32. Sienna
Chapter 32
Sienna
T he shrill buzzing of my phone drags me out of a dead sleep.
I fumble for it on the nightstand, knocking over a half-empty bottle of water and the room key before finally snatching it up.
Joey’s name flashes across the screen.
Shit.
My heart lodges somewhere in my throat as I swipe to answer.
"Joey?"
"He’s gone," Joey blurts out, voice cracking. "Theo's gone."
I sit bolt upright, the sheet tangling around my legs. "What do you mean gone?"
"He left. I just got a text. Said he went home."
My brain scrambles to catch up.
“Did he say why?”
“Just that he’s done.”
Oh God. Levi.
“Fuck, Sienna. How are we gonna pull this off now?”
I swing out of bed, heart pounding violently from the way it was forced to wake up.
"I’m coming," I tell Joey, grabbing my hoodie off the chair and yanking it over my head.
I quickly brush my teeth and hair and the moment I step into the hallway, I see Levi pacing at the far end, his phone pressed tight to his ear.
The muscle in his jaw ticks hard. His back is rigid, his entire body broadcasting frustration and panic.
He lowers the phone and looks at me.
"No answer," he says, voice raw.
His eyes look sunken and tired, like he didn’t sleep a wink last night.
I walk toward him. "Joey just called me. Theo texted him early this morning. Said he went home."
Levi swears under his breath, dragging a hand down his face. “I should’ve been more careful. This could’ve all been prevented if I hadn’t–”
“Levi… don’t. Not now. There’s too much at stake today to let this be what takes us down.”
He fists his hands but nods in agreement.
I hate this. Hate seeing him like this. Torn up, blaming himself, trying to fix something he just can’t.
"We still have his designs," I say quietly. "We can still pull this off."
He gives a jerky nod, but the tension rolling off him is thick enough to choke on.
"We just need to keep the crew focused," I say, trying to sound stronger than I feel.
He nods again, rougher this time. Like it’s costing him something just to keep standing here and not tear the world apart to find his son.
"I’ll meet you downstairs," he mutters, heading for his room.
By the time we pile into the lobby, the competition nerves are already a live wire under everyone's skin.
Joey’s a mess. He’s jittery and pale, tucking his head between his knees like he might throw up at any minute.
Kick’s trying to distract him with snacks.
Meanwhile, Gramps is sipping his coffee like nothing short of a nuclear bomb could shake him.
We’re still waiting on Ghost and Levi.
In the meantime, I pull Joey aside.
"Hey," I say, grabbing his shoulders. "Look at me."
He does, wide-eyed and rattling apart at the seams.
"You've got this," I tell him, with all the faith I can muster. "Theo's designs are killer. But you’re the one who’s gonna bring them to life. You're the artist. You!" I point a finger into his chest.
He swallows hard. "But what if I mess it up?"
"You won’t," I say. "Because you care too much. I know you do. I’ve seen you work on something over and over until you’ve perfected it. I know you can do this.”
His lip wobbles slightly, but he squares his shoulders, nonetheless.
"You’re SKC," I remind him. "You don’t fold. You fight."
Joey nods, blinking hard, and I know I’ve got him back. At least for now.
The lobby’s packed now. Different crews milling around in their branded shirts, media teams buzzing with camera rigs and mics.
Savage Rides is easy to spot. They all have on the same grey polo with their skull branding. All swagger. All flash.
Grayson Holt stands in the center of his team, arms crossed, flashing that cocky smirk I know all too well.
Cameras trail after him like puppies as he exchanges words with different people.
When he spots me, his smirk sharpens into something meaner.
He claps his hands together like he’s just seen the punchline of a joke.
"Well, if it isn’t Breaker’s Isle’s finest!" he calls out, voice dripping with fake charm as he approaches.
Some of his crew laughs. The cameras swivel toward us.
I stiffen.
Before I can say a word, Levi steps up beside me. Solid, steady. He’s storming with a quiet fury only those that know him could sense.
"Back off, Holt," he says low and lethal.
Grayson throws up his hands, all mock innocence.
"Hey, man, no harm no foul. Just admiring the little charity project you dragged down here to compete in a national championship."
His gaze flicks to Joey, who’s clenching and unclenching his fists, still looking pale as hell.
The camera pans across all of us, waiting for a reaction.
Waiting for us to crack.
Levi steps forward, chest to chest with Grayson now.
"You got your cameras," he says, voice like steel wrapped in velvet. "You got your crew of divas and clout chasers. But we got family."
Grayson’s grin twitches. Just for a second.
Then he backs off, giving a two-fingered salute.
"See you in the pit, f amily, " he says the word in mockery.
But when Grayson turns to walk away, I swear I catch a glint of worry in his eyes. Too bad the cameras don’t catch that.
He’s worried because he knows what I already know. That we’ve got something stronger.
Even if that bond might feel slightly fractured at the moment.
Heart will keep pushing, when logic has lost it’s reasoning.
* * *
At the competition grounds, it’s a full-on circus.
Bright lights. Bleachers. Fans. Judges. The bikes are lined up like gladiators in the pit, waiting for their masters.
The rules are simple: Two days. Build from a bare frame to a fully running, rideable machine. Judging on design, execution, innovation, and performance. Cameras on you 24/7.
No pressure. We should be just fine. As long as nobody mentions the fact that one of our own abandoned us this morning because he saw me and his dad kissing last night.
Yeah. As long as nobody mentions that on national television. I think we might be okay.
We claim our station, a square of taped-off concrete, a tool chest, a few supply pallets, and a clock already ticking down in giant red numbers as soon as the announcer says, “And Go!”
Levi huddles us up.
"We work smart," he says, voice carrying over the noise of the other crews around us. "We work clean. And we don’t let them get in our heads."
Everyone nods.
“SKC on three,” he puts his hand in the middle and the rest of us pile on.
“One, two, three… SKC!”
We break. And just like that, it’s on. The moment we’ve been waiting for.
The first few hours are chaotic.
Trying to find the right parts. Trying to sort the order of operations. Joey trying to find stuff to do until the frame gets fabricated by Kick who’s trying to figure out the best modifications for the frame we’ve been given.
We have a book of possible options. But even I know none of them suit the kind of bike we’ve been given. Which means, she’ll have to get creative.
But little by little, the rhythm finds us.
Gramps tunes the engine like he’s coaxing an old friend back to life.
Ghost welds and puts together a leather seat with a precision that feels almost sacred.
Kick cusses like a sailor but cranks out the dopest custom frame I’ve ever seen.
And now it’s time for Joey to start his work. He’s painting slow and steady, Theo’s designs coming alive under his careful hands.
And Levi.
God, Levi’s in his element. Commanding. Cool. Fearless. It’s as if nothing in the world is bothering him. This is the man I remember from the show. Always confident, never worried.
The only indication that he’s a duck over water is the fact that he keeps checking his phone every few minutes. Likely to see if Theo’s gotten back to him.
Every time I glance up, I catch him watching me too.
And I realize... we’re doing it.
Against every odd, every doubt, every damn thing stacked against us, we’re doing it.
SKC’s alive.
And by the end of Day One, so is the dream.