The Biker and the Gamer - S. Ann Cole Page 0,3

on your Jeep, then yeah, Lisa'll contact you.”

I don’t realize I’m staring for longer than is normal until Cedric clears his throat and tells her, “Well, thank you for all your help, Kendra. We look forward to getting an update from you soon.”

When she looks up this time, it’s directly at Cedric, a plastic smile on her lips. “You’re welcome, Mr. Drake. Now, if you don’t mind,”—she looks pointedly at the door— “I need to close up.”

“Right,” Cedric replies with his all-American smile. “And we need to get going.” If he could grab me and haul me out of there, he would. But I got the hint. Both of them want me out.

I understand why Cedric does, but what I don’t understand is why she suddenly does.

Kendra

The loud, persistent hum of a weed-whacker jolts me from my sleep.

Dammit. I forgot Wednesdays are lawn-mowing days. Would’ve made sure to pop in my earplugs last night.

I peek out from under my silky black sheets to check the clock on my nightstand. 7:44 AM. My alarm will go off in sixteen minutes anyway, so might as well get up now.

With an annoyed sigh, I roll out of bed, rubbing my eyes with the heels of my palms. Here we go. Time to live another day all over again.

I trip over the boots sitting at the foot of the bed as I stumble out of the bedroom. ‘Natural’ spills everywhere. Color splashes onto everything. Lots of yellow and sky-blue and lime-green. The complete opposite of me. Not even remotely close to my style.

But this bright, spacious, one-bedroom pool-house became my home roughly four months ago after I suffered a traumatic burglary experience in my old apartment.

Crime in Aurora has been on the rise over the past couple of years. But I feared nothing. No one. I figured those criminals knew better than to mess with me.

About a month before the incident, a wave of burglaries had reached my neighborhood. Every other week someone reported being robbed or assaulted after having their homes broken into.

I kept my head down, paid no attention to it, thinking that would never be me. For one, I slept with a .22 under my pillow—a precious gift from my adopted older brother, Scratch. Let 'em come, I used to think. Let them try me.

Until one night, one unlucky bastard did.

I’d woken up to a man in my bedroom. Masked and hooded. A brandished knife glistening in the darkness.

Without a thought, question, or hesitation, I reached for my metal protection and fired a bullet straight into his chest.

What ensued was a series of screams, blood, 911 calls, sirens, blue uniforms, badges, notepads, and endless recounting of what happened.

The intruder had survived, thankfully, but barely.

I thought I was fine. Thought I was tough enough to handle it. But as the days wore on, the deeper it affected me. I wasn't sleeping, eating, or talking to anyone. I kept having panic attacks and was chewing Xanax like gummy bears.

All of it started to show. People were worried.

The night after the incident, I’d gotten an “OMG, I just saw it on the news!” call from Leyana—not sure how she even got my number.

Leyana's a chick who used to hook up with my other adopted brother, Grunt. She hangs out at the Den of Heathens Motorcycle Club compound sometimes, the place that practically raised me.

At the end of her consolation call, she’d casually mentioned that her stepmom had a one-bedroom pool-house that they were willing to rent me dirt cheap. I’d declined at first, because I didn't want to be seen as a coward, running scared after nearly shooting a man to death. One traumatizing experience and suddenly I’m a weakling? Surely, my big, bad biker friends would never look at me the same.

But after two weeks of being an utter and complete wreck, Grunt urged me to take Leyana up on her offer. Assured me that it didn’t make me weak to want peace of mind. Reminded me that many had also called him weak and “sissy” for leaving the motorcycle club to live a “normal” life, but look how happy he was now.

So, I did.

Now, here I am.

Through the French double-doors and large windows, I can see the glimmering blue pool, the verdant manicured grass, shrubberies and trees, pink blossoms falling, pool-lounge chairs and umbrellas. I wake up every day feeling like I’m on vacation somewhere. Birds singing every goddamn day. Some sort of exotic music spilling from the mansion in the evenings.

Too