Page 14 of My Wild Biker

"I don't think that's what this is." I hold her gaze. "But I won't sit here and tell you I'm certain."

She nods slowly. Like that's worth more to her than a clean answer would've been. She picks up her burger again and I do the same and the silence that follows doesn't need filling.

After a while she says, "Does the violence scare you? Your work?"

"No." I think about how to say the next part. "It's the part I know how to do. Most of the job is boring phone calls. The violence is the exception."

"But it happens."

"Yeah. It happens." I finish the burger. "Does that change anything for you?"

She considers it properly, which I appreciate. Doesn't rush to reassure me. "I grew up watching my dad handle situations that weren't always clean. He worked construction, dealt with union politics, territory disputes between crews. Sometimes that meant fists. Sometimes worse." She pauses. "So no. It doesn't scare me. But I want to understand the code. What lines you won't cross."

"We don't target civilians. Ever. We protect Bloomfield and the people in our orbit. When someone threatens that, we handle it fast enough and hard enough they don't try again."

"And Marrow doesn't follow those rules?"

"No. They use civilians for leverage. Run drugs through schools. Beat people who can't defend themselves. That's why we exist. Someone has to keep them out."

She nods slowly. "You've done this for twenty-five years."

"Yeah."

"You ever think about stopping?"

"Sometimes. But this is what I'm good at. What I know." I look at her. "You ever think about stopping the rotations? Settling somewhere?"

"Honestly? No. The moving is the point. It's freedom."

"Or protection."

She looks at me sharp but not angry. "What's that mean?"

"You left someone who made you disappear. Built your whole life around not staying anywhere long enough to risk it happening again." I keep my voice even. "That's not freedom, darlin'. That's armor."

She's quiet for a long moment, staring at her beer.

Then: "You're one to talk. Twenty-five years of leaving and calling it necessary when maybe you're just scared of wanting something permanent."

"Fair point."

"We're a mess, aren't we?"

"Little bit, yeah."

She smiles despite herself and something in my chest loosens.

Around seven the bar starts filling. Brothers I know, locals, couples coming in for Friday night. Tate walks in with Katherine and they head straight for us.

"Isla." Katherine lights up. "I was hoping I'd see you before Sunday."

"Hey, Katherine."

They hug like they're actual friends and Tate gives me a look that says he's filing this information away.

"You coming to church tomorrow?" Tate asks me.

"Planning on it."