Page 2 of Biker's Prisoner: Property of Bucky

“All finished.Can I watch Real Housewives?”

She’s beeninto Potomac lately — constantly bitching that the “Indian bitch” as she calls Oske — doesn’t have a 4K television. Considering the way I’ve done her ass up, you would think her concerns would be a lot bigger than the pixels on her television.

“What does the baby want?” I ask her.

“The baby wants to fart,” Darlene says. Then, she farts.

It feelslike a sign from God. Spiritual punctuation ending one chapter of my life and starting up another. I grab the bowl from Darlene and take it out to the sink. Having the Shaw boys in here was like living with a bunch of scrappy hairy dogs. All they do is scheme and gamble. Once I clean the bowl and spoon, I dry it and put it away. Wipe down the sink. Squeeze out the sponge.

Life without routine will drive you crazy.

I openthe kitchen drawer with all Oske’s implements. True to her heritage, the crazy bitch has every tool you could possibly need to skin a deer. Never seen a deer out here on thereservation but Oske took it personally when I asked her if she ever used those knives on a dog. It’s just a question.

Just a fucking question. Those folks are just damned sensitive — that’s what it is.

I setup all the knives and scalpels. Towels. There’s going to be a lot of blood. Warm water. Dry cloth for my hands. Soap. I feel like a fucking midwife by the time I have it all together. Ain’t no typical midwifing about to happen. I clear off the kitchen table, grimacing as I move aside a hunting knife, a vape pen and two scratch-off tickets, setting them on the kitchen counter.

I recognize the Walmart dining table’s flimsy materials once I clear it off. Solid, sturdy wood would give me more security that Darlene won’t break the table. I’ll burn the table once I’m done, so I’ll have to get Oske a new one. Doesn’t matter.

I get disability checks from the Army. Gideon acts like he’s the only Army Ranger… He isn’t. I served my country like all the real men in our family. Like Gideon. Like Doc. Like the twins. My body stiffens with resolve as I think about Jairus and Jotham laid out in the desert like that. Not after the shit we went through.

Jotham and I were on the same squad. Went by Joe in the Army, led prayers for every meal… He didn’t deserve to die. But Darlene does. For her betrayal. For what she stands for. For making me look like a fucking fool.

It would be easierif I could drug her, but I don’t have the shit I need. I could get it from Anna if I wasn’t so worried about her asking too many questions or worse — getting in my way.

I wipethe table down with a white cloth and bleach before I take my shirt off. Not official medical procedure, but since I have toburn everything I’m wearing, I might as well save what I can. Darlene, impatient because I haven’t put her fucking show on, starts singing Dolly Parton from the back room.

She knows I hate Dolly Parton. Nothing against the woman personally. Just bad memories from my tour of duty. Bad fucking memories. It’s like there’s some small part of her that knows what I’m planning and wants to put me on edge.

My bloodlust is strongerthan my shell shock today. It’s a nice day. A good day to die, a good day to be born…

I walkto the far end of the trailer and open the door to Darlene’s room. She rolls her eyes petulantly.

“Finally,” she says. “Took your ass long enough. I want the remote.”

“We’re gonna watch in the living room.”

Her eyes lightup and she holds up her wrist so I can untie her.

“Yes.Fucking finally. I knew you would get over it.”

I untieher and help her to her feet. She isn’t steady. Good. That will make what I have to do a lot fucking easier.

Darlene feels a bit light,which makes me nervous. Turns out all Southpaw’s stupid ass lectures had a point to them. My online education said Darlene has to weigh a certain amount for the child to have a higher likelihood of survival.

“This Indian girl doesn’t care much for decoration. What are those fucking branches on the wall?”

Normally, I would answer her, but the last time I said something disrespectful in front of those branches, I had a nightmare. Oske called me a superstitious racist when I told her about my dreams, but I don’t insult her weird Native American crap anymore.

“Shut the hell up, Darlene.”

“You sure know how to make a woman wet.”

We walk downthe long hall to the open concept living room, kitchen, and dining room where I have my tools prepared.

Darlene doesn’t notice the strange way I have everything laid out. Her eyes fixate on Oske’s television — which Ethan bought for her so he could watch NCAA Water Polo in 4K while he was staying here. He lost $2,000 on the University of Wisconsin. Dumbass. What kind of idiot bets that much money on a swim team filled with black people?

Darlene gets a little too far out of reach with her excitement for the television and my hand juts out, wrapping around her wrist. Game time. I have to keep her cortisol as low as possible.

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