Page 15 of Biker's Collar: Property of Scrap

“You don’t know me. Maybe you won’t like my company.”

He laughs. “I watched you all night. I know I’ll like your company. Now come in. I promise… I don’t bite.”

People know saying that makes them seem more threatening, right? Still, Owen has a smile on his face and I can get away from this white man easier than I can escape Hakeem. This is a good thing. I walk into the house and it smells like peaches. I swear… Do all rich people’s houses smell like a perfume shop?

“Sorry, the rental smells all girlie. My brother picked it out.”

“The big hairy one?”

“The other big hairy one,” Owen says. “The living room is around the corner. I’ll get you a drink.”

“I would rather watch you pour my drink if you don’t mind.”

Owen looks over his shoulder with a mischievous smirk on his face. “You don’t trust a strange white man who just gambled every penny he has at poker? Women these days…”

“Let’s get me that drink before I think too hard about this,” I say to him. I can’t tell if I’m flirting or playing a character. But once I get into the house, I feel this strange sense of safety. Like my mask can come off and I can be myself. But I shouldn’t feel this way around a stranger — especially not a stranger whose brother paid to have me for the night.

This isn’tPretty Woman. This is real life, and it doesn’t matter how much fun I have… I might still need to drug this man. I have to keep a healthy detachment from the situation if that’sgoing to happen. Following him into the kitchen, my eyes form an unhealthy attachment to Owen’s ass. Damn, he has a nice ass. I never thought I would say that about any man’s ass, especially not a white boy.

This man is built like he played football – and like he was good at it. I try not to freak out over the toxic way I can’t stop fixating on his physique. We enter his kitchen and he slowly raises the dimmer lights to a comfortable yet romantic warm glow. If this were any other situation, I would feel like he wanted to seduce me. But there’s no game to play here.

His brother paid for me…

I’ll have to do whatever he wants until I knock his ass out and then… freedom.

It’s a small price to pay, honestly. Sex has always been boring for me, so I don’t get too attached or feel much of anything while doing it. I’ll just get the job done and dip.

Nothing to worry about.

Eight

Scrap

Present Day

Ilet the rage build up in me as I got the work done so by the time I get Southpaw’s permission to take one of the women for myself, my anger feels dangerous. I don’t need to go to prison to know when the rage inside me is too much. I’ve felt it at the poker table. At the blackjack table.

I felt it the morning I woke up and discovered that I had been taken for a fool by a woman that I had been foolish enough to open up to. She saw me at my worst. She made me feel like I was more than a screwed up degenerate gambler. As it happened, I thought every moment with her was special. Real. More real than the fucked up situation with Kaylee-Marie that led to my daughter…

I thought I was having a baby with the woman I would spend forever with. But that was never meant to be. I must have known deep down from the start because I threw a goddamn grenade in that relationship. I just wish it never had to affect my daughter.

Glancing at Vickie’s face in the rearview mirror causes that rage to throb straight through me, all the way to my dick. My dark urges keep getting both stronger and darker. It’s been so many years. I thought for sure that I got over this woman. I told myself that she was the typical Vegas scammer and I would never see her again, and she didn’t matter. But then, I saw her. And all those raw painful feelings rose to the surface.

She has the good sense not to speak until I park the truck in front of my cabin. By then, it’s dark and my back aches from burying bodies. My head aches from having to talk to my brother. My soul aches from not having the night to unwind in front of a poker table or at least betting on a minor league baseball game. Nobody bets on baseball these days, so it’s easy to hit a parlay if you spend a couple hours a week studying the stats…

“Where are we?” Vickie asks when the engine stops. I would rather listen to the cicadas than hear her voice. To be honest, I don’t even know why I brought her here. If I wanted her dead, I could have handled that. True punishment would involve leaving her fate up to Gideon Blackwood or my brother. The Indian girls have Oske and their tribe to look after them.

Who the fuck does Vickie have? It must be nobody if she’s here. Completely at the mercy of the man she scammed years ago in Vegas.

“We’re at my cabin in the woods,” I respond. She doesn’t flinch despite my clear intention to scare her. So she wants to make this difficult? I don’t even know why I brought her here. Anything can happen depending on which of my emotions take hold.

“You remember me?” She asks. Our eyes meet in the mirror. I have to bite my tongue to avoid asking her what the fuck kind of question is that?

“Yes, Vickie. I remember you.”

Again, she doesn’t flinch. Again, I intended to scare her. Frustration mounts in my chest, but I have to hide it. I can’t let her see that after all this time, she still has the ability to yank my emotions out from under me. I’m the one in control here and I can keep it that way.

“Get out of the truck but if you run… Keep in mind, I’m not afraid to shoot.”

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