Page 27 of My Wild Biker

I ignore it.

It buzzes again. And again.

"You should check that," Isla says quietly.

I grab it reluctantly. Three texts from Cain, one from Clint. I read them and everything goes cold.

"What's wrong?" Isla asks, sitting up.

"Marrow activity two counties over. Multiple members congregating at a location we've been watching." I'm already getting out of bed, grabbing clothes. "Clint wants me and Cain running intel tonight. Figure out what they're planning."

"Now?"

"Yeah. Now." I pull on jeans and find a shirt. "I need to go to the clubhouse. Could be nothing, could be them planning something big. Either way we need to know."

She watches me dress and I can see her processing. "How long will you be gone?"

"Don't know. Few hours maybe. Could be all night if the situation develops." I sit on the edge of the bed and take her hand. "I need you to go back to your rental. Lock the doors. Don't open them for anyone you don't know. Keep your phone on."

"You're scaring me."

"Good. I want you scared enough to be careful." I kiss her hard and fast. "This is probably nothing. But if Marrow's planning something and they know about you, you could be a target. So you lock yourself in and you stay there until I call."

"Okay."

I stand and grab my cut, shrugging it on. Check my phone. Clint sent another text: Now, Chuck.

"I have to go." I look at her sitting in my bed and everything in me wants to stay. "I'll call you as soon as I know something."

"Be careful."

"Always am."

I kiss her one more time and then force myself to walk out of the bedroom. Out of the house. Onto my bike.

The engine roars to life and I pull out fast, heading toward the clubhouse while my phone buzzes with updates from Cain.

Behind me Isla's alone at my place and tomorrow she leaves for Millbrook and right now Marrow might be planning something that could burn everything down.

I push the bike faster and try not to think about all the ways this could go wrong.

Chapter 7 — Isla

I drive back to my rental with the taste of Chuck still on my lips and my body still humming from sex on his couch.

The roads are empty at nine-thirty on a Saturday night, just me and the cicadas and the heat that refuses to break even after dark.

His house disappears in my rearview and I think about how fast he moved when those texts came through. How his whole body shifted from relaxed to alert in seconds. How he told me to lock the doors and stay inside and be scared enough to be careful.

The fear sitting in my stomach now feels warranted.

My rental looks exactly like I left it. Porch light on, windows dark, nothing disturbed.

I park in the driveway and scan the street out of habit before getting out. Two houses down someone's watching television through their front window. Across the street a porch light flickers like the bulb's dying. Everything normal and quiet.

Inside I lock the door behind me and flip the deadbolt. Check the back door too, make sure it's secure.

The windows are all closed because of the AC running and I double-check the locks on those too even though I know I'm being paranoid.