Page 47 of Biker's Tribute: Property of Bear

Amanda remains asleep when I leave the bedroom and check my phone for updates. I have text messages from Wyatt and Owen I've ignored for days. I walk out towards the kitchen to find mom curled up on the sofa, sleeping next to a glass of white wine she shouldn't have had…

I take the half-finished glass over to the sink and wash it up for her before Darragh Murray calls to tell me what the mob found out in Boston.

It's bad news.

News bad enough that he'll have to tell Wyatt. News bad enough to screw the entire club if we don't act now.

While Amanda sleeps, I slip out to the hallway so I can call my brother and get ahead of the bad news. Wyatt picks up after only a couple rings and he doesn’t sound that tired.

“I’m up with the kid,” he answers, getting straight into business without pleasantries. “Darragh messaged me the bad news.”

“Why would someonepretendto be part of a gang of racist bikers?”

“I don’t know. Do you have any ideas? Owe anyone money?”

“No.”

“I’ll have to get Tamiya on the case, then. Or someone. We’ll work it out with the Irish.”

“Great,” I mutter. “More mobsters in our business.”

“Better mobsters than Nazi bikers,” Wyatt points out before catching himself and muttering a tamer version of the F-word. “Anna doesn’t want me talking about club business in front of the baby.”

“Does the baby understand?”

“He might one day,” Wyatt replies. Before our conversation can devolve into an argument, his little one starts fussing and he has to hang up to handle his dad duties. I have duties too… Keeping Amanda safe. And warm. She doesn’t wake up as I slide back into the bed. Knowing she won’t wake up at this point, I let my arms fall naturally around her body.

Her breathing is so gentle and slow. I press my nose into her hair and hold her close to me as I fall asleep. Just to make sure she doesn’t run away. Of course.

* * *

Seventeen

Amanda

Saying goodbye to Deb is the hardest part of leaving New York City. I don't care for Brooklyn. I mean... I haven't exactly been outside, so no hate to Brooklyn. It's just captivity getting to me. I ask Ethan if I can contact Mallory again but he gets grouchy and says it's too dangerous.

Want to know what's not too dangerous according to this psychotic beast? Getting on the motorcycle again and riding for twenty hours to get to Joplin, Missouri.

He acts like nothing happened between us the previous night. He's all business in the morning, watching me shower with a cold, purposeful stare. He still scrutinizes my body in a way that terrifies me, but he doesn't say anything or touch me. When I watch him shower and try to engage him in conversation, he responds mostly in disinterested grunts.

I don't know what to make of him after last night. In general, men and their behavior confuses me greatly. Becoming a therapist and hearing their innermost thoughts hasn't made it any better.

Ethan doesn't answer me when I ask if this town we're going to is named after Janis Joplin. He also doesn't answer my question about if they have running water either. Nothing gets a rise or a proper response out of him.

"I live on the outskirts. You'll like it."

This man knows nothing about me if he thinks there's a chance in hell I'll like Missouri -- especially since I won't even be at a Four Seasons or some type of luxury hotel. Ethan hasn't worked a day since I've met him and I know he has a gambling addiction. For all I know, he lives in a studio apartment out there. It could be infested too. By man musk and dirty socks.

As we stand outside in the gross, somewhat muggy city, Ethan explains his plan. Well, it's as much explaining as I'll get from him.

"It would be safer but take longer to travel along the old Route 66 highway," he says as he hands me my helmet.

I ignore my shaking hands as I slide the uncomfortable thing on my head. I look like a bobblehead. Deb's leather jacket fits just fine, but I don't know if the "biker chick" aesthetic suits me as a black woman.

I know there must be black female bikers out there somewhere, but they weren't ever where I was, so I just feel out of place.

"I'll go slow for your sake. Give us three days to get out there. First stop in Ohio, second in southern Illinois. Day three, we get to my place and... the rest you don't have to worry about."

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