Page 89 of Biker's Property

Nobody gives her any verbal or physical acknowledgement, except the neo-nazi biker with the name Biter on his patch, who reaches over and touches her ass. She doesn’t respond negatively or positively to his advances, but his buddy gives him a dirty look.

Slitlicker cuts the deck and deals out the first hand of cards. This must be a set-up of some kind. Not for me — for the Midnight SS. Wyatt’s crazy ass must have thought it would be better for me not to know what was coming. Make it seem more real. I know how my brother thinks.

He doesn’t givea fuck what type of situations he puts me in as long as he thinks I can handle it. Like I said, he’s more like our father than he thinks. My cards aren’t great, but I stand a chance at winning the hand. Don’t know how long I’ll have to play and win to get the entire pot.

Is that what Wyatt even wants me to do?

Can’t imaginehe would want me to sit at a poker table and throw the fucking game. I scrutinize the other players. This could all go tits up in a goddamn second.

“Fold,”Horse Cock says. More cards. Another fold. The hand gets down to me and Biter. His gaze flickers over. I pretend to be thoroughly distracted by my hand of cards. High cards, but not enough to win if he has any of the aces.

I raise the stakes, throwing in a few more chips.

What the hell does it matter? If Wyatt wants a war with these motherfuckers, chances are they’ll end up dead. He looks at me with an expression on his face that’s downright gleeful, matching my bet. I keep looking at my cards. Situations like this, it helps to be wired different. To get the same fucking high from winning or losing.

The Indian girl flips the card. The biker slams his on the table with a self-satisfied grunt.

Straight flush.

It’s a good hand.One that very, very nearly beat mine.

I spread my cards.Immediately, Biter rises, one hand on his holster. His buddy shoves his chair back, joining him. But it’s too late. I was right about my brother and his winner combination of a lack of ethics paired with balls of steel.

“Sit down,” the second Indian girl says, pressing what must be a small revolver into his back. “One wrong move, and I’ll put a hole in your kidney.”

I have my gun out, pointed at Slitlicker. Don’t have to know what the fuck is going on to know who counts as blood and who doesn’t.

“You heard the woman,” I say to him. “Hands off your weapons.”

The room is so damnquiet you could hear a spider fart.

The tense silencedoesn’t last. The door sealing us away from the rest of Deacon Hollingsworth’s motel creaks open loudly and the door slams against the wall as Deacon and three other Barbarians storm into the room with semi-automatic weapons.

“Gentlemen,” Deacon says. “I apologize for the deceptive behavior…”

THE END.

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