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

Chapter 19 – Vickie

Nineteen

Vickie

B lack hoodie, black sweatpants, black sneakers and a gun in my pocket. When the hell did I become a gangster’s girlfriend? The collar around my neck only makes the situation worse. I mean mug Owen every time he looks over at me because I’m honestly doing this for the little girl way more than I’m doing it for him. I’m definitely not putting myself in this dangerous situation for that woman resembling a pit bull. Listen, if she had been nice to me, I would have had nicer thoughts about her. I never claimed to be a saint.

I don’t know Owen’s exact position, just that he’s nearby and watching. It’s enough to make me feel safe. I hate the collar, but the one benefit is my reasonable assurance that this crazy asshole won’t leave me out here. He’s too obsessed with his twisted revenge.

Even if he didn’t exactly show it at his house. Did the courts look at that neat freak’s house before choosing where his daughter lived? The place put me in such a state of peace that I forgot all about escape. The more time I spend alone in this quiet park just waiting, the more I wish I had escaped.

I have too much time to think about the worst case scenario. The meeting coordinates are slightly secluded, but not enough that I don’t feel a little exposed. There are a couple directions I can run in if necessary. I have the pistol too, but I don’t trust myself to handle the gun — especially not with a kid nearby.

Cicadas make the park less quiet, but they add to the ominous and muggy Missouri night. The climate here is much better than Vegas, but the humidity makes me feel like my braids will slide right off. I couldn’t even begin to tell you where to get my hair cared for around here, so I’ll have to go natural…

My random thoughts — which at least don’t involve me getting shot to death — stop at the loud sound of motorcycle engines. I already recognize the distinctiveness of the Shaw boys’ motorcycles and know it’s not them.

I’m still scared out of my mind. I pace around the clearing holding the duffel bag in an increasingly sweaty palm. I trust Owen to be there. But what about the little girl? She’s going to take one look at me and know that I’m not her mother. We’re just hoping the biker doesn’t care but… what if he does?

When I see the bike, my gut instinct is to return to that state of pure terror. My heart feels like a frog hopping out of control around the inside of my throat, trying to escape. I remind myself that I have a gun too and that this is a simple exchange. My nerves calm down a little when I see someone else on the back of the bike.

The girl must be Waverly. The bike stops in front of me. I keep my hood up, concealing my face for as long as possible. There are lights around the park for “safety”, but I don’t feel any safer with the dull warm glow, especially not since there are bugs swarming the only source of light and heat they can find.

When the man dismounts, he helps the girl get off the bike and takes her helmet off. She says nothing, but she doesn’t look over at me — just at the man who lifts her off the bike. Details. I have to remember details. Neither of them acknowledge me yet. The bike is a Honda, which doesn’t seem important. The man on the bike is at least six feet tall, but he could be taller. Waverly doesn’t seem injured, which is the most important thing. She looks dirty, like her hair hasn’t been brushed and she definitely fears this man who hasn’t removed his helmet yet.

His arms are exposed, allowing me to identify two of the tattoos on his sleeve — a largemouth bass with a pink fly bait in its mouth and on the other arm, two large S’s.

Midnight SS. I look up at his helmet as if I can see through it, and this draws his attention, which I guess I couldn’t exactly avoid. Waverly stands next to the man and takes a good look at me. Clearly, she doesn’t recognize me, so she hesitates instead of running away from him.

I sling the duffel over my shoulders and set it on the ground in front of me.

“I have the money for… Scrap’s gambling debts.”

Waverly scrunches her face up and looks at the man next to her. She’s still afraid of him, but there’s something weird about the way she looks at him too. I don’t understand what the fuck is going on. I’ll be honest.

“Who the fuck is Scrap?” the man spits out. “There fifty-grand in there?”

“Yes.”

“Where the fuck is Kaylee-Marie?”

What the hell is going on?

I know it’s risky, but I’m already in this situation and I want to get as much information as possible. Because this man’s reaction is telling me that something isn’t all the way right here.

“Take your helmet off and I’ll tell you.”

“That bitch better not have tried anything,” he says, taking Waverly by her shoulders and putting her in front. “This is a child. A prepubescent child. It’s not what we agreed on.”

I just play along.

“You know Kaylee-Marie. She’s on her own planet. What did you agree on? I’ll make things right.”

“It’s too late to make things right. We just want the money back.”

I gesture towards the money with my foot. “Send her over.”

“Her mother is one twisted bitch,” he says, but he shoves Waverly over and then before my instincts know what the fuck is happening, he has the duffel bag and it’s well over his shoulders. He doesn’t check.

“Remind her that we know where she lives,” he says. “If we’re even a dollar short, I’ll make her ass wish she never met me.”

“She never mentioned your name,” I say to him. “I’m… Eva.”

“I’m Emmett,” he says. “You seem a lot better at this business than that piece of trailer trash. If she wants our help again, tell her to send you.” That’s not a club name. That’s his real government name. Damn. Some of my poker table tricks still work.

I reach my hand for Waverly’s to offer her comfort as her presumed kidnapper turns his back on her and mounts his motorcycle. I don’t take my eyes off him. Waverly holds my hand loosely, but I squeeze hers tightly, as if she could sink into the ground or I could lose her some other way.

I’m scared too. The man takes off on his bike like a bat out of hell. The only people I’ve seen move faster are gamblers leaving the poker table when they owe money to the house that they don’t have.

Within seconds of the biker leaving, I see the shape of Owen’s body emerging from a thicket of trees about a hundred yards off. He was close. Very close. He couldn’t have heard the conversation, but I’m sure he’ll want me to retell it.

“You’re not my mom,” Waverly says. I get a good look at her as her dad approaches. She has brown hair tangled up in knots, eyes like her father’s and a prominent nose. She doesn’t look a thing like Kaylee-Marie, but she looks like a softer version of her father, possibly drawing on features from multiple sides of the family.

“No,” I say to her in a comforting voice. “I’m here with your dad to make sure nothing bad happens to you.”

She squeezes my hand when I mention her dad.

“Don’t let him take me back,” Waverly says. “Please…”

“Back where, sweetheart?” I say, mostly because I want to keep the girl talking since it has a higher chance of keeping her calm.

Waverly stays quiet for a long time and then she whispers, “To my mom.”

Owen’s close enough that she recognizes him and she pries her hands away from mine.

“DAD!” Waverly shrieks and she runs toward him in a way that could tug at your heartstrings even if you were stone cold inside. Even if you promised yourself that you would never let sentiment and emotion run your life again.

Once they reunite, I bury any sentimental feelings I might have had about either of them. I did the right thing. I saved a little girl. I’ll tell Owen everything that happened later but… I don’t have to care about him. I don’t have to act like I did this because I have any romantic notions about him.

He’s still a biker. A dangerous criminal…

And somehow, his ex-wife got involved with someone in the Midnight SS. Owen was right — his gambling has nothing to do with this.