Biker’s Collar: Property of Scrap (Rebel Barbarians MC #6)

Chapter 7 – Vickie

Seven

Vickie

Las Vegas – 5 Years Ago

Scrap’s Rental Home

“ B ear”, also known as Ethan, pays Hakeem an additional $500 to let me go with them for the night. Ethan and Owen. They look more like brothers when they’re together than when they’re apart. They don’t look very much alike, but have the same mannerisms and the same chiseled nose.

This Bear character assures Hakeem that he’ll bring me back in the morning, but once we’re near the motorcycles outside, he hits his brother in the chest and says, “I don’t care what you do with her, but don’t bring her anywhere near that sick fuck again.”

Owen glares at him. “I wouldn’t.”

“You have debt. I know you would do anything to get out of it but these people are fucked up.”

“If I need money, I’ll just ask dad or Tylee. Relax.”

“If you think Tylee would waste her money on your stupid ass…” Bear mutters, then he releases tension in his shoulders. “Just enjoy the girl.”

Owen looks over at me with an almost apologetic look on his face. He can’t really look me in the eye. Bear puts his helmet on and straddles his large motorcycle. You would have to be a giant to handle a bike that big like it’s a damn Hot Wheels car. Owen isn’t significantly smaller, if I’m being honest. He just behaves less like a gruff beast, making him seem more gentle. Once his brother straddles the bike, Owen turns to me.

If this man hadn’t just paid money for me, I would mistake the expression on his face for tenderness.

“I never asked my brother to do this,” he says, looking at me with a slow, steady gaze. His eyes start at my feet, making me suddenly self-conscious about the clownish but comfortable looking Skechers I begged Hakeem to buy so I could be on my feet all night without extreme pain.

Owen observes the way my leggings cling to my thighs. He stares at my stomach, which wouldn’t make me self-conscious, except for the fact that I have no idea what he’s thinking. His brother was the one who paid for this. What if that weird ass giant got the whole situation wrong. The man truly takes his time, like he doesn’t care that I can see him.

He stares at my breasts blatantly and his tongue seems to unconsciously run along his lower lip until he catches himself and tucks the wayward muscle back into his mouth.

“Nice,” he says. “You’ll need a helmet.”

I hope that helmet doesn’t disrupt the baggie of pills I have tucked within my braids. I just have to take my chances when Owen hands me one. I put it on and immediately feel claustrophobic… and that I look like a stupid alien.

“Have you been on a bike before?” Owen asks. I glance around the large, muscular man at the immense machine. I would ride out of here on a three-legged donkey if the opportunity presented itself. Now that I’m outside of the club and Hakeem trusts these white boys enough to send me off with them, my heart can’t stop racing with the prospect of escape. I might not even have to drug this one.

“No.” My voice definitely sounds alien now. “I haven’t.”

He reaches for his helmet and puts it on, so I can’t see the expression on his face and gauge what type of experience I’ll have. His hands look like giant paws as they grip the sides of his helmet and he slowly puts it on his face. He looks even larger and more dangerous with the helmet on.

“That’s surprising,” Owen says, his accent dripping with Missouri backwater. “Hakeem doesn’t send you home with too many bikers?”

If I didn’t know better, I would say there was a tinge of jealousy in the question. My tongue feels heavy at the mention of Hakeem’s name. But the question doesn’t make me feel great either.

“Hakeem doesn’t send me home with anyone.”

Owen laughs, but his chuckle comes out muffled because of the helmet. “If it weren’t for what happened at the poker tables, I would say today is my lucky day…”

I clutch the giant white biker’s body as he drives us out of Las Vegas like he doesn’t give a shit whether we live or die. I have never seen anyone weave through traffic with the combination of total control and utter disregard for human life.

He clearly knows what he’s doing, but I didn’t expect to feel such a rush. I’m not in control of anything and this type of reckless behavior is making me wonder if I’m part of the problem — part of the reason I ended up a captive in Vegas in the first place.

My heart won’t steady itself in my chest and I can’t even pat my braids for a reassuring feel of my escape plan. I just have to let everything go and trust that tonight… everything will go according to plan. These men won’t bring me back to Hakeem… I’ll be free.

When he parks the bike, I assume he’s parking in front of a stranger’s house to adjust his dick in his pants or something. Because there’s no way that guy is staying… there. But the bike leans and if I don’t hop off, I’m scared I’ll fall over, so I awkwardly swing my legs over and stand up as Owen gets off the bike. I take my helmet off so I can get a real breath of air. He takes his helmet off, grinning from ear to ear. Not the expression I expect from a man who just lost tens of thousands of dollars on our poker tables tonight.

“Did you like that?”

I was scared out of my mind. But I don’t want to show fear in front of this man. I shrug and hand him the helmet.

“We’re here.”

His face falls slightly, but not like a man who just lost everything gambling.

“I don’t do this type of thing normally,” he says. “But… my baby mama threw me out last month and my brother thinks I need to move on.”

I raise my eyebrow. “Did she have a good reason for throwing you out?”

Considering how I saw this man acting at our poker tables — and his presence in the first place — he doesn’t seem like the type of man who would win father of the year.

“Absolutely,” he says. “I fucked up. Instead of being a man and ending things with her… I sold her horse and bet all the money on a baseball game.”

He tells me the story without a hint of remorse behind his eyes. But he doesn’t seem shifty like a liar. I don’t know what to make of his honesty.

“Interesting.”

“It’s a long story, Veronica. I’d much rather split a bottle of wine with you and… forget all the ways I’ve fucked up.”

And there it is for a moment, the intense pain on this man’s face from what must have been a devastating loss.

“Why did you gamble that last chip?”

He shrugs and then answers. “Because I wanted to feel something real.”

His own response seems to embarrass him because he turns red and we start walking towards the door of that fancy house he parked the motorcycle outside. His brother said they were leaving town soon, so this must be a rental. Still… it’s a nice ass rental. Vegas attracts a lot of high rollers, but this town isn’t as flashy as the strip.

It just looks like those suburban places you see in movies. I’ve never been anywhere this nice in my life. Or anywhere this far from a major city. If I hadn’t been through hell already, I would be terrified about what this white man could do to me. He walks over to the door and looks over his shoulder at me as he types in the key code.

“If you want to see me again… next time I come into Vegas, I’ll call you. My brother seems to think you don’t want to work for Hakeem anymore.”

I look up at Owen, unsure if I can trust him. The sense of security I have from the drugs or some other type of delusion pushes me to tell the truth before I can stop myself, even if the truth could give this man far too much leverage over me.

“I don’t.”

He looks down at me with the most intense stare I’ve ever felt from a man.

“Then you won’t go back there. You don’t have to be my girl,” he says. “But when I come into Vegas… it would be nice to have some company.”

“You don’t know me. Maybe you won’t like my company.”

He laughs. “I watched you all night. I know I’ll like your company. Now come in. I promise… I don’t bite.”

People know saying that makes them seem more threatening, right? Still, Owen has a smile on his face and I can get away from this white man easier than I can escape Hakeem. This is a good thing. I walk into the house and it smells like peaches. I swear… Do all rich people’s houses smell like a perfume shop?

“Sorry, the rental smells all girlie. My brother picked it out.”

“The big hairy one?”

“The other big hairy one,” Owen says. “The living room is around the corner. I’ll get you a drink.”

“I would rather watch you pour my drink if you don’t mind.”

Owen looks over his shoulder with a mischievous smirk on his face. “You don’t trust a strange white man who just gambled every penny he has at poker? Women these days…”

“Let’s get me that drink before I think too hard about this,” I say to him. I can’t tell if I’m flirting or playing a character. But once I get into the house, I feel this strange sense of safety. Like my mask can come off and I can be myself. But I shouldn’t feel this way around a stranger — especially not a stranger whose brother paid to have me for the night.

This isn’t Pretty Woman . This is real life, and it doesn’t matter how much fun I have… I might still need to drug this man. I have to keep a healthy detachment from the situation if that’s going to happen. Following him into the kitchen, my eyes form an unhealthy attachment to Owen’s ass. Damn, he has a nice ass. I never thought I would say that about any man’s ass, especially not a white boy.

This man is built like he played football – and like he was good at it. I try not to freak out over the toxic way I can’t stop fixating on his physique. We enter his kitchen and he slowly raises the dimmer lights to a comfortable yet romantic warm glow. If this were any other situation, I would feel like he wanted to seduce me. But there’s no game to play here.

His brother paid for me…

I’ll have to do whatever he wants until I knock his ass out and then… freedom.

It’s a small price to pay, honestly. Sex has always been boring for me, so I don’t get too attached or feel much of anything while doing it. I’ll just get the job done and dip.

Nothing to worry about.