Page 57 of Biker's Prisoner: Property of Bucky

“You know what to do with that thing?”

“No.”

“When I need it, I’ll tell you to hold it up to that motherfucker’s head.”

She looks at me nervously. “You won’t need to pull the trigger.”

Again, it wouldn’t matter if she did. Not loaded. Would never give her a loaded gun — especially not right now. Zayna nods and looks a little nervous. She taps the side of her sweatpants pocket but when she catches me looking at her, she moves the gun, which then snaps me back into attention.

“Don’t wave it around. Safety is right here. Hard to budge outta place. Stick it in your pocket. We got a half mile walk up to the medical singles.”

“If we shoot him, won’t the other people in the dorm here?”

“Not gonna shoot him.”

She can tell the question irritates me because I have a plan and made mention before that I don’t enjoy having my plans questioned much. I slip the rest of the items I brought into my pocket. Thin, but surprisingly strong black rope, a roll of thick black tape, a serrated hunting knife with a six-inch blade and another smooth long blade that belonged to Doc for skinning deer.

Zayna watches me patiently conceal all the sheathed knives and then slip a black beanie over my head.

“How are we going to find our way in the dark?” She whispers.

Brooks’ dorm room rests up against Sheffield Forest — a patch of woods on the map donated by some rich old dude named Shorty Sheffield who loved trees and wanted his son to have a pine forest behind his dorm room in the 60s. Weird, but convenient, because this privilege patch of pine ultimatelyprovides perfect concealment. It’s far enough from the other dorms and campus houses that living out here is considered a luxury — at least according to the campus community’s Reddit page.

“I know the way,” I tell Zayna. I did my research. When I promised to kill another man for this woman, I had no intentions of screwing this shit up. So far, she hasn’t broken her promise to me and when this is done… I’ll have to ask her for something that she might not want to give.

I can’t screw up.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Zayna

Ifollow each of Ruger’s steps through the thick pine forests, marveling at how quietly he moves. He mentioned the Army Ranger thing, but it doesn’t become real until I follow his large, heavy body through the woods and notice he doesn’t snap a single twig. If I take the same steps Ruger does, it’s like I can have a little bit of that stalker strength. It’s hard keeping up with his stride, but I manage it and he doesn’t have to look behind him to know I’m keeping up.

The light from a campus street light filters through the trees, so we must be close to the dorm. I move my body closer to Ruger’s. He takes a few more calculated steps, scans briefly, and then pulls me against a large tree. I don’t know why we’re stopping but I follow Ruger’s lead. Is he going to back out? Tell me to stay behind in the woods? He scowls at my face then grabs my chin, forcing me to look up at him.

My heart races with instant panic. What did I do? He keeps examining me with that scowl, and then he asks me one question in an oddly calm voice. “Scared?”

“A little.”

“Nothing to fear. I would never let anything happen to you. I take care of everything that belongs to me. I have a muzzle-loader that belonged to a Blackwood from the Revolutionary War…”

He trails off, most likely realizing that talking about guns isn’t romantic in the slightest. But his thumb trailing over my lower lip definitely feels romantic. Ruger leans forward and kisses me. It’s so much softer than I expected. None of his possessive roughness. This kiss is all about comfort. He pulls away and drops his finger from my lips.

“Follow my lead,” he says. “That’s all you need to do. Trust me?”

Slowly, I nod. But I haven’t known what the hell is going on in my life since the court case in Boston. I had dreamed of justice and getting my life back, instead I got a cold harsh taste of reality. These rich, privileged white boys learn early on that they can get away with anything and that’s how their world works.

I don’t even know what world I belong to these days. Ruger and I peel away from the trees. We’re behind a large, gray stone building. It’s the only one that I can see, but we’re not isolated on a giant plain. There are a few trees sprinkled around. A maintenance shed. No foot traffic from college students. I hear distant cheers from a sports game across campus.

Ruger leads me against the side of the building and then he points around the corner of the building.

“Ground floor, middle window on that side of the building. He’s in there. I need to send you in first. Pull out the gun and tell him to sit his ass down. You just need to hold him for thirty seconds. Can you do it?”

I see now why Ruger didn’t mention his plan before. He doesn’t want me to freak out, which is exactly what I’m doing. He notices instantly.

“It’s okay,” he says. “I’ll be right behind you. I promise.”

“Ruger...”

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