Sienna's P.O.V.

The clubhouse smelled the same. That was the first thing I hated. Leather. Coffee. Beer that had soaked into old wood sometime during the last century. Motor oil carried in on boots. The faint bite of whatever industrial cleaner somebody used on the floors

Sienna's P.O.V.

Ten minutes sounded like nothing until I had to spend them with my mother. Judge walked beside me toward the common room but stopped at the doorway.

"You want us in there?"

I looked past him. Rook stood near the bar. Mara stood beside him. My mother looked

Roman's P.O.V.

I had imagined seeing Sienna again more times than I would ever admit. In some versions, she slapped me. In others, she screamed. A few were worse. She looked through me like I was nobody. What I had not imagined was one word.

"No."

Then a door closing in