Page 10 of Biker's Prisoner: Property of Bucky

“Where the fuck did you get that baby?” Tanner asks. I can tell he’s trying to stay calm despite the tone of his ‘where the fuck’. And does his ass really need to ask? There was only one baby the last time he saw me and it was trapped inside Darlene. Quin has it figured out. I can’t hear what she’s whispering, but the fact that she’s whispering tells me she knows.

And it scares the shit out of her. I don’t look behind me, but I sense Zayna’s presence regardless. Not what she’s doing. But she’s close. I like that.

Tanner clears his throat as I take my daughter to her changing station. She produces some of the most disgusting dumps I have ever seen in my fucking life. Or smelled.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” Tanner asks, his voice finally dropping that fucking attitude.

“Yes. I’ve been changing her since she was born.”

“When was she born?” Quin asks. She’s scared shitless. I can hear it in her voice. Poor girl. I can’t imagine being stuck with someone self-righteous like Tanner Hollingsworth. He doesn’t gamble much, barely parties… the man is almost saintly for a biker. It’s unnatural. I make it a practice to get into at least twelve bar fights a year. I never failed since I set the goal for myself.

If Taco Bell fights count too.

“She’s forty-eight hours old,” I answer. It might be true. I’ll admit I had to stay high as fuck to clean up the mess, and theshit with the heads was some methed up idea I had… I should stay away from the stuff. The shit I do on meth is clearly making Tanner worry. But I stayed up long enough to keep giving the girl fresh bottles. I was scared shitless that her lips were too blue.

But they turned pink when she was twenty hours old. I did a little more meth and… it’s been enough to keep shit running smoothly over here, but I’m uneven. Not keeping good track of time. I could use some help.

“What are you going to do about this?” Tanner asks. “I should call Wyatt.”

“This is my personal business.”

“The heads?”

“Oh yeah. Tell Wyatt about that. I nailed their patches to the stakes so you can get an ID.”

“You are so fucked up,” Tanner breathes. Genuine hatred on his breath. I bet he regrets not saddling Gideon with this mission. Giddy Giddy Gideon. He would be madder than a wolverine that accidentally mounted a porcupine.

“Yeah. A little bit.”

Everybody in the room stays quiet, like they think I’m too mentally challenged to change a diaper in anything other than complete silence. Then again, maybe they’re just scared. I couldn’t really blame them. This shit is beyond fucked up… even for me.

“Take Zayna outside,” Tanner murmurs to Quin. She doesn’t protest, which surprises me. I always thought black women ran their mouth whenever they got the chance. Juliette? Tamiya? Neither of them know when to shut up. Joslin is only quiet because she’s from the Philippines, or has the heritage in her blood or some of that shit.

Race is very real, no matter what new ideas have hit the club these days. I don’t think I could ever change my thoughts onit… I don’t know. I’ve seen too much dark shit that I can’t make sense of except looking at it the way I do.

Call it ignorant all you want. But I call it honest.

And white folksaren’t perfect either. I just don’t think we ought to feel sorry for it. Why the hell should anyone feel sorry for anything?

Why shouldwe feel anything at all?

Once the women leave,I’m done with the diaper. Tanner exhales with some mixture of relief and frustration. Whatever he wants to get off his chest won’t leave.

“I don’t needthe club involved in this.”

“Oske will be back here in two days. She’s going to lose her fucking mind if the Indians haven’t told her already…”

He’s implying that she could already be on her way armed with a shotgun or some other crazy weapon of choice. Oske has told me several times that the only thing preventing her from ending my life is opportunity and convenience. Tanner might have a point about not pissing her off.

“Then I’ll leave.”

“That’s it? You’re just going to leave this fucking mess?”

“The heads were overkill.I get it.”

I don’t get what he wants me to say. I handled my business fine and maybe I got a little artistic in the process but… it’s no different from any other work I had to do in the past. This time, the work just got a little personal. Judging by the expressionon Tanner’s face, he finds this more disgusting and bothersome than anything else.

“Are you fucked in the head?” he asks me calmly, as if using the same tone you would to talk to livestock with will make the question go down more easily.

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