It had been years since she'd even thought of Polanco's farm. It had been a fixture of her childhood, and it had meant so much to her, back in the days when she had been tagging along with Danny and Cody, everywhere she could get permission to go. She could remember the way Cody had looked at her, the nascent sense of power from doing something as simple as biting into a piece of fruit. Was that how Eve had felt, back in the day? That day, Jessie hadn't been able to put words to her feelings. Now, she knew she'd felt sexy, and aroused, and tempted. Ever so tempted.

 

And then everything had gone completely wrong. Everything had been flat out ruined, and there hadn't been anything she could do to get her life back on track. Dating someone who knew Danny was impossible; all they did was look at her with sad eyes and talk about how sorry they were. Dating someone who didn't know Danny was just as impossible, however; first of all, in a town as small as Castello, everyone knew Danny. Secondly, they couldn't understand why she might burst into tears because they offered to buy her popcorn at the movies—Danny had always shared his popcorn, and bought those horrible mint things to mix into it, too—or why she almost always vomited when she heard the sound of a motorcycle.

 

That had gotten better, at least. And Tex had warned her about all the bikes outside of the old barn. So they wouldn't be a surprise to her system.

 

She was sure that she wasn't supposed to be doing this. Driving out of town to meet a man she didn't know, who claimed to have information about her brother. It was the set-up to a thriller novel, where the girl ended up cut into tiny bloody chunks that were mailed to her family. What could possibly go wrong?

 

"Lots of things," Jessie muttered to herself as she pulled off the road into the dusty yard of Logan Polanco's citrus orchard.

 

The buildings looked basically the same as they had when she was a kid, but instead of a crowd of family and migrant workers moving busily around the grounds, a crowd of tough looking dudes was moving around. She saw half a dozen men, most of them sunburned. Some were clean-shaven, others wore thick beards. There were leather vests emblazoned with the words "Sons of Chaos" over the elaborate details of an eight-pointed star. Ink, everywhere. And there were women, as well, and not the stereotypical busty ladies with hot pants and halter tops. Some women were dressed that way, and seemed completely comfortable with putting their sexuality in every sway of their hips, but there were other women dressed no different than the men, even wearing versions of the vests that had a slightly different fit. Some were heavy, some were lean, some looked strong, and some were kind of too thin and nervous looking.

 

No one looked all that happy to see her decade-old foreign hybrid pulling into the yard. She pulled into the dusty turn-around in front of the old farmhouse and took a moment to plaster a friendly smile onto her face. She had plenty of experience with that; so many tourists came into the salon with their noses in the air. Same problem, different source. People were never as comfortable with those they thought of as outsiders in one way or another.

 

She'd dressed casually, jeans and a loose jersey top in a bright teal. The jewel tones looked bright and vibrant against her light brown skin, and her curly black hair had been conveniently agreeable about twisting up into a messy bun. Delilah would slay her on sight if she showed up for a shift at the salon dressed like this, but in this moment, she felt shockingly overdressed.

 

An older man with a well-trimmed but grizzled beard stepped down off the old porch and walked towards her with his hand extended. His dark brown skin was unlined around his eyes and mouth. He had either gone gray very early, or was in his fifties and aging well. "Jessie," he said, and it wasn't a question. They probably didn't have a lot of visitors out here. People in Castello knew the orchard had been sold, but as far as anyone had heard, whoever bought the land hadn't really done much, and the house was still empty. Jessie knew she hadn't seen Tex, or this man, in Castello, but everything looked very well repaired for a set of working buildings that had theoretically been unoccupied for three years.

 

"Yes," she said, taking the man's hand and giving him a firm grip.

 

He smiled a bit through the beard. "Jason Marshall," he said. "People call me Take. Tex let us know you were on your way. If it's all right, I'll show you to his office?"

 

It was a more formal greeting than she'd expected, and she pushed herself to adjust her inner sensor again. "That'd be great," she said. He started to walk, and she followed him. "How long have you guys been here? We didn't realize anyone was out on the farm again."

 

"Who's we?" he asked, as they stepped up onto the porch.

 

Her cheeks heated. "Sorry. People in town, I guess."

 

"No need to be sorry. You're not a reporter or anything like that, are you?"

 

"No?"

 

He was quiet for a long minute before responding to the question in her inflection. "We're here for a lot of reasons. I'd rather you hear it all straight from the Prez." He glanced at her, and his expression chilled. "Tex, that is."

 

President of what? But that was a pretty obvious question, wasn't it? President of whatever this was. She wasn't entirely sure of the name. Motorcycle—gang? Club? It was a world she knew nothing about. A world she'd actively avoided, since it had killed her brother before she had a chance to even know him properly. Her stomach twisted, and that old nausea reared up. She'd spent years in therapy, unable to hear the sound of a motorcycle in real life, in a movie, or on television, without needing to run for a trashcan. She dug her nails into her palms—the brain can only feel one sensation at a time—and pushed herself to breathe, deep and full. You can't gag while you're breathing.

 

Mr. Marshall—Take—touched her arm, and she had to stop herself from wrenching away from him. He didn't mean anything by it, and she didn't want him to misunderstand. "Miss? You okay?"

 

Another hand touched her other elbow, and she found herself leaning into the touch without even thinking. There was something so instinctive, so close, about that touch. It knew her so well, knew just the right pressure to place on her elbow to offer reassurance without interrupting her focus. "I got her, Take," said a deep voice that ran straight through her spine to pool in her stomach, heavy and heated. "Could you get us some cold water? We'll be in my office."

 

The hands on her left disappeared, and she heard boots walking away. And then it was just Tex, speaking quietly in her ear. "Do you need to leave? We can go somewhere else, if this is too much for you. I understand. I shouldn't have made you come here at all. I'm sorry, Jessie."

 

"It's fine," she made herself say, because the only thing stupider than coming here in the first place was letting him get into her car and drive her off into the desert. They wouldn't even find the bloody chunks to send to her mother. "Let's just get this over with."

 

She felt his hand tighten around her arm for just a moment. She made herself glance up at him; if he was angry, she was going to knee him in the fork and run for it, and fuck whatever information he said he had about Danny.

 

But it wasn't anger in his face. It was pure sadness, almost agony. For just one moment, she knew him, she knew the boy he'd been, but there was no way. He couldn't be. Why would he come back after so long, without a single word for fifteen years?

 

And then it was gone, his face tight and closed. Jessie studied the rugged face, the lines around the eyes and mouth that didn't match the bright color of his hair, and she tried hard to put it all together. But the pieces didn't fit. No sense at all. "This way," he said, dropping her arm and leaving her to follow after him. She hadn't realized she was leaning on him until the support was gone. He didn't look back to make sure she was okay, or check to see if everything was all right. She could have collapsed right there in the hallway, and he wouldn't have even noticed.

 

He tromped down the hall in those heavy boots, and she followed, trailing her fingers along the hall just in case the panic returned. It was strange, she noted quietly to herself, how it had disappeared so quickly at Tex's touch. It was like she knew him from somewhere, from some time, long ago. But that was impossible. It didn't make sense.