Page 11 of Biker's Conquest: Property of Rage

“Shit!” she says. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Um, no. I was in a bad situation for a while, but I came into some money and finally had enough to just… leave Oklahoma.”

“ThankGod.Wait. Were you gambling?”

My heart pounds. I don’t have my father’s vices and I hate that she could think of me as somehow having that particular blend of selfishness and recklessness Deveron Yancey has.

“No,” I respond, although as my heart races with guilt for being the cousin from the wrong side of the tracks, I have to face the dark truth about what I did. Itwasgambling. It doesn’t matter if I want to admit it or not. I have some dark thread running through me too and I don’t want my cousin to know about it.

“Thank God,” she says. “No offense. Keyshawn… I left Chicago last month to open up a private practice with my homegirl in Boston.”

My ears start to ring. She’s not in Chicago. Amanda always wanted to be a therapist. She was a few years older than me, so I know she was right on track to follow throughwith that. Boston, though? That’s so far away. In fact, I don’t really know where Boston is and I don’t want to find out.

I really don’t have a family anywhere. I wasn’t born into a family and the nostalgic memories from my past were just that – memories. Those people didn’t hold onto me the way that I held onto them. I dreamed about Chicago, but I didn’t dream about finding it empty.

“What about Aunt Farah and Uncle Malcolm?” I ask desperately as my head swims. I never intended to impose on them, but my aunt, uncle and cousin have money and connections. I just wanted a job working at a front desk or something.

Amanda sounds apologetic. From her sigh, I know it’s bad news. “They moved to Florida last year due to concerns about your father. I assume you don’t talk to him.”

“I don’t.”

My chest shudders. I have no one. I’m out in the middle of Chicago with no one and a crazy man texted my phone threatening to come get me.

“Good. I’m proud of you. Shit… Keyshawn, do you have any money?” Amanda asks. My cheeks are hot with shame. I would never ask that side of the family for money. Not after growing up feeling so much shame for the way my father abused his sister’s trust and practically drained her bank account while she was trying to help him get back on his feet.

“Yes. I have… a few thousand dollars.”

“Good,” she says. “That’s good.”

The beat of silence makes me feel like shit. Like I didn’t think this through, which obviously I didn’t. I saw an opportunity and I took it. But I don’t want to be down for long.

“I need help getting a job. I think. Like at a front desk or something.”

“It’s too bad you’re not in Boston,” she says. “Because wecould use a front desk person. I’m gonna be working with some crazy clients.”

Crazy like Rage? The thought pops into my head and I push it back down. I can’t stop myself from reacting that way as badly as I want to. He got into my head with that paddle. With the pain. With the way he held me afterwards and treated me like I was special.

I can’t let the fact that he found my phone number and texted me allow me to forget that what happened to me was absolutely not normal. Something a therapist might be able to help me with. Not like I need Amanda all up in my business.

“It sounds interesting,” I mutter. “Do you ever deal with people who have dark urges?”

“Like what type?”

“Never mind. Dumb question.”

“No, not a dumb question. I’m a therapist. I love psychology.”

“I just saw a documentary on the plane ride over here,” I say, lying through my teeth but coming across as oddly believable. “It made me want to ask some questions, that’s all.”

“What was it about?”

“It’s kind of weird…”

“Keyshawn. I’m a therapist. And your cousin. And honestly, we haven’t been in touch, so let’s talk.”

She uses that magic therapist voice on me that makes me want to open up. I can only open up to her part way. I have to disguise my intent to go through with asking the question.

“It was about men who get off on hurting women.”

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