Page 7 of My Enemy Biker

That concerns me. I shouldn't like arguing with a man who represents everything I moved here to avoid. But I spent ninety minutes at that table more engaged than I've been in months.

He's forty years old, I checked. Thirteen years older than me.

I've never been attracted to men my age, always found experience more compelling than potential. But he's been in Vigil for seventeen years. I was ten when he joined.

He's lived an entire life I have no access to.

By late afternoon I've read everything available online. I know the players, the timeline, the scope of the conflict.

I know Vigil operates outside the law but appears to have boundaries. I know Marrow doesn't.

I know Cain is Vigil's intelligence officer, handles security and threat assessment, rarely appears in public records.

I know I'm seeing him again Tuesday.

I know I want to see him again Tuesday.

That wanting sends me to the back of my property at seven-thirty with a second trail camera and two more No Trespassing signs. I'm not being intimidated. I'm being smart. If they use the road before we finalize terms, I want documentation.

The air is thick with heat that hasn't lifted. I mount the camera to a tree with a clear view of the access road, motion activation and infrared. If anything moves through here, I'll know.

I'm securing the second sign when I hear the bike.

My heart kicks before I turn around.

Chapter 3 — Cain

The intelligence reports aren't holding my attention.

It's past seven and I'm at the clubhouse staring at Marrow movement patterns that should matter more than they do.

I can't focus.

I close the laptop, this isn't productive.

Tate's at the bar talking to Holt. Diesel's in the garage. Clint left an hour ago. I should go home, get some sleep, come back tomorrow with a clearer head.

I'm on my bike heading toward her property before I consciously decide to go.

The ride takes twelve minutes.

Her property comes into view through the trees. I can see her at the back near the access road, installing something. Another camera, looks like.

She's documenting us. Smart. Also irritating.

I park near the road and walk toward her. She hears the bike, turns. Even from here I can see her pulse kick at her throat.

I stop about ten feet away from where she's working. Take in the cameras mounted to trees, the fresh No Trespassing signs. She's been busy.

"You're documenting us," I say.

"I'm protecting my property." She straightens up, hammer still in her hand.

"You think you need protection from me?"

Her eyes meet mine and hold. "I think I need documentation of who uses my land and when. That's what we agreed to negotiate."

"We agreed to meet Tuesday."