He sneered and snapped his right wrist so the thick leather cord whipped through the warm air and cracked on the gravel an inch from my work boot.

“Or what, huh?” Trent said.

“I’m offering you a reasonable compromise,” I said.

“No heavy pounding before eight a.m.”

“You look like some corporate data clerk who sits in an office chair all day,” Trent said, stepping in until the shadow of his shoulder fell over my boots.

“You don’t tell me what to do near our line.”

He cracked the heavy leather rope against the loose gravel again, sending little gray stones skittering across my lawn.

I didn’t move my feet.