Page 39 of Biker's Prisoner: Property of Bucky

I needto make a phone call.

I don’t always smoke,but tonight, I need an American Spirit. I pull one out of my hiding spot and sit on the front porch steps that I made myself to call the only person who might be able to help me with Zayna…

Chapter Eighteen

Tamiya

Ilet my phone go to voicemail twice before Gideon presses it against my ear.

“Answer it,” he grunts. “He won’t stop calling.”

Trust Ruger to interrupt our post-pregnancy sex cuddle with his crazy ass…

“Don’t you even care why your weird ass cousin is callingme?”

“Answer,” Gideon grunts. Then my shady ass husband opens one blue eye and says. “Put it on speaker.”

One of the worst things about white men is how they pretend not to like gossiping and spilling tea. I answer and put it on speaker.

“Ruger. What do you want?”

“Hey, Tamiya. Having a good night?”

Gideon sits up, because his ass is way too possessive to hear a man ask me a question without both his eyes snapping open.

“Ruger, baby. We are not friends.”

Gideon rests his hand on my thigh. Men. I stay quiet, hoping that Ruger quickly reveals his intentions so that I can head back to bed. He just laughs.

“I thought we were friends.”

“Boy, why are you calling me?”

Gideon nods approvingly at my tone.

“I need you to investigate someone…”

I need to investigate Ruger’s shady ass. I know what he did to Darlene out there in that trailer. Disturbing. I mean… The woman had racist tattoos all over her body, so I’m not losing much sleep over it. But Ruger’s presence and his general existence disturbs my spirit.

“A woman,” Ruger finishes after a long pause, pregnant with meaning. Almost more pregnant than my third-trimester ass…

I swing my legs out of bed. Because Iama private investigator at heart and I want to know what woman Ruger could possibly have any interest in. I honestly wouldn’t have pegged him as being able to identify women as people. I assumed Ruger thought we were objects – and I know he has even worse thoughts of black women specifically.

“What woman? You know a woman?”

Ruger coughs a little. “Yes.”

“What woman?”

I sound impatient, which won’t work out in my favor if I have to withhold and pretend like I’m not going to do this job.

“Her name is Zayna.”

“Is she a Muslim?” Gideon barks out. I slam my hand over his mouth.

“What?” Ruger grunts.

“Your cousin is sleep talking,” I lie through my teeth while glaring at my dumb ass husband. “Keep telling me about Zayna. Last name?”

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