Page 10 of Biker's Conquest: Property of Rage

Keyshawn: I thought this was a one time thing.

Unknown Number: So did I.

Unknown Number: Location on.

Keyshawn: I can’t.

Unknown Number: I will keep you tied up for the number of days it takes me to find you. Be careful.

I block his number.Texting him back at all proves I’m out of my fucking mind.Why did I text the man who beat my ass like that?My hands are shaking when I set my phone down and I have to calm down for a minute before I can laugh at myself for the overreaction. Girl, what is he going to do, jump through the phone? I can’t stop my heart from racing.

I can’t stop images from my night with him from flashing into my head. I want to bury every part of it, but I just can’t. If I don’t pass out now, I will later when I think of him again. I barely slept and I don’t want to sleep. I never had an experience like that in my life.

The sex part was crazy.I knew what to expect with that.

It’swhat happened after that I can’t get out of my head. The way he held me and carried me to his fancy ass bathroom. He was quiet. Wordlessly, he set me on the cool tiles. It hurt to put pressure on my ass, but the cooling sensation against my butt and pussy was… oddly soothing.He knew what he was doing.

He filled the bath up with a gentle soap and then he carried me in. I tried to hide my pain from him, but the soap stung my bruises too much for me to hide it. I watched him turn red beneath the warm bathroom lights and he gently washed me clean.

“I clearly hurt you,” he says. “I know my desires are sick.”

I couldn’t believethat I came. This man spanked me and barely fucked me, but I came. I didn’t want to tell him that at the time, but I can acknowledge the truth in private. Which is exactly why I have to block him. I came on his dick. I let him wash me, and braid my hair, and then he held me against his chest in bed for exactly thirty minutes before we finished our transaction.

He was hard the entire time and I sensed that he was holding back from his true desires – that he wanted me again.

I don’t need to be replying to his text messages. I need to block his number. A man like that will move on to a new game soon. It’s just a sex fantasy that he wants to reenact with any warm body. I can’t let it get in my head. I can’t convince myself to unblock him and call that number.

That would be crazy. Getting him out of my head works for about an hour. I need to call a professional about this. It’s the first person I promised myself I would call if I ever got the fuck out of Oklahoma. I haven’t heard from her in years. I don’t blame her for wanting nothing to do with my dad… but I wish she kept in touch with me more.

My cousin grew up in the lap of luxury. She was everything I wanted to be when I grew up – tall, dark-skinned, absolutely beautiful enough to be cast in a BET movie or something. I was never anything special – and my family was a damn mess. I can’t let pride get the better of me now. I just landed in Chicago and I need a job. Who else am I going to call on but family?

It feels like it takes Amanda an hour to answer. It can’t be more than a few rings. I have to suppress my hurt feelings when she clearly doesn’t recognize the number.

“Hello?” she says, sounding impatient. “Listen, if you’re the Hinge guy, you can keep the thong. I’m not going back to a house where a pet lizard shits in the bed.”

Okay. I’ll have to ask her about that later. I interrupt before she says anything else.

“It’s Keyshawn. Not the Hinge guy.” In case she forgot me completely. “Keyshawn Yancey.”

“OH MY GOD. You’re alive?!”

“...Yes.”

“I swear, Uncle Deveron is a lying ass snake.”

My father? Yes.

“What did he do?”

“He got money from meandmy parents to buy you a coffin for your funeral.”

“I’m not dead.”

“Girl, I know!” she says. “Don’t you know how to make a Facebook post?”

What would I be reporting on Facebook? My shitty life? My shitty job? I deleted that stuff at some point in high school. I never liked or won any popularity contests and that’s all social media seemed like to me. But I’m alive, and Amanda seems happy to hear from me.

“I’m in Chicago.”

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