The night had been a whirlwind—bar fight, that kiss that still burned on my tongue, her raw confession about feeling wanted, the cat escape, Rylee’s face when Sienna claimed me like I was hers. Through all of it, one thing kept circling back in my head like a bad engine knock.
“Save me a dance at the wedding,” I said, the words coming out rough but sincere. “I’ll see you there. Just... save me one or two.”
Sienna crossed her arms, that stubborn fire flashing in her eyes again. She lifted her chin, a small, almost satisfied glint crossing her face.
“I’m already bringing a date.”
The words hit me like a sucker punch straight to the ribs. I felt the color drain from my face, my jaw tightening as my fists clenched hard at my sides. Jealousy roared through my veins hot and ugly, the same kind that had me swinging at that pink-polo asshole earlier. Who the fuck was she bringing? Some clean-cut coworker like the ones from the bar? Another guy who didn’t come with baggage and blood on his knuckles? The thought of her on someone else’s arm—at Tank’s wedding, no less—made my stomach twist worse than the desert sun at noon.
