Page 79 of Biker's Tribute: Property of Bear

"Then let's gamble for them. That way, you have a good story for your brother."

They're young enough to fall for it.

"What story?" The leader says. "Because... I was going to make Vito knock her out."

I chuckle.

"No, no... You go back to Pittsburgh and tell your brother that when you met her, she was with a crazy biker. He forced you to gamble for her life. You win, I take her back to Pittsburgh myself. I win, they both walk free and you tell your brother that she's dead."

"What incentive do you have to take her back to Pittsburgh?"

"My honor," I respond. "And if that's not enough, you can throw in a bounty from those millions."

"I see," he says. "This might work."

"I don't agree!" Mallory says. "I'm not going back to Pittsburgh."

"Ethan, do you think this is wise?" Amanda asks calmly. She's using her therapist's voice, which I find insanely sexy despite the inconvenient timing.

"Yes," I say to her, tuning out the rest of the room to fix my eyes on the woman I plan to save. "I won't lose you. I don't care if you hate me for the rest of your life."

Mallory gasps a little, but covers her mouth when Amanda glares at her.

"Clear the table," Dario says. "What do we play?"

I reach into my cut for a deck of cards. I haven't played with these cards before. I won them off an Indian one time while I was babysitting Oske out on the rez. He told me they were good luck, and I believed him. Let's hope he's right.

* * *

Twenty-Nine

Zebulon Blackwood - “Zeb”

My phone buzzes while I'm kneeling at the foot of my bed, praying to God for forgiveness. I'm naked when I pray, except for a pair of white underwear and a thick layer of sweat. Zebulon?*can't come to the phone right now.

And Dear Lord, I apologize for the way I enjoyed removing his small intestine. I apologize for the rush I felt when I watched the life fade from his eyes. I promise to act only in your service, to protect the innocent, and to behave in accordance with your rules on Earth. Killing must feel this pleasurable to me for a reason, for you made all things in your image... even me...

Amen.

My phone buzzes again. Fuck this. I get up, stepping over the pool of sweat to check the messages on my phone. Ethan Shaw. My boss for the moment. He's a lot smarter than Gideon or Ruger.

Doesn't take much to be smarter than Ruger. I have no idea how he made it through Ranger school.

I got through because I was always willing to do things nobody else was. I'm tough, corn-fed, and capable of breaking a human neck between two fingers.

Ethan follows his text up with an address.

Guess that's where I'm going. I towel sweat off the back of my neck and face. Blood pumps fast through all my extremities. I feel... better.

Praying is the only way I can keep the dark voices away. They get so loud sometimes, it's all I can hear. But when I give my problems up to God, the voices disappear.

Ruger gave me his old Indian Scout when I turned eighteen and pledged my loyalty to the Rebel Barbarians Motorcycle Club. I knew since I was a kid I wanted to join up. The Rebel Barbarians are made of good, traditional stuff, but their problems with race always bothered me.

I'm younger than Ethan by about fifteen years and frankly, the obsession with skin color shown by older folks is... weird.

Never been with a woman who wasn't pale as I was, but I don't see a problem with it. All pussy tastes the same in the dark, I imagine.

The Indian Scout is a piece of shit, but I don't like spending my military compensation on my hobbies when I’ve got living expenses. I got out on disability when a Yemeni kid shot at me and shrapnel obliterated my right eye. Most people can't tell I have a glass one in, but it always bothers me when people look too close at the eye, or the scar.

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