REAPER
The groove in the dirt bothered me more than the gravel.
Someone had scattered stones across the riding line, making the bend dangerous enough to throw a motorcycle. Whoever did it knew bikes and wanted the crash to look accidental.
I'd already decided Widow was responsible, and I f*****g hated considering that I'd accused the wrong woman.
“Griffin, photograph the shoulder and mark where the gravel starts. Nobody rides through here until we've checked the stretch.” I ordered.
He pulled out his phone while Diesel examined Cal's motorcycle.
“Someone wanted him off that bike.” Diesel muttered.
“Obviously.” I said.
“Then why are we still standing here?” Diesel asked.
“Because I don't want another rider on the pavement.” I said.
“Something heavy was dragged across the shoulder.
