Page 14 of Biker's Collar: Property of Scrap

He reaches for his helmet and puts it on, so I can’t see the expression on his face and gauge what type of experience I’ll have. His hands look like giant paws as they grip the sides of his helmet and he slowly puts it on his face. He looks even larger and more dangerous with the helmet on.

“That’s surprising,” Owen says, his accent dripping with Missouri backwater. “Hakeem doesn’t send you home with too many bikers?”

If I didn’t know better, I would say there was a tinge of jealousy in the question. My tongue feels heavy at the mention of Hakeem’s name. But the question doesn’t make me feel great either.

“Hakeem doesn’t send me home with anyone.”

Owen laughs, but his chuckle comes out muffled because of the helmet. “If it weren’t for what happened at the poker tables, I would say today is my lucky day…”

I clutch the giant white biker’s body as he drives us out of Las Vegas like he doesn’t give a shit whether we live or die. I have never seen anyone weave through traffic with the combination of total control and utter disregard for human life.

He clearly knows what he’s doing, but I didn’t expect to feel such a rush. I’m not in control of anything and this type of reckless behavior is making me wonder if I’m part of the problem — part of the reason I ended up a captive in Vegas in the first place.

My heart won’t steady itself in my chest and I can’t even pat my braids for a reassuring feel of my escape plan. I just have to let everything go and trust that tonight… everything will go according to plan. These men won’t bring me back to Hakeem… I’ll be free.

When he parks the bike, I assume he’s parking in front of a stranger’s house to adjust his dick in his pants or something. Because there’s no way that guy is staying… there. But the bike leans and if I don’t hop off, I’m scared I’ll fall over, so I awkwardly swing my legs over and stand up as Owen gets off the bike. I take my helmet off so I can get a real breath of air. He takes his helmet off, grinning from ear to ear. Not the expression I expect from a man who just lost tens of thousands of dollars on our poker tables tonight.

“Did you like that?”

I was scared out of my mind. But I don’t want to show fear in front of this man. I shrug and hand him the helmet.

“We’re here.”

His face falls slightly, but not like a man who just lost everything gambling.

“I don’t do this type of thing normally,” he says. “But… my baby mama threw me out last month and my brother thinks I need to move on.”

I raise my eyebrow. “Did she have a good reason for throwing you out?”

Considering how I saw this man acting at our poker tables — and his presence in the first place — he doesn’t seem like the type of man who would win father of the year.

“Absolutely,” he says. “I fucked up. Instead of being a man and ending things with her… I sold her horse and bet all the money on a baseball game.”

He tells me the story without a hint of remorse behind his eyes. But he doesn’t seem shifty like a liar. I don’t know what to make of his honesty.

“Interesting.”

“It’s a long story, Veronica. I’d much rather split a bottle of wine with you and… forget all the ways I’ve fucked up.”

And there it is for a moment, the intense pain on this man’s face from what must have been a devastating loss.

“Why did you gamble that last chip?”

He shrugs and then answers. “Because I wanted to feel something real.”

His own response seems to embarrass him because he turns red and we start walking towards the door of that fancy house he parked the motorcycle outside. His brother said they were leaving town soon, so this must be a rental. Still… it’s a nice ass rental. Vegas attracts a lot of high rollers, but this town isn’t as flashy as the strip.

It just looks like those suburban places you see in movies. I’ve never been anywhere this nice in my life. Or anywhere this far from a major city. If I hadn’t been through hell already, I would be terrified about what this white man could do to me. He walks over to the door and looks over his shoulder at me as he types in the key code.

“If you want to see me again… next time I come into Vegas, I’ll call you. My brother seems to think you don’t want to work for Hakeem anymore.”

I look up at Owen, unsure if I can trust him. The sense of security I have from the drugs or some other type of delusion pushes me to tell the truth before I can stop myself, even if the truth could give this man far too much leverage over me.

“I don’t.”

He looks down at me with the most intense stare I’ve ever felt from a man.

“Then you won’t go back there. You don’t have to be my girl,” he says. “But when I come into Vegas… it would be nice to have some company.”

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