Page 12 of My Enemy Biker

Paralegal, property owner, person who does grocery shopping on Thursday mornings.

Not someone who lets MC enforcers kiss her.

I load the bags into my trunk, close it, and turn around to return the cart. Two men are walking toward me across the parking lot.

Every instinct I learned back home fires at once. The way they move, coming straight at me, their attention, I know what they are before they're close enough to speak.

One has a scar cutting across his throat, thick and raised. The other is younger, mid-twenties maybe, shoulders squared like he's trying to project threat.

Both move like men who've done violence and expect to do more.

Scar-throat stops six feet away. Close enough to intimidate without being obvious about it. The younger one positions himself between me and my driver's side door.

My heart kicks hard but I keep my face neutral. Learned that early. Never show fear.

"Anna Reeves," Scar-throat says. Not a question.

"Can I help you?"

"We've seen you around town. Talking to Vigil. Asking questions. Getting involved in things that don't concern you." His voice is conversational, almost pleasant. Worse than if he'd been aggressive. "Bloomfield's a small town. Easy to find people. Easy to reach them when necessary."

The younger one smiles. It's all performance, nothing genuine behind it.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I say. My voice comes out steady, thank God.

"Sure you don't." He glances at my car, at the groceries visible through the rear window, back to my face. "Just friendly advice. Be careful who you let on your property, who you do business with. Things can get unfortunate otherwise."

The word unfortunate lands like a threat.

My skin goes cold but I don't let it show. "I appreciate your concern but I don't need advice about my property."

"Everyone needs advice sometimes." He takes a step closer. I can smell cigarettes and something metallic underneath. "Especially when they're new to an area and don't understand how things work."

The younger one shifts his weight. Not overtly threatening but ready to be if needed.

"I understand fine," I say. Keep my voice level even though my pulse is hammering. "Now if you'll excuse me."

I move toward my door. The younger one doesn't shift. I'm boxed between him and my trunk, and both of them know it.

Scar-throat watches me for another three seconds, then nods once. "Think about what we said."

He turns and walks away. The younger one holds position for another beat, staring at me, then follows.

I watch them climb into a dark blue truck two rows over.

They don't leave. Just sit there. Watching.

My hands shake when I unlock my door. I get in fast, lock it immediately, start the engine. Force myself to back out slowly, controlled, refusing to look rattled even though my heart is trying to punch through my ribs.

They don't follow but I check my mirrors constantly anyway.

By the time I reach my driveway the shaking has stopped but my pulse is still racing. I sit in my car with the engine running, trying to think past the adrenaline.

They knew my name. Knew about my property. Knew I've been in contact with Vigil.

This wasn't random intimidation, Marrow targeted me specifically because of the access road, because of Cain, because I'm involved whether I chose to be or not.

The danger just became real. Followed me to a public parking lot in daylight and made threats vague enough to deny but specific enough to mean something.