Page 31 of Property of Quake

“Got it.”

We all stare at Keith and the girl, watching the way she awkwardly hangs onto him. The prospect is barely giving her the time of day, but he has his hand wrapped around her wrist like he can’t let her go.

“Follow them when they leave,” Lyric instructs. “And let us know the second you learn anything.”

“Understood.” I look to Savvy. “Can you go grab me a few bottles of water? Better switch to that if I’m gonna have to ride.”

She leaves to do my bidding.

“I don’t like this,” Zombie grumbles.

“Neither do I,” Lyric adds.

I scowl. “That makes three of us.”

10

WHITNEY

Ishould be reviewing the sponsorship letters or inventory lists or any one of the contents of the six folders spread across the desk in my room. Instead, I’ve spent the last ten minutes staring at the same sentence without reading a single word of it.

Sighing, I set my pen down and lean back in my chair.

This is ridiculous. I’m twenty-three years old. I’ve spent five years devoted to my calling, preparing for my final vows, and dedicating my life to God.

So, why is it that I can’t stop thinking about a biker named Quake?

I’m not even hung up on important things, just random moments… The way he comforted Melissa the last time he was here or the way he brought her smile back when talking about Stella. I recall the handful of times he’s stopped by over the last week to update me with his progress for the carnival, which could’ve been done with a phone call, by the way.

An image of his smile flashes in my mind, along with the embarrassment that floods his cheeks when I catch him looking at me when he thinks I won’t notice.

Everything I think about, everything I remember, floods me with an unfamiliar heat.

“Lord, this is not helpful,” I say into the empty room.

“Talking to yourself now?”

I jump to my feet and whirl around to see Sister Beatrice standing in the doorway. “I wasn’t talking to myself.”

“You were.”

“I was praying.”

“Convenient distinction.” She says with a smile as she settles into the small wooden chair in the corner of my room. “What troubles you, Sister?”

“Nothing,” I say with a shake of my head.

“I’ve known you too long to believe that.”

I groan. Sometimes I forget that this woman had a hand in raising me. She’s seen me at my best and at my worst.

And she’s right.

I wring my hands together as I try to gather my thoughts. “Did you ever question your calling?” I finally ask.

Her expression softens, and it’s as if I’m a little girl again, desperate for love and affection. “Of course,” she replies.

“Really?”