Page 59 of Biker's Prisoner: Property of Bucky

Brooks stares at him. Terrified. Confused. He gives me a quick glance, but it’s hard for him to keep his eyes off the biker rifling through his things. I become almost invisible, which tempts me to raise that gun to Brooks’ head and do something reckless. My emotions are stronger than I thought and I feel the power of the situation rushing to my head…

Ruger chuckles as he shakes the third bottle.

“You got a lot better than ADD meds,” Ruger says. He shoves one of the orange bottles into his pocket and he opens up a bottle with white pills. Brooks looks at him with a confused expression. Ruger cannot be serious about getting high right now…

I watch him with almost as much confusion as Brooks Astor has. Ruger pours out ten pills and walks over to Brooks with a firm, commanding step.

“Put your hand out.”

Brooks puts his hand out. It’s shaking. Pleasure surges in my chest. He’s afraid. I never got to see a flicker of fear on that fucking bastard’s face. Throughout the entire trial, he knew he would get away with what he did to me. But not anymore. Once he has the necessary pills, Ruger shoves the half-emptied bottle into his pocket. His gaze never leaves Brooks for a second, although if Brooks tried, I firmly believe Ruger could easily snap his neck in half.

“Swallow,” Ruger snarls.

Brooks looks at his hand and then at Ruger. “It’s too much.”

“I fucking know that you stupid bastard,” Ruger snarls, his tone and body language shifting in a terrifying instant at Brooks resistance.

“Take the pills or I’ll hold your neck and let Zayna shove each one down your fucking throat.”

Brooks puts one pill on the tip of his tongue. Ruger’s eyes flicker with rage. That wasn’t what Ruger asked him to do. He walks over to Brooks and grabs his neck so hard that Brooks yelps. The pills fly onto the ground. I don’t need Ruger’s instructions to pick them up. He cranks Brooks mouth open and he starts really freaking out. Shaking and whimpering in fear as Ruger just breathes slowly. Soundlessly.

I get all the pills and he tightens his grip on Brooks neck. Watching any other human in pain would make me want to stop, but watching this just makes me want to shove the pills in Brooks mouth. It’s rage that I can’t let myself feel on my own. Rage I never allowed myself because I was so busy surviving a horrific crime that was plastered all over the local news.

PRIVATE SCHOOL TEACHER RAPED, ALLEGEDLY.

PREP SCHOOL BOYS ACQUITTED IN RAPE TRIAL

THE LIAR: PRIVATE SCHOOL TEACHER EXPOSED

The headlines flashthrough my head. I had forgotten. I pushed the pain aside. Buried it with new pain. I sought out worse situations to push it all out of my mind and now… it all comes rushing back. My hands shake as I approach Brooks Astor’s open mouth. Ruger squeezes the sides of his jaw to keep it open.

Again, I don’t wait for his permission. I empty the pills into Brooks’ mouth like I’m feeding a bird. He writhes and fights against his chair and Ruger’s grip.

“Those pills fall out, I’ll spit in your fucking mouth,” Ruger snarls. Then he uses his other hand to clamp Brooks’ mouth shut and force him to swallow. He does. Then he retches violently as if trying to make himself throw up. Plus, he’s dry swallowing pills. But Ruger keeps his hands pressed to Brooks’ mouth. Forcing him to be quiet.

Forcing him to swallow.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Ruger

The boy sits back in the chair, fear taking its time to give way to the drugs we just shoved down his throat. I wipe the bottle clean. Zayna is smart enough not to touch anything, but I should have some concerns about that mess of curly hair she has. I’m being too careful. Nobody will suspect anything but a suicide. It’s not that uncommon with student athletes. They pop open some of their medication and take the pressure off. Young Brooks just took a little too many pills. He was tired. He didn’t think it would kill him.

Zayna stays close to me. She gives me a look as if to ask, “How long is it going to take?”

Long enough that it’s going to make her squirm. I stretch my arm out to Zayna to draw her closer to me, keeping my pistol drawn and pointed at Brooks Astor in his desk chair — the last place he’s ever going to sit. Zayna edges closer to me slowly, too scared to stop looking at Brooks. She nestles close to me. I have to fight the urge to kiss her.

Don’t want to take my eyes off the dying man. Zayna shivers as she draws close to me. I’ve become well acquainted with her curves. The way her tits move with each breath. It’s impossiblenot to be hard around her, even if the only sight I’m taking in is the man dying in front of me.

Unlike with the other deaths, after this one, I’ll have a woman to crawl into bed with and forget the brutality of taking another soul from this world. Yet another. Brooks’ heavy breathing gives way and some last words take shape in his mouth before it gets too heavy.

“You’re fucked up,” he says. “You’re going to go to prison.”

“Don’t care,” I tell him. “Now pipe down.”

Last wordsnobody gives a fuck about. And I don’t want to hear any more.

“What’s the point?I’m already dead,” he says. “I could just keep talking…”

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