Page 74 of Biker's Conquest: Property of Rage

“Look. We don’t need to discuss my feelings. I need tactical information on how to stop gambling.”

“Tactical information?”

“Yes. Strategies. Tips. Tricks.”

“I think it’s interesting that you avoided the topic of feelings.”

This woman doesn’t wantto know what I’m feeling right now. Desperate to get the scores for the Red Sox game. Cooking up a parlay involving the Bills quarterback Josh Allen. Tense. There are footsteps in the hallway. Getting closer. I saw her turn on some noise machine, so I know this conversation is private but…

How many people need to be in a therapist’s office at once?

“Ethan?”

“Do you have other appointments after this?”

“That’s confidential. Can we get back to your feelings?”

Three knocks poundagainst her door. She gives me a sympathetic look.

“Forgive me Ethan,” she says. And to the door. “I have an appointment! Please wait in the lobby, I’ll be with you when I’m done.”

A heavy Bostonaccent on the other side.

“Open the door, bitch.”

She jumps out of her skin. But I’m never relaxed enough to be unprepared for a moment like this. I pull my pistol out of my jacket and she freaks the fuck out.

“YOU HAVE A GUN!” She screeches.

Liberals…

“WHY DO YOU HAVE A GUN!”

That doesn’t help…

The bastardon the other side of the door kicks the door in. I slide my body in front of Dr. Yancey’s and shoot twice. She screams her fucking head off but her instincts are good, because she covers her ears. I don’t have the luxury of protecting my hearing.

“WE NEED TO GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE.”

I glancedown at the man I shot. Instinct. I did it on instinct, but I was very much right to do this. I recognize the tattoos all over his face. You have to be a real crazymotherfucker to run around with Neo-Nazi tattoos on your face in Massachusetts.

“WHAT IS GOING ON!” She shrieks. “I’m calling the police!”

I grab her arm. She looks scared. But it doesn’t matter.We need to get the fuck out of here.

“You aren’t calling the police. You’re coming with me.”

“HELP! HELP!”

I cover her mouth with one hand and throw her body against mine, silencing my therapist as she struggles against my body, fighting for her life.I’m fucked out of my mind.Once I drag her down the hallway, I hear more motorcycle engines outside. I would never be so stupid as to park the truck too close to the office. My heart races. If I go out the front, I’ll have to face whoever the fuck is out there — and most likely after me — but if I go out the back… I’ll have to drag this woman fighting for her life down a fire escape.

Or I could leave her to get shot in the goddamn head.

Not a chance.

I might bea piece of shit, but I’m no Ruger Blackwood.

Blood and sweatmix together when my feet finally touch the ground outside the therapist’s office. I have to run… I race into traffic, throwing the backdoor open to the Volvo XC60 sitting at the red light. I take my pistol out of my jacket and press it against the driver’s torso.

---