Page 57 of Biker's Conquest: Property of Rage

“No,” Wyatt says, snatching the beer back. “No drinking and driving. We don’t need more problems.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

Keyshawn

Goodbye, suckers.It’s crazy how much you can get done with nothing but the shirt on your back when you’re a born survivor. I’ve been in my fair share of sticky situations and this one has been the wildest. It does help that these boys – because they couldnothave been fully grown men – weren’t exactly born criminals. I told them to show up at Deacon’s casino in one week for their payment and promised them that I would convince him not to kill them. They got me a bus ticket and from there…I’m free.

I have to get Deacon’s address from my kidnappers and the bus ticket can only get me to the nearest major city, where I won’t have any money or any means of getting directly to Deacon’s house. I don’t have his phone number memorized. The only phone number I know is my cousin’s. The parts of the bus ride when I’m not sleeping, I work out how I’m going to weasel my way back to Deacon’s…

The first thing I have to do is find a phone.

I feelten years older than my age when the bus stops. Is my back supposed to feel like this? Why do my knees feel like they’re made out of rusted metal? We’re still in the Midwest, so everyone around is friendly, but staring at me like they’ve never seen a black person before. They could also be staring at my baby bump. It’s hard to tell.

While I’m busy gawking around in search of a coffee shop, an older white woman touches my shoulder and says, “Love the hair, sis.”

Sis? I thank her and luckily, when I turn to face her and do that, I see a coffee shop.Yes.Society runs on the support of blue haired baristas. One of those Gen Z’s has to have a phone and the “mind your own business” mentality that folks in my generation don’t have at all. I hobble into the coffee shop across the street from the bus station, and while the barista doesn’t havebluehair, pink haired baristas function the same way.

“Excuse me? I’m in a tough situation and need to call my cousin for help. Could you put her number into your phone and call for me?”

“You have a number memorized?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I glance at her name tag. “Ma’am” is actually Keighleigh, which is an absolutely outrageous way to spell that name, but I have to honor it.

“Okay,” she says. “No problem. It’s not even busy here today because a social media post about the rats went viral.”

She pulls out her phone and before I can follow up about the rats, I’m telling her Amanda’s phone number. She picks up after three rings and Keighleigh leaves me alone with her phone so I can call for help.

“Hello? If this is Donald, I’m going to call the cops.”

“It’s Keyshawn.”

“OH MY GOD, YOU’RE ALIVE!”

“Um… Yes?!”

“Remind me tofirethat private investigator.”

“Okay.Amanda... I hate that I’m always down on my luck but I’m pregnant, lost in some town in southern Oklahoma, and I need to get back to my boyfriend’s house.”

“Holy shit!? What are you doing out there? Keyshawn, I swear, if it’s gambling–”

“It’s not gambling. I need to get back to my boyfriend’s house or he’s going to kill the people who kidnapped me and I need to stop him from doing that.”

“Is your boyfriend in the mob or something?”

“Worse.”

“Girl, you are crazy. How much do you need and what exactly can I do to get you out of there? Kidnapped? Do people even get kidnapped anymore?”

Fair point, girl.

“I don’t know. Maybe a car rental? I promise I can pay you back.”

“Pay me back? Are you crazy? Once you get home, just call me and give the goddamn tea. Pregnant. Kidnapped. Boyfriend. My life is boring as shit.”

“Thank you, girl. I swear… it’s just shit getting out of hand.”

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