Page 16 of Biker's Tribute: Property of Bear

Ethan shrugs off his jacket, revealing a sleeveless black leather motorcycle cut with patches all over it. Why does he look even bigger with the jacket off? His arms bulge through his black t-shirt and contrasted against his pale, flushed skin, I can see blue veins creeping up his forearm and around his biceps.

My pussy does an uncomfortable and totally inappropriate throb. My period of involuntary celibacy has turned me into a harlot. I couldn’t look away from him now if I wanted to. Mostly because I’m collecting evidence, not admiring how his broad, muscular chest tapers into a narrow waist.His abs must be incredible.

I caught a glimpse of the top patch beneath his jacket in my office, but he has more than a single patch on that thing, and I can’t read them all while trying to turn over in my head a way to get out of this situation. I don’t know anything about biker gangs. I fell asleep during the first episode of Sons of Anarchy and always found Jax Teller too skinny for my tastes. I prefer football players with big round butts.

Ethan’s thick, dark brown eyebrows furrow together briefly, then his face relaxes, eyes gleaming. Something happened in that brain of his. You learn how to read your clients and those “aha” moments. He runs his tongue over his lips and chuckles, whispering an unintelligible word that sounds like “Dara.”

“Excuse me?”

“Do you know a man named Darragh Murray?” he asks me.

“A man named Dara?”

Ethan shrugs. “So you don’t know him?”

His disappointment threatens to turn into something less manageable. I offer what information I can, but I would definitely remember meeting a man named Darragh.

“My landlord’s last name is Murray. I don’t know if they’re related.”

Ethan’s smirk grows into a smile. I don’t know how my landlord’s last name gets him any closer to the truth about anything. But his smile gives way to more tempered relief.

“This is a Murray problem.”

“Meaning?”

“I’m glad we didn’t go to the cops.”

I can’t say I share his sentiment.

“Great,” I answer calmly. “You solved the case.”

I try to use my calm, peaceful “therapist voice” – the one you use to talk your patient down from a ledge. The ledge is metaphorical for most of my clients. Alcohol provokes them to call their dad and tell him he’s a major asshole. They quit their jobs because of a big gambling win after sending a ‘fuck you’ email to the boss, then the Chiefs crap out and they’re back in the hole. That type of ledge.

The stakes are higher here. I’m trapped in a confined space with this man and his answers haven’t moved him towards the door to let me go. There’s only one bed in this room, with not enough room for me to sleep underneath it. What type of motel doesn’t have a pull out couch? I’m willing to risk the generations of cum stains not to sleep next to this beast.

“No,” he says, then as if reading my mind. “You’re staying here tonight. It’s the safest choice.”

“You get to decide that?”

“Yes.”

The smile disappears. “I have to make a phone call. Wait here. No listening at the door.”

My face must say “or what?” Because he scowls and follows up with, “Or… you will seriously regret your disobedience.” The man even points his finger at me like an angry school teacher. If I weren’t under physical threat, I wouldneverlet that slide.

Ethan lets the threat linger, touches the front pocket of his faded black jeans with his cellphone and walks out of the motel room, shutting the door aggressively and then thudding against it. How can he expect me not to listen in? I’m a therapist, of course I’m nosy.

My job is minding other people’s business and helping them to solve their problems. I made nosiness a profession, so when he slides his back down to the ground and sits against the door to trap me inside and make his phone call, I get up from my seat on the bed and tiptoe towards the door.

* * *

Six

Ethan

Idon’t want Amanda to stop fearing me because I have to call my mother. This call must happen in private, especially because if I stay near that woman for another minute, I’ll lose control over myself. Gamblers have strong impulses that we often act on and my impulses regarding Amanda when there’s a bed in the room are just plain wrong.

My heart pounds, hoping I get to mom in time. She carries regardless of what state we’re in. Her latest gun purchase was a Nightmare Before Christmas themed Glock 43X and trust me, mom knows how to use it…

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