Page 46 of Biker's Property
“How has Ruger been?”
“He’s worse than Gideon,” he says. “He called me a squaw. I should charge Wyatt for that too.”
“Ever considered charging us money for actual work?”
“I’m not a whore,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “So get that out of your head.”
“That’s not what I meant,” I growl. “Although if you keep pissing me off, I’ll charge Ruger fifty bucks to use your disrespectful ass however he wants.”
Oske thinks better of pushing me. I’m not like Southpaw. I’ll let Ruger on her ass and go have a smoke at the gas station while he does it. Ruger must scare the shit out of her.
“He’s a psycho. He spends all day cursing out that pregnant white woman through the door and threatening to kill her. She’s pregnant. What does he think is going to happen to the baby?” Oske sounds genuinely upset when she gets to the part about the baby. Her rising emotions remind me of Quin.
Quin would want me to do something… kind.
“You knowhis wife cheated on him, right?”
“So what?” Oske says. “That doesn’t give him a right to hurt her.”
“She joined a gang of Neo-nazi bikers after getting out of prison and those bikers murdered our brothers. He can do whatever he wants with her.
Oske looks frustrated rather than angry now.
“White people are so stupid.”
“Excuse me?”
“You catch more flies with honey than vinegar,” she says, glaring at me. “But whatever. Not my problem. I’m going to go pay my landlord and buy some weed.”
She struts past me with a haughty swagger that makes me seriously wonder how Southpaw handles this completely unreasonable woman. I watch her strut towards some shitty ass motorcycle and get on the back – without a helmet.
“HEY!” I yell at her. Oske looks at me, deciding if she’s going to listen.
“Bring some of that weed back for me.”
“That’s going to cost you, white boy!” she shouts back.
I wave her off.Cost me? I’ll get her couch back from Ruger. That’s about as much as she can expect from me. I walk into Oske’s trailer. Either the conversation or the sound of Oske’s motorcycle outside woke him up. I can’t tell which. I can see why Oske doesn’t want to be around him.
“Where’s your shirt?”
“Don’t know,” Ruger says, yawning and nearly allowing his sweatpants to slide down far enough to expose his dick. It’s bad enough that I can see a tuft of blond fur sticking out the top.
“You look like a fucking mess.”
“Darlene cheated on me,” Ruger says, wiping his eyes. “What do you expect me to do?”
I can’t hear her, so Darlene must either be quiet in the back on purpose or fast asleep. Ruger has made the rest of the trailer a fucking mess. He has white powder in a heap on a round mirror seated at the edge of Oske’s coffee table.
“I expect you to get yourself together.”
“Fine,” Ruger grunts, sitting up and leaning his muscular form over the table. He starts cutting his line as I take personal note of everything in the room. Guns. A belt. A baseball bat. A pair of black leather gloves. Duct tape. Ruger taps whatever the fuck he’s snorting into a thin line with his razor blade.
“Oske’s a slut bitch,” he grunts as he works on the line.
“What’s going on with Darlene?”
“Pregnant.”