Chapter 2 — Anna
I slept like shit.
Kept replaying the conversation. Not the property law part, though that matters.
How he sat completely still while I presented my case, like he had all the time in the world.
His hands on the table, scarred and steady.
The moment we were both leaning forward over the survey map and the air between us changed into something I could almost touch.
I wanted him to touch me.
That's the problem sitting in my kitchen at seven in the morning with coffee I'm not drinking.
I'm attracted to a man who rides for an outlaw motorcycle club. A man who showed up at my door to negotiate access to my property because his organization has been using it without permission for eight years. A man who's years older than me and probably has a body count.
I left Detroit to get away from this exact thing.
Now I'm sitting at my kitchen table where he sat yesterday, thinking about his mouth.
I need information. That's what I do when things get complicated. Research first, decide second.
My laptop is already open. I start with the basics: Vigil MC Bloomfield.
The first hit is a news article from three years ago about a territorial dispute on Route 9. Marrow MC from the next county trying to establish distribution routes through Bloomfield.
Vigil pushed back. Three hospitalizations. Police investigated, no charges filed.
I keep digging. Two years ago, the founding garage where Vigil was established burned to the ground. Arson, suspected Marrow involvement, never proven.
They rebuilt outside town limits. No interviews, no statements.
A police report from eighteen months ago mentions Cain by name. Present at a scene involving a Marrow member found beaten outside a bar.
No charges filed. The report is clinical. Just notes he was there.
The structure is identical to Detroit. Patches, hierarchy, territory, violence as enforcement. The Devils operated the same way.
Always there, never charged, always just outside what could be proven.
Jonathan was sixteen when they recruited him. Brilliant at math, had plans for college.
Three years later he was dead on a sidewalk three blocks from my house. Shot in a territory dispute over distribution rights.
I went to his funeral. Watched his sister cry until she couldn't breathe, their mother collapse at the grave. The Devils showed up in their vests like they were honoring him when they were the reason he was dead.
Mr. Russo was sixty-seven. Missed three payments on a loan he should never have taken.
They beat him in his store, broke his arm, left him on the floor. He has a scar across his face now that pulls when he talks.
The Devils hollowed out my neighborhood. Made it smaller, quieter, afraid. People stopped looking at each other directly.
The fear became atmospheric, something you breathed.
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.
That concerns me. I shouldn't like arguing with a man who represents everything I moved here to avoid. But I spent ninety minutes at that table more engaged than I've been in months.
He's forty years old, I checked. Thirteen years older than me.
I've never been attracted to men my age, always found experience more compelling than potential. But he's been in Vigil for seventeen years. I was ten when he joined.
He's lived an entire life I have no access to.
By late afternoon I've read everything available online. I know the players, the timeline, the scope of the conflict.
I know Vigil operates outside the law but appears to have boundaries. I know Marrow doesn't.
I know Cain is Vigil's intelligence officer, handles security and threat assessment, rarely appears in public records.
I know I'm seeing him again Tuesday.
I know I want to see him again Tuesday.
That wanting sends me to the back of my property at seven-thirty with a second trail camera and two more No Trespassing signs. I'm not being intimidated. I'm being smart. If they use the road before we finalize terms, I want documentation.
The air is thick with heat that hasn't lifted. I mount the camera to a tree with a clear view of the access road, motion activation and infrared. If anything moves through here, I'll know.
I'm securing the second sign when I hear the bike.
My heart kicks before I turn around.