Page 53 of Biker's Enemy

"Did you sleep well?"

She looks alarmed when I meet her very normal question with startled eye contact. I get a hold of myself.

"Yeah. Nothing weird," I reply. "Is Mr. Hollingsworth back yet? I thought I heard male voices."

"No," she says. "He's far out. He'll be back around lunch."

My stomach drops. Far out? If Tanner is far out... who the hell came through my bedroom window?

Deb continues. "I was talking to my son on speaker phone."

"Wyatt?"

"No," Deb says, her face darkening. "I wish. It's Owen."

I never heard of or met anyone named Owen Shaw, so I just nod politely.

"He's my baby," she says. "Well. If you can call a 28 year old man a baby..."

The way I see it, Avery will always be my baby. Even if she's someone else's. Even if she's fifty-years-old. I might not be a mother but... I get it.

"Is everything okay?" I ask her, sensing she wants someone to reach out to. I learned from Anna that members of a rival biker gang killed her husband. I can't imagine losing the love of my life like that.

"It's not a good time for trouble," Deb says somberly. "But it's nothing for you to worry about..."

She kisses Avery's cheek and the mood shifts as we focus our attention away from the actions of criminal bikers and towards Avery's round, pink cheeks. Just when I completely forget bikers, gangs, or anything like that, I hear the distant roar of a motorcycle engine.

Deb must hear it too, because she stops kissing Avery.

"Tanner?" I ask her.

I can't tell if I'm hopeful or scared. A stranger climbed into my window and came inside me. Twice. I could handle the idea that this person might be Tanner but... if it's not Tanner... I could be pregnant with a monster's baby. A real monster -- not just some fucked up guy who can't get in touch with his feelings.

Right now, I don't know what to think, especially when Deb Shaw's face turns white.

"No," she says. "I know the sound of a Honda. It's not that loud. This is someone else."

"I'll check."

Deb shakes her head and hands me Avery.

"No," she says. "You take the baby and I'll get a gun..."

Twenty-Seven

HAWK

Scratch marks sting my face from the last violent fight I had with Juliette before I left Santa Fe again. She has made me the subject of several paintings due to her separation anxiety. I don't see why she has to paint me stripped naked and getting eaten by mountain lions to feel better, but she claims it's her "artist's process" and there ain't shit I can do about it...

But fuck, the wind makes my face sting more. And maybe it's not so bad that she cut me up like that because you had better believe I grabbed her chubby behind and flung her into our bed so I could have one last moment of intimacy with her before disappearing...

War.

That's what Southpaw promised. It's what we all agreed on. War is nice in theory. In reality, you're on edge all the fucking time. You miss drinking.

There are only two people in the world keeping me away from liquor this time -- Mackenzie and Juliette. Mackenzie because of how much I love her and I want her to know how much I’ve done for my baby girl. Juliette because I'm downright terrified of what might happen to me if she thinks I'm drinking.

Ryder's drunken ass left half a flask of whiskey over at our place one time and the volcanic argument between me and Juliette nearly brought down half the buildings on our street. I never knew the word 'redneck' could be advanced into such a specific set of slurs until that little incident.

---