Page 56 of Biker's Tribute: Property of Bear

I trust that he'll follow me and shut the door behind me. A shiver runs up the length of my spine once I close the door. I have to laugh at myself for the initial reaction. There's no danger here... it's a big, empty house.

My shoes come off, and I regret wearing Skechers to work and getting stuck with plain, unfashionable black sneakers as the only shoes I now have available to me. I'm guessing Ethan doesn't have a shopping budget in mind for my stay here. The floorboards above me creak and I freeze.

The shiver up my spine returns and travels to the back of my neck, causing all the hair to prickle up and stand on end. There's nobody in the house. Nobody. No bikes or cars parked outside. Nothing like that. We're alone here in the middle of nowhere and I'm just afraid from all that excess adrenaline I built up riding on the back of Ethan's bike.

The intellectual explanation does nothing to stop my body's reaction. The carriage house foyer splits off in two directions. On the right, the stairs lead to (I assume) the bedrooms. To the left, there's a small hallway, which I hope leads to a kitchen or at least a bathroom. I take a few steps down the darkened hallway, my hand searching on the wall for a light.

Three steps down the dark hallway and my body continues trembling with misplaced fear until I find a switch. The light provides a warm wash of orange along the hallway. I hear another creak, this time from the room around the corner. I take two quick steps forward and peek around the corner to find out what my body knew before I did.

We're not alone.

I scream at the sight of the hulking figure in the kitchen. He has his back to me, but quickly spins around once I scream. The man might not be as tall as Ethan, but he's huge, muscular, and worst of all, locked onto me.

Yelling again, I stumble backwards into the kitchen counter, throwing open the drawer behind me in search of a weapon. I don't take my eyes off the looming figure, but it doesn't matter. He laid this booby trap and he has the element of surprise over me.

The man shoves the drawer shut and clamps his hand over my mouth to stop me from screaming. My eyes fix on his black leather cut, and I'm face to face with a sewn on patch that says "Southpaw". I try to step back from his grasp so I can get enough range of motion to kick him, but I don't have nearly enough control over myself.

I scream again, but the air just puffs out of my mouth around the small slits between his fingers and I have no breath left in my lungs, nor any progress getting away from him.

"Stop yelling," he growls. "And tell me who the fuck you are and where you met my brother."

His brother? Who is this man? I scratch at his forearm and try to drag it away from my mouth.

"You scream again, I shoot," he says. "Now tell me before I lose my fucking mind."

His hand falls away and I scream again as I face this terrifying, black-haired monster.

“Stop fucking screaming,” he snarls, which only makes me scream louder. His large hand clamps around my neck and he shoves me up against the fridge. I can breathe and talk, but that doesn’t stop my ass from hyperventilating while this beast threatens to choke me out.

“What is Ethan hiding from me?”

This is Ethan’s brother?

“HEY! What the hell are you doing?!”

Southpaw releases my neck at the same time a gunshot fires through the house. The bullet explodes through the ceiling, spraying drywall everywhere as the loud crack deafens my hearing. Southpaw and “Bear” face each other in the kitchen, their resemblance apparent now that they’re standing face to face.

“I’m going to kill you,” Ethan growls, puffing his chest out as he comes eye to eye with Wyatt. They’re like two wolves fighting for territory, the first war beginning with their eyes, but I know this could easily devolve into fists… and bullets. Ethan still has his pistol pointed up to the ceiling, continuing to glare at Southpaw.

“For all I know, you’re already planning my death. Go ahead and do it, because I’m sick of all the fucking lies in this club.”

“You’re paranoid,” Ethan says, his hand tightening around the pistol handle. I freeze against the back wall of the kitchen. If I had any money, a cell phone or a place to go, I’d be gone. They’re both too locked in on each other to worry about me. I fade into the background, observing this family fight and wondering if intervention will do more harm than good.

I need to learn more.

“I’m paranoid, but I’m right. Who the fuck is this?”

And just like that, they’re both paying attention to me again. Ethan’s body language changes. It’s like a house cat, puffing out all his fur.

“She’s none of your concern,” Ethan responds defensively.

“We’ll see about that.”

Wyatt reaches into his pocket and in seconds, the cold barrel of a pistol presses against my head. He grips my forearm and drags my body against his. I try not to scream, but I can’t help but yelp as he forces me against his chest with a gun to my head.

“I’ll paint the floor with her brains unless you can convince me you haven’t betrayed the club…”

“You finally lost your fucking mind,” Ethan says, but his voice is distant and his eyes locked on mine with emotions I never expected from him. Remorse. Terror. He swallows and returns his gaze to his brother’s.

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