Page 58 of Biker's Prisoner: Property of Bucky

“I trust you,” he murmurs.

He kisses me again. I love kissing him. I wish I could kiss him more instead of killing alongside him. I don’t know how the hell I’m going to feel facing Brooks Astor again.

Ruger pulls away from the kiss and I feel so exposed in front of him.

“He can’t hurt you. Never again.”

He squeezes my hand and then leads me around the side of the building. I feel my mind and body separating as I follow him. Are we seriously going to do this? Take a life? I know Ruger isn’t nervous, but that doesn’t make me feel better the way I thought it would. I wonder if he ever felt nervous, or if he has killed so many times it’s just the obvious solution to his problems.

I question everything at the worst minute possible, and when all my anxieties threaten to come out in the form of vomit, we’re right beneath Brooks Astor’s window. Ruger stops me from walking and then glances at my hips.

“I can lift you up.”

“What if the window is locked?”

“Won’t be,” Ruger says.

I guess men the size of Brooks Astor don’t worry about men — or small women — climbing through their windows. I put my hand on my pocket to keep my fingers close to the pistol handle and Ruger positions us right beneath the window. There’s a thick stone ledge — big enough that I can stand on it and lift the window open.

“Are you ready?” he asks. I nod. How could I ever be ready for this? Or anything that has happened in my crazy fucking life. At least if my life has to be this crazy, I’m not actually alone. I have this crazy ass man. Ruger…

Ruger lifts me to the window sill effortlessly. I must weigh almost 200lbs, so it shocks me how light I feel when he raises me over his head. My feet find the wide window ledge and it’s precarious, but I can stand. Brooks has the window shadepulled down, but I can hear Creed playing on the speakers loudly enough that I could rattle on the window without him hearing it. I glance down at Ruger. With his long ass arms, he can pull himself up easily. Everything about this man is both physically impressive and terrifying.

But I’m too nervous to get excited about how Brooks Astor will shit himself coming face to face with a man his own size, instead of his private school teacher, who he could easily stalk and pin down. I glance down at Ruger again, feeling too dangerously obedient to him, but knowing deep in my heart that I can’t do this without him.

That feels vulnerable. Dangerous. I have one hand on the gun and the other pressed against the window as my heart thumps. When I look down at Ruger, his eyes meet mine with nothing but pure calm. It’s hard not to feed off his calm and let it wash over me, even if this is a crime and any fear or anxiety would be justified.

“Open it,” Ruger mouths. The point of no return. I can follow this maniac and kill one of the men who hurt me, or I can jump off this window ledge and run away. I’m in Boston again. I still know people.

But out of all the choices laid out in front of me, the dark truth is that this is the path I want. I turn away from him and keep one hand in my pocket and the other to pop the window open and slide it up. A gusty Massachusetts breeze pushes the window shade like a cape and it flaps inside of Brooks’ room. I jump into the medical single and he’s there — right as Ruger said.

Brooks’ turns around in a fancy office chair with a bewildered look on his face. I watch the color drop away when he sees me. I whip the gun out and point it directly at his face. I’m not convincing. My hands are shaking and instead of words, I feel a hard lump pushing against my throat.

Say something before he runs…

Brooks moves and I find my voice.

“Stay right fucking there,” I hiss. My voice doesn’t sound like that. “Or I’ll blow your brains out in a second.”

He freezes. His ass was a couple inches above the office chair. My heart still feels like it’s going to jump out of my mouth. I don’t know where Ruger is. Thirty seconds. He said I have to hold this bastard here for thirty seconds. I can do it.

“You’re gonna go to jail,” Brooks says, his face growing calm. Serious. I never liked those kids and now this grown man looks me dead in the eye and I see nothing. No humanity. I want to pull the trigger. The desire surges in me and I can feel my hand moving and then… Ruger lands in the room behind me.

I hear his feet land and Brooks glances over my shoulder with a look like he’s going to shit himself. A woman holding a gun in his face doesn’t scare him as much as the presence of another man. I hate him. I hate him more than I realized until I found myself in this situation with absolute power. The room spins. I want to shoot him. But Ruger touches my shoulder, distracting me just enough. I lower the gun.

Brooks Astor’s shoulders relax visibly, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Ruger. He senses that will be his real problem, but he doesn’t know how bad it’s going to get. He hasn’t seen what Ruger can do.

Ruger looks all around the room with curiosity. I didn’t bother scanning my surroundings, but he seems to feel calm. He glances at Brooks’ dresser.

“You got ADD meds?” Ruger asks. I look at him, confused. What the fuck is wrong with him? We’re not here to get drugs to hawk on campus. I can’t help but take pleasure in how Brooks’ face contorts in terror at Ruger’s question. He’s trying to hide it, but I dreamed of seeing that scared shitless look on his face many times during the trial.

It’s hard to hide a smirk now that he’s stammering his way through his response to Ruger.

“Yes… If you want money and?—

“Quiet,” Ruger says. “Where are the meds.”

“Top drawer.” Brooks gestures towards the dresser and Ruger approaches it calmly, opening the top drawer and tossing out underwear until he pulls out three large orange bottles.

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