“All right, Hawk.”
She took his wrist because she didn't know what else to do.
“My name is Sienna.”
His fingers closed around hers.
Then he whispered one word.
“Chest.”
“I know. Help is coming.”
She followed the emergency dispatcher's instructions exactly.
She didn't pretend to know medicine.
She didn't guess.
She didn't improvise.
She simply stayed.
And sometimes, staying was the most important thing a person could do.
“Hawk,” she said, squeezing his hand. “Stay with me.”
His eyes opened.
“You don't get to leave before I find out whether Hawk is your real name.”
For the briefest second, his mouth almost formed a smile.
Then pain crossed his face again.
The gas-station clerk finally emerged with an umbrella.
“I called too,” he said.
Sienna ignored him.
He glanced at the biker's vest.
“I knew there'd be trouble.”
Sienna turned toward him.
“He's sick.”
“I'm just saying, these guys—”
“Then stop saying.”
The clerk fell silent.
Hawk opened his eyes again.
His gaze fixed on Sienna.
“Like her,” he whispered.
Sienna leaned closer.
“Like who?”
But he said nothing more.
The sirens were coming.
Crown and Wings
The ambulance arrived minutes later.
Two paramedics rushed through the rain.
Sienna moved aside only when they needed her to.
“How long has he been down?”
“Maybe five minutes.”
“Was he conscious?”
“Mostly.”
“Did you give him anything?”
“No. I followed dispatch.”
One of the paramedics nodded.
“Good.”
They worked quickly.
A blood-pressure cuff.
A heart monitor.
Oxygen.
Questions Hawk could barely answer.
His real name was Arthur Callahan.
Sixty-four years old.
A history of heart problems.
Medication stored in his saddlebag.
One of the paramedics looked at Sienna.
“You probably helped by keeping him calm and getting us here quickly.”
Sienna suddenly realized how cold she was.
Arthur—Hawk—reached toward her.
“Sir, stay still,” one paramedic warned.
But Hawk continued searching inside his leather vest.
Finally, he pulled out an old business card.
A black crown.
Two wings.
Beneath them were the words:
CROWN & WINGS
No address.
No company description.
Only a phone number.
He pressed the card into Sienna's hand.
“What is this?”
“Keep.”
“You don't owe me anything.”
He shook his head.
“Not debt.”
“Then what?”
He struggled to breathe.
“Proof.”
Sienna frowned.
“Proof of what?”
His eyes held hers.
“That somebody stayed.”
Before she could answer, the paramedics lifted him onto the stretcher.
As they loaded him into the ambulance, Hawk reached toward her again.
“Tell them…”
Sienna leaned closer.
“What?”
“Hawk sent you.”
“Tell who?”
But the ambulance doors closed.
The vehicle disappeared into the rain.
Sienna stood beneath the gas-station canopy, holding the card.
The clerk stepped beside her.
“You know who that was?”
“No.”
“Crown & Wings.”
“So?”
He stared at her.
“They're a big motorcycle club.”
“Are they dangerous?”
The clerk shrugged.
“Depends who you ask.”
That answer did not help.
Sienna returned to the store.
The bread was gone.
The milk remained.
She opened her wallet.
Eight dollars had become three dollars and change.
Enough for breakfast.
Not enough for certainty.
As she left, the clerk called after her.
“You should probably throw that card away.”
Sienna looked down at the crown and wings.
“Why?”
“People like that bring trouble.”
She remembered Hawk's hand gripping hers.
The fear in his eyes.
And the way the clerk had watched from behind the glass.
Sienna slipped the card into her wallet.
“So do people who stand around doing nothing.”
Then she walked into the rain.
The Call at 1:04 A.M.
Maya was asleep when Sienna returned to their apartment.
Their neighbor, Mrs. Palmer, had stayed with her.
“You're late,” the older woman said.