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

Chapter 14 – Owen

Fourteen

Owen

I don't know what the fuck is wrong with me. I don't know when I went off the deep end with this woman, but I suspect I lost control a long time ago. I fantasized about this exact moment a hundred times, but I never imagined this much resistance. My fingers tighten around her neck as my darkest urges pulse through me viciously.

She's mine.

She will wear this collar.

She will submit to me.

She will make up for that night in Vegas. I swear it.

Vickie's tough ass expression slowly fades as my fingers dig into the side of her neck. I know I'm hurting her and showing her how easy it would be to kill her like this. It's fucked up for me to even touch her like this. But I have her still enough to get the collar around her neck.

Keeping Vickie positioned in front of me, I fasten the black collar around her neck and remove my hand once it's nice and tight. Releasing my grip on her neck, I keep Vickie fixed beneath a menacing stare that just dares her ass to defy me.

The black collar fits nicely around her neck, marking her as mine temporarily before I can get her to my tattoo person and mark her permanently. I'm not so fucked up as to have an unprofessional prison tattoo drawn on her. I want something sexy and well-done.

I want to tattoo Vickie's sexy, thick ass with my name on it. ‘Property of Scrap’ in fancy ass cursive letters. Her face has nothing but pure fucking hatred on it -- like I give a shit. She owes me obedience and reassurance after the bullshit she pulled on me.

"You are completely fucked up."

"If I am, you made me that way."

"Fuck you," she says. "I watched you gamble your net worth away before you even met me. You're fucked up."

She emphasizes the last three words like she's daring me to smack her across the face or do something worse to her. My dick is so goddamn hard just from watching her stand in front of me like this, collared and ready to do my bidding.

"Sure, I'm fucked up," I whisper. "Doesn't change the fact that I'm going to bend you over that bed and fuck your freshly collared ass."

She raises her eyebrows as if to suggest that I'll do no such thing. But I mean what I say very literally. I don't know who the fuck I'm punishing more. Me or her. I want to have her the way I did the first time. But after all the bullshit between us...

I crave this fucked up torture. For both of us.

"I mean it," I continue in a tone just as dark and aggressive as before. "I'm going to put my dick so far up your ass it breaks you in half. I'll fuck you so many goddamn ways before I take your pussy and put a baby in it."

"I hate you," she says. "Get that through your head."

I take a step closer to her. She tries to hide that my physical proximity causes her to flinch, but I notice the tiniest reaction. I'm a gambler. A predator when necessary. I can smell emotions on Vickie that she isn't even aware she has.

"I don't care if you hate me," I respond. "It won't stop me from getting you pregnant and tattooing my name on your ass.

"What about..." she says, pausing for a split second as if questioning the reaction I'll have to her statement. "What about your daughter?"

"What about her?" I growl.

My phone rings. I'm one of those rare individuals who still has special ringtones for different people because... I need this feature to survive attacks from the mother of my child.

The woman whose special ringtone starts playing in the room.

"Is that from Star Wars..." Vickie asks.

"Everyone watches Star Wars. Not just nerds."

"I didn't say anything."

"I have to take this," I growl. "You make one sound, I'll..."

I glare, hoping that serves as a sufficient threat. This is apparently one phone call following fifteen texts from Kaylee-Marie. I'm fucked.

Fuck .

I hate to be in this position.

“I have to take this.”

Vickie’s eyes follow mine as I answer the phone. My body has a completely unconscious, yet thorough reaction to hearing Kaylee-Marie’s voice on the phone. She still has this strange way of making me feel like less of a man when I’m talking to her.

“FINALLY,” she shrieks. “WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU OWEN?!”

Currently? Deafness…

“Hey, what do you need? Is Waverly okay?”

I want to remind her that Waverly is the only goddamn reason she should be calling me at all.

“What do I need? What do I need? You’re so fucking selfish, Owen,” she wails. “Waverly is MISSING. She’s MISSING! YOUR DAUGHTER. YOU REMEMBER HER, RIGHT?”

Fuck. Maybe I should have read the text messages. I have never needed to put a call on speaker phone for the entire room to hear her speaking. Vickie’s eyes meet mine like she’s waiting for me to have the correct reaction. She might hear a lot of crying and wailing but… she doesn’t know Kaylee-Marie.

“What do you mean she’s missing?”

“This is your fault, Owen,” she says, letting it all off her chest (like she always does when I answer the phone), “I tried to get you help for your gambling… You NEVER FUCKING LISTEN!”

I hold the phone away from my ears. My cheeks flush warm. This outrage will have to end up somewhere eventually, but I learned in child custody court that taking it out on Kaylee-Marie won’t do me any favors…

“Wherever she is, I’ll get her or I’ll send Ethan to do it. Take a deep breath. I haven’t gambled in…” Vickie gives me a sharp look. “A long time.”

It’s my turn to give her a “don’t you fucking say a word” look.

“THEY’RE HOLDING HER FOR RANSOM BECAUSE YOU LOST FIFTY-THOUSAND DOLLARS IN SOME STUPID DICE GAME AND YOU DON’T EVEN CARE!”

“Kaylee-Marie,” I say to her, trying not to raise my voice, lest she call me ‘abusive’ again. “I will do anything to get our daughter and if I fucked up, I’ll make it right the way I always have. Now stop screaming at me and tell me where she is.”

“They’re going to be in Springfield, MO at the local Five Below at 8 p.m. to collect fifty-thousand dollars in cash. They want me to bring it alone.”

“How the fuck did this happen?”

“NOW IT’S MY FAULT? I’m the one who does everything, Owen. I get her ready for school. I buy her books. I take her to the State Fucking Fair!”

Kaylee-Marie fought for full custody in court using her plentiful evidence of my criminal activities and gambling addiction to get her way. I pay my fair share and give Kaylee-Marie extra money for our daughter on top of it. I’m playing nice now but… I’m not going to let her shit slide.

“I need to know how this happened so I can know who to go after.”

“Where are you, anyway? In bed with some hooker? Gambling your last thousand dollars?”

“I’m in Kansas City. And what I’m doing stopped being your business years ago. I’ll show up for our daughter and I’ll bring help… but I need you to tone it the fuck down.”

“Don’t tell me what to do you abusive piece of?—

I hang up. The nervousness I have to push aside when I’m dealing with Kaylee-Marie rises to the surface. Unfortunately, I know Kaylee-Marie. She’s not lying. We might hate each other, but we both love our daughter. This is real.

“What happened?” Vickie asks.

I’m surprised she speaks to me. When I look at her, the gentle care on her face fades immediately and her expression hardens. “Did you gamble your child?”

“No,” I say. “And this has… I never lost fifty-thousand dollars in a dice game. I believe my ex that my daughter has been kidnapped but… this is fucked up.”

I don’t know why I’m trusting Vickie with this. She’s going to be nothing but an inconvenience to me. I can’t leave her behind but… now I have to drag her to Missouri and I haven’t even had a chance to get my dick wet.

“You have to go to Springfield,” she says. “From all the way out here? Won’t that take a couple days?”

“Yes. My brothers live closer. They can get a head start.”

“There are more of you?”

I don’t respond. I just look at her face, look at the thick collar around her neck and feel this deep sense of regret that I won’t be able to act on my desires with Vickie tonight.

“I’m taking you to Missouri with me,” I tell her. “Once I get the word out to my brothers.”

It’s hard to hide the emotions now. I feel them in my body first. Emotions don’t come easily to me. Understanding them, especially my own, has never been my automatic instinct. My shoulders are tense. My neck aches right at the base. When I think of my daughter, this desire to inflict harm on someone only heightens.

It’s worry. It’s love. It’s everything.

Vickie interrupts my internal hailstorm.

“What’s your daughter’s name?”

I feel defensive, even of that.

“Waverly,” I whisper. “And I miss her every day.”

“I’m sorry,” Vickie says. “It must be hard.”

I wish she wouldn’t pretend to care. I ignore her efforts at sentiment — whether real or faked. It doesn’t matter. Feelings won’t help either of us.

“I’ll have to change my plans for you tonight,” I tell her, fighting the urge to kiss her, fearing it will lead to something else. “We’ll get dressed and head back East in an hour.”