Page 57 of Biker's Tribute: Property of Bear

“She’s innocent.”

“Then you will be more motivated to save her life,” Wyatt snarls.

“She’s my therapist.”

Oh now I’m his damn therapist? That had better work on the Ethan-shaped ogre holding onto me. Their family resemblance becomes more clear by the second. Southpaw loosens his grip as he gazes down at me with menacing murky eyes.

Southpaw asks, “Is that true?”

I had better have the right answer, judging by the rage coursing through him.

“Yes. I’m a therapist.”

“For what?” Southpaw asks me.

“Addiction counseling, mostly. But I have other certifications.”

“Addictions?” Southpaw growls, looking angrily at Ethan again.

“Let her go,” Ethan says, his voice getting lower. “She has nothing to do with this and I never got involved with you and Anna…”

“She has answers,” Southpaw says coldly. “This gun stays pressed to her skull until I get those answers.”

Ethan drops the bomb.

“Mom has cancer.”

“What?”

“Mom has cancer,” Ethan repeats more angrily.

“This isn’t a fucking game, Ethan.”

“Do I sound like I’m joking?” Ethan’s voice gets quiet. The gun presses more tightly against my skull. I don’t think he’ll shoot me, but accidents happen, and I have never been closer to death before. Ethan doesn’t meet my pleading gaze and I’m powerless to do anything but trust him with my life.

“Mom has cancer and I’ve been helping her get treatment in secret. She didn’t want you or Owen to know because of the pressure…”

“You’re lying,” Wyatt says, his voice getting deep and more terrifying. “Tell the truth.”

He isn’t lying.Deb told me herself that she had cancer. She shared the other symptoms of her treatment with me. The bald spot on her head. Her appetite loss and nausea. How all she wanted to do was sleep. How she missed white wine.

“He is telling the truth,” I speak up, stammering through the sentence, but spitting the words out to everyone’s surprise, including my own. What the hell am I doing?

“She met mom?” Wyatt growls.

“Yes. I’m serious, Wyatt. Mom’s sick…”

“Then what the fuck is the therapist for?”

“Because it’s time for me to quit gambling and be there for my family. That’s why. Shit got a little out of hand.”

“That’s what you call a homicide?”

“There were no witnesses. Well, except… the doctor.”

The gun falls away from my head. The room begins to come into view as I can process something other than the adrenaline and blood coursing through me, hyperfocusing on the barrel of the gun and the tight grip on my arms.

Wyatt releases me from his grasp and I quickly stumble away from him to find another pair of arms dragging me across the room. Ethan yanks my body away from his brother and drags me against his chest, shoving me beneath his cut and holding me close. His arms wrap around my torso and he squeezes gently.

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