Page 7 of Biker's Prisoner: Property of Bucky

“What the fuckis wrong with that Blackwood boy?” Tanner mutters.

I wishI had answers for that. I really do.

Chapter Three

Zayna

Idon’t know who these people are, but I’m glad they didn’t send me away with the Indians. This is far more interesting. Quin, the wife, is thick as hell and overdressed for this hot ass desert excursion. She looks great, don’t get me wrong but… I guess we’re throwing grenades and possibly committing a murder.

My heart pounds with irrational excitement. Practice. Experience. It’s all going to help me get where I’m going. Quin notices my enthusiasm and I realize it’s in my best interests to fall back. The red-headed man driving the truck looks like your stereotypical Texan redneck — but much more attractive. Most redheads probably have the sense to stay out of the sun, but the husband Tanner has a burn across his cheeks, his nose, and the back of his neck.

They don’t give off the Epstein and Ghislaine vibe, so I feel more comfortable around them than… anyone else. I never trusted Vickie completely because I heard rumors she drugged a man and stole his wallet after a blowjob gone bad. The Indian girls were a little country and more racist than you would expect.

Shit, I didn’t take their land… I barely even knew about their tribe. To some, that makes me part of the problem. Tanner stopsthe truck and I peer between the couple to get a better look at the fucked up situation out there that has their attention.

My stomach tightens into that painful knot again when my gaze focuses on the swollen, rotting heads. If you don’t pay attention, they look like beach balls. When you focus on the gruesome features, biology takes over. The urge to vomit overwhelms me and it feels like fingernails are digging into the lining of my throat, making it hard to pay attention to anything except my nausea.

It’s plain disgusting.What kind of monster would kill people and cut off their heads like that?It’s excessive to say the least. But people are people, and I might be grossed out, but I want to know more.I need to.

I lean backand then I see a man.

My instant reaction is that…He’s hot.They would have printed him on those old black and white Abercrombie bags back in the day. His hotness creeps me out, like his beauty just barely covers his darkness. He has narrow, cruel looking eyes and his facial features are etched in at sharp angles. His model cheekbones make him look like he doesn’t belong in this murder scene playing out.

The man must be over six-foot-seven. Big as hell. He’s wearing a white shirt covered in some brown splatter and the rest of him looks like it’s covered in dirt. His short blond hair is in an Army haircut with just a little on the top and the sides shaved all the way down.

And those arms… Fuck, those arms are big as hell. I don’t know what the hell comes over me. Without waiting for permission from the folks that dragged me out here and withoutany knowledge about what the hell I’m getting into… I leap out of the truck and onto the dry, sandy driveway.

Oh.Fuck.

The smell hitsme like a flat-palmed slap to the face. My sinuses sting with my first breath and my body reacts before my mind does. I feel dizzy, stumbling a few steps forward. I hear the truck doors open up as my guardians follow me, but they don’t have to worry about me going too far. Three steps forward and the disgusting smell drops me to my knees with violent retching.

I hear the redheaded man say, “Jesus Christ, Ruger.”

The blond man’sboots make a loud smacking sound as he jumps to his feet. They must be snakeskin and they look strangely expensive in contrast to this dumpy ass setting – no offense to the Native Americans, I know they have been through it. Puke rises in my throat, burning its way up my esophagus. I haven’t eaten enough for anything to come out, so the painful retching just makes mefeellike I’m going to throw up water. Nothing comes out.

Tears pierce my eyes as I struggle to gain control of my breathing, so lost in my disgust that I can barely make out the conversation happening behind me. Not like it pertains much to me, anyways. The blond man grabs my cheeks and drags me from my bent over position on my knees to kneeling upright. I cry out, finally getting in a good breath of air.

His grasp forces me to look up at him. His large, bulky body blocks out the sun, casting an ominous shadow around his already terrifying body. His hands are wet and I can’t tell what the hell they’re wet with because it feels too slick to be water. Theman tilts my face up even more so we make eye contact and I nearly wet myself in terror.

I’ve never seen eyes that blue.

Or that empty.

It’slike staring into a void. He recognizes my fear and a dark smirk crosses over his face.

“Take some deep breaths,”he says. “Deep slow breaths.”

His chest moves slowly.It’s impossible not to watch him move. My survival instincts have me frozen in place, completely submitting to this man’s grasp on my cheeks.What the fuck. What the fuck.He has three heads mounted on spikes and I can tell now that the liquid on his hands is blood. Maybe entrails.

I whimper and my chest rattles around like a pigeon trapped beneath a laundry basket.

“Stop,”he says. “Stop that fussing. Take some deep breaths.”

“Okay,Ruger, get your hands off her,” Tanner says.

“We have bigger problems,” Quin hisses. “Who the fuck are these people and where the hell is…”

I can’t makeout the rest of her sentence because Ruger takes his other hand and touches my chest.

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