Page 63 of Biker's Prisoner: Property of Bucky

“I think we could do it,” he says. “You would be a good mama.”

I flip over to face him, squirming closer to him afterwards to capture as much of his warmth as possible.

“Ruger,” I whisper, letting my fingers trace his bare chest. He has the Jack of Spades tattooed on the right side of his ribs. I let my fingers trace the outline of the card. Every inch of this man is so unfairly beautiful. He can hide it with those biker clothes or sweatpants. But not in bed, where I can feel the muscles and the scars. I can tell some are from bullets but others are from the wrong end of a belt. “We can’t have a baby.”

I don’t even soundlike I believe myself. I am at the highest risk for having a baby since… well, since the crime. I haven’t had much interest in men and I’ve done what I can to avoid them. This being the man whose bed I just fell into concerns me. I met him with blood on his hands and now we’re talking about a baby?

Has life fucked me up that much?

Ruger takes my hand and presses it to his chest.

“I know you’re thinking about the bad shit,” he says. “I’ve been covered in it my whole life. But we could be different.”

“We’re murderers, Ruger,” I whisper, as if saying it quietly will make a difference. We’re alone in his friend’s bedroom, tucked well away from the world.

“Yes,” he says. “But we can leave all that in the past and start new. Sleep on it, baby. We’ll discuss it tomorrow.”

I thought we were going to kill again tomorrow and now, I’m not sure which one makes me more nervous.

“We already have a baby,” I venture carefully.

Ruger laughs. “I miss Eden too. But I want a baby with you and me.”

It sounds strangely naive.Strangely romantic. It’s that same hidden softness that drew me to this bloody monster in the first place. And I hate that very badly in the depths of my soul, I want to say yes. I want to give him everything — even if it makes no sense.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Ethan

My brother, the head of the Rebel Barbarians Motorcycle Club, sent us out on a mission to eliminate the rest of the living members of the Midnight S.S. Once they’re gone, we have no more enemies out West, no more enemies chasing after Oske’s land that partly belongs to us.Shaw land.I don’t care too much about the land situation, but I hate having to step out of my routine.

I report the good news to Wyatt and stay at mom’s house nearby instead of getting a head start on Boston. I donotwant to catch Ruger Blackwood in my apartment. I warned him not to fuck in my bed, but I know Ruger. It would have been just as good if I issued him a decreemandatinghe fuck in my bed. I’ll have to throw it out.

Mom loves having me over at her second home in Springfield. It’s her “party house” – lots of wine and lots of Real Housewives on the television. She makes me feel like a kid again, the rare times I visit. It’s hard seeing her without dad. It’s like she’s missing a piece of her. I don’t think a woman will ever love me the way mom loved dad. Her kitchen is stuck in 2006 – Tuscan themed. There are formica brown quartz countertops, a kitchen island, and grapes painted on the walls. A little woodensign that says “it’s wine o’clock”. The smell of mom’s kitchen reminds me of high school.

The half-finished bottle of wine on the kitchen island reminds me of high school even more. I’m glad Tylee isn’t sitting at the dining room table bitching over basic fucking algebra. I don’t miss her whining. Mom cooks steak whenever I visit. Tonight, the steak and wine combination smells incredible.

I place a few bets on my phone and shove it into my pocket as the little burst of relief floods my brain. Won my bet on the German pretzel cutting competition, but lost the Canadian College Curling finals.Fuck.At least I have enough in the account to bet some more.

“Ethan. When are you going to get married?”

“Can you at least wait until we finish the first bottle of wine?”

“Wyatt got married. Owen got married. What’s wrong with you? Your dad always said you were the most handsome.”

“Mom…”

I take my flask out of my cut. If I’m going to hear another lecture about my relationship status, I’ll need something stronger than my mom’s fancy ass Finger Lakes wine from that weekend trip I sent her on last month. Whiskey burns down my throat, but unfortunately, I’m just face to face with mom once I put the flask down.

“I’m serious,” she says, raising her plucked eyebrows and giving me her most serious sea-green stare. Mom… She was a born and raised biker chick. Dad kept his old lady by his side with a pistol in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Mom always wanted him – even when he was married to someone else. She never hid that from us, which made dad clear his throat disapprovingly in her direction a few times. Mom wasn’t ever afraid of him.

She was too much of a badass. She quit smoking when we were kids, but once in a while, she misses them and has one out on the porch.

“Any woman who wants to be a part of this life is crazy. Unlike dad, Wyatt, or Owen, I have no desire for a crazy woman.”

“Then find a boring woman. Lots of women hang around the club house. Find a nice Oklahoma girl and settle down.”

I bristle. Sleeping in a cold bed every night might be hard, but putting up with the personality of an unbuttered slice of bread would be worse. Wyatt and Owen might have tied themselves to women with a screw loose, but at least they won’t be bored.

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