Page 28 of Biker's Tribute: Property of Bear

"YOU SAID YOU WOULDN'T. FUCK! DICK! FUCK!!"

I kick him in the shoulder with as much force as I can from my boots. He turns red and the smell of piss and shit fills the air.

I turn my back on him, fixating my attention on the most important person to me right now. Amanda's face slackens with confused terror and likely a little shock at this type of violence considering her fancy, educated status.

"Bike," I snap at her. "Now."

She swallows and nods, unable to take her eyes off the man on the ground. I step between them and gesture towards the bike while the man howls. He'll be fine. Eventually.

We get to the bike and Amanda hands me a bag of peanuts.

"I thought you might get hungry."

Then, she hands me the Zyns and I look at her with confusion.

"That was your money."

"I thought you could use something."

"Hm."

I pop open the 6mg peppermint Zyns and put one in. I would argue with her more about daring to spoil me, but that bitch is still writhing and howling on the ground and I could use the relaxation.

"You can eat and ride," I tell her. "We should get out of here."

"You didn't have to do that."

"I did."

"Think she'll call the cops?"

"No. She reacted to my patches. He might be dumb enough to do it though. We should go."

Amanda gives me a quizzical look.

"You reacted without thinking."

"Did I lose therapy points?"

"That's not how it works."

I gesture to her helmet. "Bike. It's not a big deal. It's my job now. Keeping your ass out of trouble."

For the first time since I threw this woman over my shoulder, she doesn't even fight me. She sticks her snacks in my pockets for easy access and grabs the helmet herself.

If dislocating a few shoulders is all it takes to get some obedience around here, I really don't mind.

Amanda doesn't fuss, fight or grip my body hard enough to cause bruising for the rest of the drive into New York City. We don't have to go straight into Manhattan, but it's still a pain getting to the quiet neighborhood in Brooklyn where Magnum agreed to put us up.

Mom should be there already. She'll have to meet Amanda, but I won't let her get nosy and involved in the situation. Amanda is a slight liability, but she's my problem, not moms.

The address is 24 Emory Street and there's a space small enough to park a brand new Harley in a driveway alongside the house, which couldn't hold a car bigger than a Mini Cooper.

Amanda gets off the bike and stares around with the fresh-faced curiosity of a tourist. I hate cities. I don't care to make eye contact with any bums or civilians who might roam around nearby.

"Where's the Statue of Liberty?" she asks, genuine confusion registering on her face as she glances around at the brownstone homes and mid-rise apartment complexes.

"We're in Brooklyn."

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