Page 33 of Biker's Tribute: Property of Bear

He gets up and points at me with a ruthless and honestly extremely rude finger.

"You. Wait for me in the bedroom. I need to speak to my mother alone."

I glance at Deb to say goodbye. She shakes her head with disappointment at Ethan, but she doesn't fight him. I can't blame her. That man is as hard-headed as a weathered bull.

"Good night, Deb. It was nice meeting you."

"Enough," Ethan growls at me. "Just go wait and don't cause more trouble."

More trouble? I didn't even do anything. I cast a brutal glare at Ethan, which he ignores for his phone, and I walk to our bedroom quietly preparing my psychological attack on "Bear", who must be out of his cracker jack mind if he thinks I'll remain his captive... for years.

I rapidly construct a psychological profile of Ethan while he's gone. He didn't leave me with entertainment, and I fully plan on starting an argument when he gets back here, so I have the argument in my head first. It's normal and it's healthy.

First, I know he loves his mother and that they're strongly attached. He might be the firstborn son based on the way she talks about him. He carries shame about his gambling addiction, but neither shame nor love stops his impulses. Not like they would for that sort of addiction...

Second, he's been alone for a long time. His mother carried that desperation about him which a manwhore's mother never possesses. I've seen enough in my therapeutic career, the mother of a manwhore is just about tired of meeting other women. Deb couldn't wait to tell me all the reasons I should give her son a chance.

Romance is the last thing on my mind when I'm in a room with Ethan. He's rude. He might have a very sexy physique, but that doesn't make up for the way he carries himself like a total asshole. The nicest thing he's done is... well, I can't forget the gas station.

It was crazy as fuck and totally unhinged, but I felt strangely safe knowing that he would dislocate the shoulder of any man who touched me. I've never had that level of physical safety in my life, and that feeling could be as addictive as any drug.

But maybe that's my ticket out of here. Romance. His loneliness. His relationship with his mom. The gambling. If I deploy some manipulative cocktail including these elements... I can earn my freedom by striking a deal that Ethan can't refuse. A wager, perhaps. If he loves gambling so much, I'll take his dopamine receptors for a spin and maybe then I won't feel so damn powerless here.

His conversation with his mother is long enough that the sun sets completely. The window to our bedroom looks down on a quiet (by city standards) residential street. I can hear sirens in the distance and what sounds like... Trinidadian steel pan. The second sound might be my imagination, but maybe it's possible in Brooklyn. I don't know much about this area.

When Ethan opens the door, he just has his black t-shirt on and jeans. He finally took his boots off instead of stomping mud around the house with them.

"You're not asleep," he says to me with visible disappointment.

"If I'm such a burden, I could go to Boston... with your mom. Like her caretaker or something."

"You're not leaving my sight. So give it up."

I bury my internal reaction to his brutish response. This man deserves a slap, but I have to muster up immense patience to deal with him instead.

"I seem to annoy the hell out of you, so what's the point in keeping me around."

"Duty."

"I have a duty to myself and you have more important duties than looking after me."

He scoffs. "Not really. I could still use you..."

I pause, waiting for him to finish that thought and praying that he doesn't say anything unhinged and dirty.

"I'm still gambling."

That was obvious.

"I see."

"I want to stop. I need you to fix me."

That's not how this works... But I see an opportunity to make a deal with Ethan that I didn't have before, so I throw Dr. Yancey out the window and do what Amanda would do — survive.

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Twelve

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