Page 14 of My Enemy Biker

"No." He doesn't move. "You called me. Not the sheriff. Me. You know I'll handle this and you know how I'll handle it."

I hate that he's right. "What are you going to do?"

"Make sure they don't come near you again."

"How?"

"You don't need those details."

"That's not acceptable. If you're going to act on my behalf, I need to know what you're planning."

"Why? So you can measure it against what the Devils would've done and decide if I'm the same?"

The accusation stings because there's truth in it. "Don't weaponize what I told you. I shared that so you'd understand where I'm coming from, not so you could throw it back at me."

"You shared it so I'd know I'm being compared to men who had no code. Who destroyed your neighborhood. Who got kids killed over territory." He moves closer, voice dropping. "We're not them. I'm not them."

"Then prove it, tell me what you're going to do about Sully."

"I'm going to make sure he understands you're under Vigil protection. That touching you means answering to me personally. That's all you need to know."

"That's not enough."

"It's what you're getting."

We're close now, less than three feet separating us. The anger between us has heat underneath it, the same charge from last night building again.

"I can't trust someone who hides things," I say. "The Devils operated in shadows. Nobody's word meant anything. If you're different, show me."

His jaw tightens. "You're mine to protect now. That's not negotiable."

"Yours to protect?" My voice rises. "I didn't agree to be anyone's anything."

"You called me. That was agreement."

He's right and it's infuriating. I made a choice when I dialed his number instead of 911.

A choice that means something I'm not ready to fully examine.

"So what happens now?" I ask.

"Now I make sure they understand the situation." He takes another step closer. We're two feet apart. I can see the tension in his shoulders, the muscle working in his jaw. "They won't touch you. I give you my word on that."

"You can't promise that."

"Yes, I can."

The absolute certainty in his voice does something to me. Makes me want to believe him, want to trust that his protection is real and permanent. Want to let someone else carry this fear for once.

Also makes me want to close the last two feet between us and see if he tastes the same as he did last night.

Both wants are dangerous.

His phone rings. He pulls it out, checks the screen, answers. "Clint."

I watch his entire body language shift as he listens. Everything goes harder, colder, more focused.

"When?" Pause. Listening. "I'm on my way."