Page 1 of Biker's Property

Chapter One

JOSLIN

When I turned eighteen, my mom randomly said, “Pastor Woolstenhume wants you to get married.”

I laughed because… I was eighteen. I graduated from high school and tried to ignore the fact that all the girls under twenty were quietly married off to other members of the church. The first two were married to boys roughly their own age – only six years older. I got a little weirded out when a mother proudly married off her seventeen-year-old daughter to our Pastor’s forty-year-old son.

But the onlythoughts swirling around in my head were those sermons, and True Crime. Ever since my father passed away, the church was all we had. They did more than the government for him and he was a veteran. Every time I questioned something happening in our church, our Pastor or one of my friends had a good answer for it.

I thought I could ignore the weird changein Pastor Woolstenhume’s message. How it became more aggressive. More about the end of the world. More about women’splacein the home. I thought maybe I could go to college. That’s where I made my first mistake. I came home with that SAT book and the next morning, my mother hid it behind the stove and replaced it with Pastor Woolstenhume’s new edition of the Bible.

I knew that writing a new version of the Bible was wrong, so I didn’t pay close enough attention to his deepening psychosis wrapped up in those new radical teachings.

Her obvious ass hiding spot didn’t fool me, so I ignored another red flag and started studying.

My assnever made it to college.

Before I even turned nineteen,something happened.

Somethingterrible.

Seven daysbefore my nineteenth birthday, I married my husband.

Not the damn Pastor.Although, it does sound like that type of story, doesn’t it?

The manI married was someone much worse. Seth Overman. Pastor Woolstenhume encouraged it and with my back against the wall, I had no choice. How I got married is a long, long story. And of course, I married a stranger, so you know how it’s going to go. But trust me when I tell you, that’s the least crazy part of my story.

I didn’t even noticewhen this Seth character – the man who would be my future husband – joined our church, but it was sometime around when Pastor Woolstenhume broke away from the main church and created his own preachings. Seth wasn’t particularly interesting. What’s the big deal about a white man in Arizona? They’re a dime a dozen out here.

He didn’t seem interested in me either. We only met once. He asked about my race, which was weird. I had to tell him my mom was Filipina and my dad was black.

“At least you’re not an Indian.”

I thoughtthatwas weird,but racism isn’t unusual out here. Still, it was another red flag. Something else I ignored that led to my downfall…

Seth expectsthe same breakfast at the same time every day. When I first moved into his house, he promised I could use the mornings to study. That lasted a week. Our first fight over breakfast ended with him hitting me in the head with a cast iron pan. I threw out my SAT book and started watching recipes on YouTube.

If I don’t do what this man says, he’ll kill me.

I was nineteen.The best way to survive seemed to be listening to him.

I’m older now– twenty-seven – not the same girl who stumbled into marriage because of pressure from her church and theterrible thing that happened…

Surviving is no longermy only priority in life.

I’ve madehis breakfast so many times I could do it with my eyes closed. This morning, I have to keep my eyes wide open so I can slip the crushed herbs I spent the past few weeks foraging into his omelet. He drinks his coffee black and oversalts his food. Some of these herbs might stink, but I doubt that man has taste buds or a soul left.

Whatever. I have some backup herbs in case the omelet thing doesn’t work. I mix the crushed brown powder into his coffee and try not to look a damn mess when I hear Seth rustling around upstairs. I wish I could tell you that I lived every day shaking in fear. But that’s not the truth when you’re in a situation like mine. You just find a way to be calm in situations where a normal person really wouldn’t be calm.

I can tellwhen he comes downstairs that he’s pissed off and worse – already drunk. I assumed he was working on business stuff upstairs.

“Coffee. Hurry,” he snaps at me, both with his voice and literally snapping his fingers. I’m more eager than ever to come off as submissive and proud to serve him. I have so many scars from the things he’s done to me.Stupid bastard. I can’t wait until he’s dead.

He pulls his chair out, mutters something about me being a stupid bitch and takes an angry bite out of his toast. The man acts like a child. And he feels like some kind of hero because he has a “Filipina wife”. He conveniently ignores the fact that I’m black and forces me to cover up my hair or wear it in a way that hides the texture.I hate this man so much.

When I turn around, Seth runs his fingers through his blond hair and my heart skips a beat from the guilt that would fill anyone’s chest if they were about to take a life. He doesn’t notice me watching him. The good thing about him is that he spends so much time obsessed with himself that he doesn’t notice all the ways I’ve changed.

All the waysI prepared myself to leave.