Page 33 of Biker's Collar: Property of Scrap

He looks over at me, still tense.

"You're relaxed," he grunts. "You know he's been keeping her tied up like a dog. She's about to have a baby."

I glance over my shoulder to make sure his terrifying statement doesn't snap Zayna out of her rest. She stays asleep.

"I know," I respond calmly. I have several reasons for staying calm right now, honestly.

To be honest, from everything I've heard about Darlene in Oske's group chat, she's a Neo-Nazi and Ruger is pretty racist.

I'm not too bothered with the ethics of what goes on between Ruger and Darlene. I want to make sure Avery is safe and if Tanner doesn't get involved, Avery's safety gets left up to... I don't even know. Wyatt Shaw? No offense, but Tanner needs to handle this.

"You don't sound worried," Tanner says.

"You're with me. Why would I worry?"

"Because Ruger is a racist nutjob."

You know it's bad when your white Texan boyfriend with questionable beliefs of his own calls someone racist.

"Exactly. Someone needs to keep him in line," I tell Tanner.

"And why should that be me and not Gideon Blackwood?"

"Tamiya told me her husband thinks he can talk to ghosts."

Tanner shrugs and mutters, "He has some evidence."

"I think you're the better option for handling Ruger."

"Yeah?" Tanner grunts. "And what about her? What are we going to do with her if she flips out and tries to run away."

"She won't. You worry too much."

Tanner looks over at me briefly. "Only because I want you safe, sugar plum."

"I'm fine."

"Let's hope so..."

It's a longer way out than I remembered to Oske's trailer and my entire body is cramped up by the time we get to the dirt road. The truck going over all the bumps wakes Zayna up. She makes a couple confused grunts before she mutters, "Hey."

"Hey," I tell her. "We won't be long on this club business and I think we can stay there overnight."

"You’ll have to sleep on the couch," Tanner says. "But you can get hot food and a good shower."

"You think Ruger has hot food out there?"

"He'd better," Tanner grumbles. "There's nothing out here."

I don't know whose fault he thinks that is... We're on the reservation. It's not like they asked to be here. But I keep my opinions to myself because honestly, I could use some food and now I'm worried about my next meal.

Damn.

We ride along the dirt road for a little while, the bumping making my bladder feel terrible, when I notice a stake rising out of the desert. You can see everything for miles around and there isn’t much of anything on the reservation as my husband points out in the most politically incorrect way possible.

“What is that?” I ask, pointing at the pole.

“I don’t know,” he says, leaning forward a little and squinting. “It’s next to Oske’s trailer though.”

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