Page 29 of My Enemy Biker

"I fucked up," I say. "Should've told you immediately. I was focused on the investigation and I didn't think about the agreement we made. That's on me."

"It's not about thinking." Her voice drops, goes colder. "It's about your word meaning something. The Devils in Detroit promised things constantly. Promised they'd protect businesses if they paid. Promised they wouldn't recruit kids under eighteen. Promised the violence would stay contained. Every single promise was worthless. Everyone's word meant nothing."

There's the real issue. Not the property access. The broken promise.

"This isn't the same thing," I say.

"Isn't it?" She gestures at the tire tracks. "You promised transparency. You broke that promise the first time it was inconvenient. So tell me how you're different from them."

"Because I'm standing here admitting I was wrong instead of making excuses. Because I'm going to do better. Because my word to you matters more than I realized it did until right now."

She's quiet for ten seconds. Watching my face.

"So what happens next time?" Her voice is still cold. "Next time the club needs this road urgently and I'm not immediately available? You going to take it and apologize after?"

"No."

"No?"

"Next time I call you first. Even if it's three in the morning and the situation is urgent. I call, I explain, I don't use your property without your explicit permission."

"And if I say no?"

The question hangs there. I could lie. Could hedge. Choose honesty instead.

"If you say no for a good reason, we find another route. If you say no because you're testing whether I'll respect your boundaries, I'll argue with you until you're convinced letting us use it is the right call. But I won't use it without your permission. Not again."

She stares at me. "That's a big promise."

"I know."

"You already broke one today."

"I know that too."

The silence stretches. Cicadas are loud now, evening chorus building. The sun's dropping behind the trees, light going orange.

"I want to believe you," she says finally. "I'm trying to believe you. But you're asking me to trust that you'll keep your word next time after breaking it this time, and I've seen what happens to people who keep trusting men who break promises."

"I understand."

"Do you?" Her eyes are fierce. "Because if you break your word to me again, I'm done. No second chances. No explanations."

The finality in her voice makes it clear. This is her line. Cross it again and she walks.

"Understood," I say.

"Good." She doesn't soften. Still angry, still hurt. "Now leave. I need space to think and I can't do that with you here."

That hurts more than expected. "Anna—"

"I mean it. Go." She turns away from me. "I'll text you later."

I should stay. Should push until this is fully resolved. But she asked me to leave and I just promised to respect her boundaries.

I walk back to my bike. She doesn't follow.

The ride home feels wrong. Like I left something critical behind that I can't retrieve.