Page 22

PHOENIX

The highway stretches ahead of us, endless and shimmering in the afternoon heat as Clover fiddles with her phone, scrolling through the photographs she’s taken so far. We’ve been driving for about an hour since leaving Calico, and she’s barely said a word, which is fucking unnerving given how chatty she usually is.

“Everything okay?” I finally ask, glancing her way.

She startles slightly, as if I’ve interrupted some deep thought. “Hmm? Oh, yeah. Just going through the shots.” She holds up her phone to show me a picture of the ghost town. “This lighting came out so good. Moody and intense. A bit like you.” She smirks at her own joke.

I side-eye her, my lips turning up slightly at her diss. “How much farther to the next stop?” I ask, desperate for something normal to talk about.

She taps her cell a few times, checking the map. “About twenty minutes. It’s this place called Roy’s Motel and Café in Amboy. It’s an old-school Route 66 landmark.”

“Another aesthetic spot for your campaign?”

She smiles, and something about it makes my chest tighten. “Classic Americana. The sign alone is worth the trip. It’s a massive neon thing. And the light should be perfect when we get there.”

The truck feels too small suddenly. Too confined. Too intimate. I roll down my window a crack, letting the hot desert air rush in.

It doesn’t help as much as I’d hoped.

“So, who’s Roy?” I ask, just to fill the silence.

She snorts out a laugh. “No freaking idea. Probably some guy who built a motel in the middle of nowhere and got lucky when they put a highway through.”

“Smart guy,” I mutter.

Clover turns up the music. Some chill indie song I don’t recognize plays from the playlist. She starts singing softly along, and I find myself listening to her voice more than the actual song.

We round the bend, and suddenly, there it is—Roy’s Motel and Café, standing alone in the vast emptiness of the Mojave like something out of a movie. The sign towers above the small collection of buildings, promising gas, food, and lodging to weary travelers.

“Holy shit,” Clover breathes, sitting up straighter. “This is totally like something you would see in the movies, right?”

The sun hangs low in the western sky, not quite ready to call it a day, but getting there. Long shadows stretch across the desert, reaching for us like they don’t want to let go. The light starts shifting, less harsh now, softer, warmer as the sky bleeds into gold, then fire. Yellows melt into oranges and reds curling along the horizon—we’re running out of daylight.

I pull into the lot and park, and Clover is already unbuckling her seat belt before I’ve even turned off the engine.

“I swear we timed this so right. The sun setting behind this is social media gold,” she chimes, excitement lighting up her face as she grabs her camera. “The light, the isolation, everything. We need to hurry before it changes!” She jumps out, rushing about like a frantic little mouse.

The cutest fucking mouse I’ve ever seen.

I chuckle, watching her as she moves with quick precision, setting up her tripod and framing shots of the iconic sign. She’s in her element, confident and focused, and I can’t help but admire how sure she is of what she’s doing.

“Okay,” she says after a few minutes, beckoning me over. “I need you in this one.”

I shake my head immediately. “Nope. I’m just the glorified chauffeur, remember?”

She rolls her eyes. “Come on, Phoenix. These shots need a human element for scale, and you’re the only human I’ve got.”

“There’s gotta be someone else around—”

“There isn’t. And even if there was, I’d still want you.” She freezes for a second like she’s realized what she just said. “For the photos, I mean. You… you fit the vibe, obviously.”

Something about the way she stumbles over her words makes me feel both uncomfortable and weirdly satisfied. I run a hand through my hair, stalling. “Fine, but not my face.” She rolls her eyes at me but nods in agreement. “All right. Where do you want me?”

Her face brightens. “Just stand over there by the sign. Look natural.”

“The fuck does that mean? I’m a biker, not a damn model.”

She giggles, adjusting her camera. “Just be yourself. Pretend I’m not even here.”

That’s the problem.

I’m all too aware of her presence.

Of her eyes on me through the lens.

I awkwardly position myself where she pointed, shoving my hands in my pockets and trying not to feel like a complete tool.

She pulls her head back from the lens with a chuckle, staring at me. “Okay, maybe try standing less like you have a pole shoved up your ass, and just, I dunno, act like you’re standing with the guys, hanging out by the sign and talking macho biker shit.”

I smirk at her. “Macho biker shit?”

“Yeah, grunt, or burp, fart if you want. I don’t know what you guys get up to when us ladies aren’t around.”

Letting out a laugh, I don’t know how, but somehow, she’s found a way to relax me. “Macho biker shit,” I mumble under my breath, then shake my head. “Jesus-fucking-Christ.” With a huff, I move to the sign, lean my shoulder against it, cross my arms, and stare down the camera at her.

She stills for a moment, then a huge smile crosses her face. “Shit! Oh yeah, that’s it. That’s the look,” she calls. “Now look slightly to your left. Like you’re watching for something in the distance.”

I follow her directions, feeling ridiculous.

“No, no, relax your shoulders. You look like you’re about to punch someone.”

“That’s because I might,” I grumble, but I try to loosen up.

She giggles. “Better,” she says. “Now just… be still. Take in the serenity.”

Drawing in a deep breath, the sun is warm on my face as I stare out at the endless desert. It’s easy to see why so many people get lost out here—everything looks the same, stretching to the horizon in all directions.

It’s beautiful and terrifying all at once.

I almost forget Clover is taking pictures until she speaks again, “Could you try one where you’re looking back at me over your shoulder?”

Turning, I catch her eye directly instead of looking at the camera. She pauses, our gazes locked for a moment, and something electric passes between us before her finger clicks the shutter.

“That was perfect,” she says, her voice softer now. “Really perfect.” She inhales, then walks toward me with the camera. “You wanna see?” she asks.

I tilt my head, and she moves in beside me, bringing up the camera screen. Glancing down, she flicks through the images, and I’m surprised by what I see. I look different. Relaxed, even. The lighting does something to my features, softening them while casting dramatic shadows. The neon sign glows behind me against the darkening sky.

“Not bad,” I admit.

Clover beams. “See? You’re a natural. Now come here. I want to get one of both of us.”

Before I can protest, she’s setting up the tripod again, programming the camera to take shots on a timer. She positions herself next to me, so close that the floral and sweet scents of her shampoo surround me.

Intoxicate me.

Completely unravel me.

“Put your arm around me,” she instructs. “Like we’re travel buddies.”

I hesitate, trying to control my inner thoughts and, more importantly, control parts of my body that really need controlling right now. Then, I lightly place my arm around her shoulders. She fits against me far too perfectly, her small frame tucking into my side like she belongs there.

The thought makes my heart race. A light sweat beads against my forehead as my stomach twists at how very fucking bad this could be.

“Smile!” she says as the timer counts down.

I try, but I’m too conscious of her warmth against me, of how her hair brushes my arm, of how fucking wrong it is that I’m noticing these things about Maverick’s little sister.

Specifically, when he has constantly and continuously told every brother, especially me, to stay away from her.

The camera clicks, capturing whatever awkward expression is on my face. She looks at the image, trying to hide her smirk, her eyes shifting to me. “Okaaay, let’s try one more,” she says, not moving away. “And this time, try to look like you’re not being tortured.”

That makes me laugh, a genuine one that surprises me, and she quickly hits the remote. The camera catches the moment, both of us laughing, surrounded by the golden hues of the desert.

Narrowing my eyes at her, I huff. Somehow the tension in my body easing. “That was sneaky,” I grunt.

She waggles her brows at me. “Was it?” She shows me the shot, and something in my chest twists. We look good together. Really fucking good. Like we make sense. Like we’re more than just two people thrown together by circumstance.

Fuck.

“You say sneaky, I say pure genius, but potato, potahto.” Her smile lights up against the blissful backdrop, that heavenly glow all around her making her look like an angel.

One I could tarnish with my depravity if I were to pull her into hell with me.

But everyone knows it wasn’t the apple that brought paradise crashing down—it was the serpent whispering sweet sins to an angel who should’ve known better. And while I might be Defiance now, I was born a Serpent.

I’ve done things.

Seen things.

Been the type of man I would never want Clover to be around.

If I have the power to tarnish her in any way, I need to make sure that never fucking happens.

Taking a big step back, I need to break the spell. “We should probably get going if we want to make that jerky place before it gets too late.”

Clover’s smile falters slightly, but she nods. “Yeah, you’re right. Just let me get a few more shots of the sign.”

Tilting my head, I turn, walking toward the truck. She hesitates but continues taking her pictures while I lean against the truck, trying to get my head straight and my cock to calm the fuck down.

I can’t be thinking about Clover this way.

She’s nineteen.

She’s Maverick’s baby sister, for fuck’s sake.

She’s barely an adult.

I’m barely an adult!

But as I watch her work—so focused and passionate—it’s getting harder to see her as just the kid I’m supposed to be protecting.

And that’s dangerous territory.

For both of us.

“All done!” she calls, packing up her gear. “Let’s hit the road.”

With a simple nod, I spin in my boots and jump into the driver’s side, not saying another word to her. My fingers clench the steering wheel tight as she hops into the passenger side, the brightest smile on her face. “Onwards, Presley!” she beckons, thrusting her pointer finger forward with a giggle.

Rolling my eyes, I shift the truck into gear, then take off. The drive to Baker is mercifully short. I keep the music loud, discourage conversation, and try like hell to forget the way she felt tucked against my side.

Or how adorably angelic she looked.

Or how she can make me laugh without even trying.

Stop it, Phoenix!

You’re a Serpent. You don’t want to deliver her to damnation.

When we pull up to the Alien Fresh Jerky store—a bizarre building covered in alien murals and UFO decorations. I almost laugh with relief at having something so ridiculous to focus on.

“What the actual fuck is this place?” I ask as we get out.

Clover grins, already taking photos of the giant alien statues flanking the entrance. “Only the best roadside attraction in the Mojave. Look!” She points excitedly to the World’s Tallest Thermometer towering behind the store. “It’s 134 feet tall!”

“Why 134?”

“Highest temperature ever recorded in the U.S. happened right here in Death Valley, at 134 degrees. Can you even imagine? I would die! Literally, my face would melt off, and I would be this disgusting, faceless like… blob… thing.” Her hands wave around as she talks, but somehow even though she’s being completely dramatic, it’s so fucking adorable. I fight back my laugh, but it’s impossible to fight my smile. She widens her eyes at me, pointing dramatically. “Oh, there it is. I thought your smile had permanently disappeared. But nope. It’s back . Phew! I started to think I was going to need to call the FBI to see if they could help us search for it. Was gonna get alerts out and everything.”

I shake my head, bemused. “Have you ever been tested for ADHD?”

She snorts out a laugh, shoving past me. “Fuck you. I’m gonna go look at alien stuff now and continue to be hyper about it because it makes me happy.”

Chuckling to myself, I walk with her. “For the record, Reel Girl, even if your face did melt off, you could never be disgusting.”

She purses her lips at me, narrowing her eyes. “All right. That was a good save. Let’s go.”

Walking with her toward the entrance, I still find it amazing how much she knows about all of this. “How do you know this random shit anyway?”

She shrugs, still smiling. “Just part of my roadside-attraction obsession. I also wanted to learn everything I could about them in case I ever got the chance to go.”

Makes sense.

As we make our way inside, the place is even weirder—alien merchandise everywhere and dozens of flavors of jerky with names like “Abduction Flavor” and “Probe-A-Cano Hot.”

Clover, of course, insists we try as many as possible. “This one’s rattlesnake,” she says, holding up a sample.

I raise an eyebrow. “Ladies first.”

“Chicken shit,” she whispers, then pops it in her mouth without hesitation, then scrunches her face. “Hmm. Tastes like… tough chicken?” she states, but it’s more like a question.

Despite myself, I laugh and take a piece, chewing on the rubbery substance.

It’s not awful, just strange.

“Now this one,” she says, offering another. “Ghost pepper. Supposedly hot enough to make you cry.”

“Sounds like a load of bullshit to me,” I reply, then take it because, apparently, I’m a fucking idiot who can’t say no to her. “Bring it on.”

Hesitating for a second, I inhale, then throw that thing into my mouth. I chew a couple of times, then the heat hits immediately, searing my tongue and making my eyes water like a damn waterfall. “Holy shit,” I gasp as my entire body feels like it is on fire.

Clover bursts out laughing, already recording me on her phone. “Your face is so red!”

“You seem far too happy about that,” I accuse, desperately and frantically looking for something to drink.

She pulls a bottle of water out of her bag like she had it in preparation for this very moment and hands it to me, still laughing. “Maybe a little. But it’s perfectly normal for a grown man to let out his emotions, Presley. It’s okay to cry. You just let it all out,” she continues to chuckle to herself while I down half the bottle, glaring at her over the rim.

“You’re evil. You know that?” I rasp, my voice hoarse from the heat.

“Oh, come on, it’s funny.” She beams with her pleasure.

And it is.

I guess.

I can’t remember the last time I did something this stupid and carefree.

Back at the club, everything is life or death.

Here, I’m eating alien-themed jerky and making a fool of myself while Clover films it.

It’s nice.

Until I see her uploading the video.

“What are you doing?” I ask sharply.

She looks up, still smiling. “Just posting this. It’s too good not to share.”

“Did you tag me again?” I snap.

Her smile fades slightly. “No, of course not. I learned my lesson last time.”

“But you’re posting it right now? Did you even ask if it was okay?”

She lowers her phone, frowning. “I… no, I didn’t think I needed to. It’s just a funny video.”

“Jesus, Clover.” I run a hand through my hair, frustration building. “Do you not get what’s happening back home right now?”

Her face hardens. “Of course I do.”

“Then why the fuck are you treating this like some vacation? Posting videos, having fun, like everything’s fine?”

“I’m doing my job,” she says, her voice rising. “And sorry for trying to have a few moments where I’m not fucking drowning!”

The few other customers in the store are starting to stare, but I can’t seem to stop myself. “This isn’t about your job or your feelings. It’s about staying under the radar. It’s about keeping you safe. Every post is a fucking beacon, Clover.”

“No one is looking for us! The Cartel wants the club, not us.” Her eyes flash with anger. “Or is this just an excuse for you to play the tough guy again? To remind me that big-man Phoenix is in charge?”

That stings, mostly because part of me wonders if she’s right.

Am I overreacting?

Am I just flexing the only kind of control I have in this situation?

Letting out a heavy exhale, I try to lower my voice. “I promised your brother I’d keep you safe,” I say, my voice still tense. “That means being careful. That means not broadcasting where we are every five minutes. So far, my face hasn’t been in any of the posts. But if the Cartel sees this, sees my face, they know that I am not with the club. Every location tag is a map for anyone looking for us. Then they will come looking, Clover.”

“You want to talk about promises?” she hisses. “You promised me you’d try to enjoy this trip. That you wouldn’t make me feel like a damn burden.”

Guilt hits me hard in the chest. She’s right about that, at least. “I’m not—”

“Yes, you are. Constantly!” She hits some buttons on her cell, then turns the screen to show me. “There. I deleted the video completely. A happy memory gone.” My stomach sinks as she grabs her bag from the counter. “I’m waiting in the truck.” She storms out, leaving me standing here with a handful of alien jerky and a gnawing sense that I’ve completely fucked up.

Again.

I quickly pay for the stuff we sampled, plus a few extra flavors I think she might like, hoping it might serve as a peace offering. By the time I get back to the truck, she’s sitting in the passenger seat, arms folded, staring straight ahead.

I slide in behind the wheel but don’t start the engine right away. “Clover—”

“Just drive,” she says flatly, not looking at me. “We’ve still got one more stop today.”

Sighing, I start the truck. The silence as we pull back onto the highway is deafening.

But maybe silence is what we both need right now.