Page 19 of Biker's Tribute: Property of Bear

I swing the motel room door open to find Amanda sitting innocently on the bed. I don't buy her neutral, disinterested facial expression for a second. She's a therapist, and used to hiding her ‘what the fuck was that’ feelings.

"I know you disobeyed my direct command, Amanda," I address her directly, expecting her to crack at least a little. Especially when I don’t call her doctor.

"I was sitting right here," she responds, looking me directly in the eye as she lies without flinching. A slight chill runs down my spine that I don't want to admit I felt.

This little woman couldn't possibly unnerve me enough to provoke a physical response.

"Damn good liar. Maybe you should have been a lawyer."

"Have you considered going to the police might work out in your favor?"

"I used a ghost gun from Texas."

Again, no expression, but I sense she disapproves. Of course she would, being from the great liberal state of Massachusetts where you have every single ounce of the wild human spirit choked out of you in exchange for the government reaching its hand up your ass and stealing as much of your paycheck as possible for complete bullshit.

"I would like to discuss your next move... and possibly negotiate a deal for my freedom in exchange for silence. Confidentiality is my specialty and... I don't want to go to New York."

My eyes flash with anger that I quickly suppress. She doesn't care that she betrayed herself either. The arrogant expression on her little face says, "And I'd do it again too, tough guy."

It's time for me to wipe that self-confidence away and turn it into something more useful for me... Obedience.

* * *

Seven

Amanda

The beast towering over me gives me a disapproving once over.

“You’re not leaving, so give it up. And whatever boyfriend might be waiting for your call… your life in Boston is over now, so he should just give up.”

“Is that how you think love works? A woman disappears and her boyfriend just gives up on her?”

“I don’t care how petty relationships work,” he sneers. “I care about keeping my ass out of prison and more importantly keeping you alive.”

More importantly? To him? I never thought this man had any intention of keeping me alive for much longer, and I don’t even know how to react to the information aside from leaning on my programming.

“Each person is responsible for their own survival, Ethan. I can take care of myself.”

He smirks. “So no boyfriend.”

“Why does that even matter to you?”

I’m so single that the cobwebs down there must have formed a wall by now.

“Only one bed. I don’t need more dickwads chasing after me.”

“So they were chasing after you?”

“It’s just an educated guess. I don’t know what they wanted.”

It doesn’t really matter what they wanted, does it? They’re dead and Ethan committed the man’s murder so effortlessly that I still don’t know if I trust his promise (or threat) to keep me alive.

“I don’t want your help either,” he snarls. “I’m taking a big enough risk dragging you across state lines.”

I give him a knowing look.

“I’m not leaving you behind to get beheaded and killed in some Cambridge alley way.”

---