Page 4 of Biker's Property
“I’ll track down the Midnight SS next.”
“Are you up for such a long trip?”
“I’ve got nothing better going on. After so much time in a cage, it feels pretty good to ride again.”
“Enjoy that freedom,” Wyatt says wistfully as Junior gurgles loudly. “I have Ruger watching Oske closely while we investigate to make sure she isn’t up to any bullshit.”
“You trust Ruger to watch a woman?”
“No. But if Oske finds out he’s watching her, she’ll know I’m not fucking around. One wrong move and I’ll handle business the way our fathers would have wanted.”
He doesn’t know how much that comforts me to hear.
“I’ll keep you posted on what happens when I get there.”
“Midnight SS,”he says wistfully. “Sounds fucked up. Doesn’t ring a bell though.”
“I’ll call you when I get there.”
“Stay safe, brother.”
I takemy time driving out there. In a hurry, I could make the drive in two days, but this time I drag it out to seven. It’s something in me that doesn’t want to get close to the Midnight SS motherfuckers.
It’s this deep instinct I’ve got that they’re the ones looking for trouble. But why? Putting the business with the Blue Blood Knights behind us was supposed to mean an end to shit like this.
I don’t wantto do something that sends me back to prison. I would rather die than go back there and I’m too afraid to tell anyone. Especially not my twin brother. I can’t help but think if he were the one behind bars, he would have handled it much better than me. I can’t help thinking that he’s always been better than me. Now, I suppose there’s proof of that. I’m a felon. He isn’t.
If I can do something to redeem myself and to make up for my mistakes, maybe it’s helping the club to solve this mystery. Who wants to punish us? Who wants to hurt our families? And how can we stop them…
Chapter Three
JOSLIN
Isit next to my husband and eat slowly, continuing my charade. Seth doesn’t like when women eat too quickly, anyway. He doesn’t notice that it’s not because of obedience, but because I’m scared that drugging him will somehow come back to bite me in the ass.
The good thing about growing up in a strict ass church like mine and having a mind of your own is that you learn how to hide the truth. It’s hard to hide from your husband but… not impossible.
I have the Bible next to my seat at the table – the one next to Seth’s right hand. I have never had such a long breakfast with this man. I’m sweating bullets, so scared that my methods won’t work that I don’t even enjoy the quiet. It’s a nice change of pace from him constantly berating me. The only time I can expect calm is just after one of his more brutal beatings.
Some of my sprains haven’t even healed properly and I get trigger finger in the mornings when I have to make his stupid cup of coffee. Those little injuries — both external and internal — all added up to turn me into the stone cold bitch who would kill her own husband. I — obviously — haven’t even told my mother my plan. I’ll have to just…disappear.
I’m hoping they’ll think the cartel kidnapped me and killed him. It’s a lot better than what will happen to me if I stay, ironically.
It’s me or Seth. That’s all I know. I would rather have a life in prison than no life at all. Watching him makes me feel guilty, but I knew I would feel guilty. I’ll just have to deal with that when it’s my turn to face St. Peter.
His slow dip into unconsciousness doesn’t happen like in the movies. It’s more like watching a man go through all the stages of drunkenness at once. His speech slurs. The food falls off his fork. Then into his blond beard, which drips with sauce. With each word, his tongue hangs out of his mouth longer and his syntax switches up.
His slurring gets moredifficult to understand and I know the job is done when he intentionally rests his head in the mashed potatoes to get some sleep. He has the same weird ass food for all three meals everyday, with only the vegetables cooked differently for variety. Steak and mashed potatoes. All the damn time.
Everything about him scares me, but in this state, I get a lot closer to feeling good about the future. It’s the first time in years that I’ve felt a weight rising off my shoulders. Could this be the end of all my problems? The sauce continues to drip from my husband’s beard. I watch him sleeping there, his chest moving so slowly that he barely looks alive.Good.
His blond hairsoaks up the gravy. I death grip the edges of the table as I watch his eyes flutter into a half-closed state. His chest heaves and… I think he’s still alive, even if he won’t be for long. I’m not a monster.
The herbal remedies I researched are going to kill him painlessly in his sleep. I call his name a few times across the table to see if he’s going to wake up.
The words barely want to come out. Whatifhe wakes up? What if he grabs me? What if he adds to the beatings and bruises and I have to spend another night in the hospital? This time, he could kill me. He could attack me again. He could bring other men like he threatened.
What if I have to go back to that terrible, shitty state and call my mom, because she’s the only emergency contact they have, and all she does is remind me what the church did for us and tell me I should be grateful that I have anice white manlooking after me?