Page 55 of Biker's Prisoner: Property of Bucky

Zayna and I drive out to the East Coast a couple weeks later, strapping my Indian Scout down in the truck bed so I can have her once we’re there. We have one week in Boston – plenty of time for me to kill the first two before waiting for Tamiya’s final word on Grant Fairfax’s location. He’s the only one of the bastards who hurt Zayna smart enough to leave Boston.

By the time I bring Eden to Tamiya and Gideon to look after, Tamiya has some clue of what I’m up to. She meets Zayna for the first time and exclaims, “Well, that explains it,” while giving me one of the dirtiest looks imaginable. Then she gives me a long lecture that “wasn’t an attack” about staying out of trouble while Zayna follows Gideon to their baby room where he set up a crib for Eden.

Like Doc, I can count on Gideon for everything. My cousin Zebulon just got back in town from his job for the club, so I have him on dog-sitting duty. Tamiya doesn’t get along with Zeus due to an incident with a pot roast that was entirely Tamiya’s fault.

Leaving my truck at Gideon’s place, we ride my Indian Scout for the rest of the trip. Zayna clawed my back like a terrified bobcat the first day of the drive on my bike, so for the next couple of days I have to make lots of promises. It’s my fault forputting the tattoo on her ass. The bike’s vibrations make the pain even worse, but there was no way in hell I planned on doing this without my assurances.

What assurances I don’t get now, I’ll get later…

We spendthree nights on the road to Boston, taking in every raw dirty inch of the Midwest. I take the drive a lot faster when I’m alone and when I have the slightest bit of meth to keep my head on straight, so this drive is taking longer than it usually does. Just when we’re past the most boring highways, we hit the freeway in Pennsylvania. It’s fucked out here. Boring. Dead raccoons every two miles. I can’t wait to get back to the cabin with Zayna. To have her to myself forever…

Every motel we stop at, I fuck her until I can't anymore. I never wanted so much sex in my life and I feel... unhinged. Crazier than normal. When we're done, Zayna falls asleep, but I can't. She keeps me up with the same sledgehammer against my unconsciousness that I get from crystal. I can't stop turning over plans to kill the first asshole rapist and when my mind wanders, I go somewhere much darker.

Zayna's ex-boyfriend. The innocent one – except for the fact that he touched Zayna, which means I don’t want him alive. Tamiya didn't have to do her research for me there. I looked him up myself and it was extra easy to find him because he seems to be one of those men who shares every victory with the world. Huge mistake, motherfucker.

Zayna wants revenge. I want something more. Some point soon, that's gonna be a problem.

Our first morning in Boston, I sense a change in her. Not entirely a bad one. She won't move from her position in my arms in the morning and when I kiss her trying to get her awake, she just pushes her ass back against my crotch.

It's normal to get anxious on game day. I nibble on Zayna's neck and eventually tease her awake.

"Nervous?"

"No," she lies through her teeth. But I love her for it. That stubbornness just makes everything about her more... exciting. She just strikes that perfect balance.

"It won't be as bad as you think."

Finally, she turns to face me, moving more than she has the entire morning. "How can you say that?"

"Because I killed before," I tell her. "And got away with it."

I expect her to pull away from me. Any sane woman who saw me with blood on my hands would at least flinch. Zayna leans forward, presenting her lips for me to kiss.

"We can make this the last time," she says, resting her hands against my chest and kissing me back. I would do anything for her. Anything. And maybe she knows it. Zayna pushes me onto my back and we make love slowly.

I love watching her fuck herself with messy bedhead bouncing everywhere and her soft flesh moving so sexily as she impales herself on my dick. It doesn't take long for me to cum along with her. After sex, Zayna brings me coffee... Mission accomplished.

I try to calm her agitation throughout the day since our hunt begins at night. She interrupts our Jerry Springer reruns binge watch with the occasional question about the job -- questions a woman doesn't need to be asking, honestly.

"Shouldn't we do surveillance?" she asks.

"Been planning this. Been done."

"But we just got here."

"Princess..." I whisper. "Don't you want to watch that man get his ass beat with a metal chair?"

"Yes," Zayna says. And I turn up the volume to drown out her worries.

In the evening,Zayna gets dressed up like a ninja and waits for me to be ready. She's ready a couple hours early and tries not to act annoyed that I polish off a couple Labatts Blue’s before we need to leave. I get up at just the right time -- not earlier, and Zayna springs to her feet, ready to throw the motel door open before I get the keys to my bike.

"I didn't realize murder got you amped up like this..." I mutter as I search my sleeveless cut for my keys and experience a painful flash of regret that I can't use Zayna's amped up energy to drag her into bed again for more sex.

"I'm not excited," she says. She rolls her tongue around the front of her mouth and then, she confesses. At least her words have the somber tone of a confession.

"I'm scared."

"Of what? Prison?"

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