Page 6 of My Enemy Biker

I left because staying stopped serving anyone. Mom was dead. Dad moved south. The neighborhood I grew up in was unrecognizable.

I chose Bloomfield because it was far enough away.

Now I'm arguing property law with a man who wears the patch.

My phone buzzes. Text from Margaret at the library asking if I'm still coming to the book sale next weekend. I stare at the message, then call her instead.

"Anna," she answers. "You're up early."

"Couldn't sleep. Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

I hesitate. "What do you know about Vigil MC?"

Silence for three seconds. "Why are you asking?"

"I'm negotiating an easement with them. Property access. Just want to know what I'm dealing with."

"You're talking to Cain." Not a question.

"Yes."

"He's fair. Doesn't make promises he won't keep. If he tells you something, you can believe it." She pauses. "He's also not someone you want to cross."

"What about the club?"

"They protect Bloomfield. That's all I know, and it's more than I need to know." Another pause. "Are you worried?"

"I'm gathering information."

"That’s smart." I can hear the smile in her voice. "Cain's a good man to negotiate with. He'll hold to whatever terms you set. Just make sure you set them clearly."

We talk for another few minutes about the book sale, about a new patron causing problems at the library. Normal things that ground me. When I hang up, I feel steadier.

Margaret said Vigil protects Bloomfield. The Devils destroyed my neighborhood. Maybe that's different.

Maybe.

I spend the rest of the morning reading everything I can find. The Marrow conflict is real, ongoing, escalating slowly over two years.

Victor Crane runs Marrow, described as strategic and patient. Vigil has held the line. No Marrow distribution in Bloomfield proper. No civilian casualties mentioned in any report.

The Devils didn't care about civilians. We were leverage, collateral, acceptable losses.

If Vigil's different, it's in the limits.

Whether those limits are real is what I'm trying to figure out.

By noon I'm hungry and frustrated. I make a sandwich, eat it standing at the counter.

My body feels restless. I keep thinking about Cain's hands on the table. The way his eyes tracked me when I moved. His attention, complete and focused, like I was a problem he was solving.

I liked being looked at like that.

I liked that he conceded the easement point when I was right. Didn't hedge, didn't soften it.

I liked arguing with him.