Page 20 of Biker's Tribute: Property of Bear

Jesus. Did he have to be so descriptive?

“Don’t expect me to thank you.”

He grunts and then shrugs off his jacket. Then that leather cut. He rests both of them across the back of whatever passes for an office chair in this somewhat dingy room.

Ethan shedding layers puts me on high alert. His arms look like they're going to rip through that black t-shirt and the veins running up his forearms are pumped and alert. Once he rests, he'll think straight and I can convince him to let me go.

He doesn't say anything now that he decided my fate for the night. He's crazy if he thinks I won't try to escape.

"I have a big family," he says, almost like he's trying to transport us back to the therapist's office. I listen, of course, because I still need to get to this man's weaknesses if I have a chance at escape. Physical weaknesses are out of the question. Even his Achilles heel is probably forged in steel. I've never seen a man this buff outside of the movies.

I nod, hoping to egg him on -- not like he needs my permission for anything.

"I know that women like you are wily, sneaky, and constantly operate against your best interests. I fully expect you to make an effort at escaping me, but trust me, Dr. Yancey, that would be a mistake."

"You said you wanted to keep me alive." I can't tell if I'm talking to him as a therapist or as a victim pleading for herself in a hostage negotiation. The waters are beyond muddied.

And I'm starting to think that Ethan's problem isn't exactly gambling, unless those men were after him seeking payments for a debt.

He definitely has problems, though. That much I have evidence for.

"Yes," he says. "I do. I have enough experience in my family to know that women like you are born with a death wish."

"Women like me? What does that mean?"

I feel immediately defensive. I genuinely don't know what he means. Women with advanced degrees? Women with butts that are too big? (Mallory says it's not too big, but as a conventionally attractive white woman, she has no idea the trouble this ass has caused me.)

Ethan turns red. It's the one advantage I have over my primarily Caucasian client base -- the skin tone change when they experience some type of strong emotion. Sometimes it's blushing from embarrassment, love, or even shame. But it's a tell that they can't hide.

"Black women," he spits out. I just don't like the way he says black. Honestly, it's hard to really like the way white people say the word black. It feels like some other word is about to jump out from behind the corner and hit you over the head.

I grip the sides of the bed, trying to hide any response at all from Ethan. In my office, I would grip my clipboard, or maybe take private notes. I lack any of those advantages here.

"Black women?"

I parrot his words to him as my training freezes up. Will Amanda the therapist handle this, or Amanda, the woman ready to take her earrings out when she hears some inappropriate ass mess.

"Yes," he says. "My sisters-in-law are black women and they're nothing but trouble. It's not racial. It's simply the truth."

I am shocked beyond belief. I have never heard anyone in Massachusetts speak so openly about race -- especially not like that. Was this white man raised in a barn?

"I don't appreciate this employment of racial language."

He scoffs and casts a disapproving glance my way, as if I'm being the ridiculous one, when I communicated my emotions clearly to him in very empathetic language.

"I don't appreciate having even more problems than I had before," he says, clearly taking nothing from my statement. "I fully intend to ensure you don't become more of a problem. We're sharing a bed."

My arms cross across my body defensively and automatically. My body freezes, but my mind feels like it's racing along a track. I am not okay with this.

"I'll sleep on the floor."

"So you can pitter patter out of here undetected?"

White men are crazy. Because how can a man who looks like a bear use a phrase like "pitter patter" and expect me not to laugh? He detects my amusement and Ethan's face tightens with his usual grumpiness.

"No. I have purely logical reasons. It would be a breach of client ethics."

He scoffs. "Sorry, doc, I no longer need help for my gambling."

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