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

Chapter 23 – Vickie

Twenty-Three

Vickie

T he sex screws with my head. I don’t want it to screw with my head, but I suspect that I medically can’t help what happened to me. My body changed once Owen entered me. I never felt so full in my life. I never felt so much of anything – especially not while having sex.

Owen’s gigantic dick must have fucked the sense out of me while he had me bent over and entering me from behind. That’s my only explanation I can come up with for my behavior. He leaves me behind to sit with his daughter all afternoon and then when he comes back he just tells me… “We’re going to Las Vegas.”

And I agree. Like that collar around my neck actually means something to me other than my imprisonment. I don’t fight him at all. I help convince Waverly to change into her pajamas and then head to bed. Owen gets very involved in Waverly’s care instead of leaving it all to me like I honestly suspected he would. I didn’t know if I believed his story about Kaylee-Marie until the first night I watched him read to her.

He does the same thing the night he announces our sudden move to Las Vegas. The current nightly read he has going on for her is The Magic Treehouse. Those kids get up to all kinds of adventures and Waverly gets so excited to hear her father read and do all the voices, acting out the kids’ adventures to the best of his abilities, even when he doesn’t understand what’s going on completely.

Vegas.

Once Waverly is asleep, I ask a question I’m scared to hear the answer to.

“What are we going to do with Waverly in Vegas? You can’t take her away from her mother and rip her out of school.”

I expect Owen to chew my head off for getting involved in his parenting. We’re in his bedroom where he led me and every last inch of my body trembles nervously around him now. What happened between us scares the crap out of me. There was just far too much feeling. I hate that. I had a chance of staying in control before he did that and now my head is swimming.

I just have to sit with my feelings and this panicked desire to run away. Men have always been trouble for me and this one more than most. Any amount of vulnerability that I feel with Owen threatens to rip me in half. I hate him for putting me in this position at all. I hate him for having a beautiful daughter who I truly enjoy spending time with.

I hate him for everything, which makes it so hard when he answers me with so much damn gentleness about his daughter.

“Southpaw wants her to stay with Tylee in Vegas.”

“Who the hell is Tylee?”

I hate that I sound jealous. I can lie to him and say that’s not what prompts the question, but there’s a part of me that wonders how many women swarm around tough bikers like Owen. Especially since he’s well-endowed like this.

“She’s my sister.”

“I never heard you mention a sister.”

“Because she irritates me.”

Tylee and I will most likely get along based on that description, but Owen’s discomfort is obvious from the sound of his voice.

“You don’t want to be apart from her.”

“No. But she’s a child and Tylee’s condo will have additional security. Ours will be close enough that she can visit but… my daughter is a valuable asset. ”

He sounds a little sarcastic as he says it. I fight the urge to put my arm around him and offer him comfort. The leather collar around my neck provokes me to always keep some resistance to him whenever possible.

“What about me”

“Southpaw said I should give you a gun.”

I don’t know if I should be offended. Owen detects my uncertainty and smirks, delighting in any emotional response he can provoke from me, even if it’s negative.

“It’s a good thing,” he says. “He thinks you’re capable.”

A flicker of irritation turns into a surge. Why the hell does Owen automatically assume I’ll be down with his gang shit? I know how we met, but he knows I was there against my will. He knows my life has been a trainwreck, but I’m nowhere near a thug. His certainty that I’ll ride or die for him pisses me off. Saving a kid is much different from whatever he has in mind.

“That’s crazy.”

Owen grins. “You’re going to like this.”

“I doubt that.”

“He wants me to kill Hakeem.”

This white boy has lost his damn mind. Kill Hakeem? He plans to do that with just two other white boys? I raise my eyebrows, unable to hide the utter disbelief on my face.

“You have a plan for that?”

“Yes. We find him, we kill him. I thought you would enjoy that.”

Owen might be hot, but he has incredibly strange ideas of how to relate to people. I look up at this strange, dark-haired man, wondering what the fuck would make him agree to come out to Las Vegas in the first place, much less agree to an insane assassination plot.

“Why would you think that would be enjoyable?”

“When I met you, Hakeem had total control over you.”

I pause to give Owen time to soak up the irony. He doesn’t seem to be getting the clue. He has total control over me too. Why the hell would he think I’m more likely to want Hakeem dead.

“I got away from Hakeem.”

“Thanks to me,” he says. “I don’t know how you ended up where we found you.”

My heart races. Owen has never really probed me about this before and he’s never questioned me about my past either. I’ve never allowed him to, honestly. But this time, I can’t hide from him as easily as I could before.

It’s the sex. Owen takes a step closer to me and touches my lip.

“What the fuck happened to you, little criminal? You drugged me and ran off. How the fuck are you back here?”

“Does it really matter? I’ll help you kill Hakeem.”

This is how I know I’ve truly lost my mind. I would rather agree to be an accomplice to a murder just for a chance that Owen will avoid my past. My reluctance only makes him want to know more. I should have expected that. He smiles, his olive-green eyes feel like they’re ready to rip me open. He has a face like a fox, with sharp angles and an intense focus.

I try to hold myself steady so he doesn’t get too much sadistic pleasure from my discomfort.

“What’s the big deal?” He says. “You’re wearing a collar around your neck. I’ve kept you safe since I got your ass back. I’ve made you feel good. Why can’t you open up to me?”

“Are you crazy?”

“Yes,” He says. “Now answer the question. Why can’t you tell me one fucking thing about your past? You know so much more about me than I do about you.”

“Women need their mystery…”

I’m not the naturally seductive type and my efforts to distract Owen absolutely don’t work. I don’t sound sexy. I don’t feel sexy either. I feel scared. He takes another step toward me, his thick furry brows scrunching up with determination that I’ve only seen him express at a card table. That concerns me. Owen doesn’t behave like a rational person when he has this look on his face.

“I want you to let me into your heart…”

“Why?” I snap. “Why the fuck would you want that?”

I sound irrationally panicked. Women shouldn’t be like this. Scared to open up. We’re supposed to be soft and gentle. But the more Owen presses me, the more I want to drug him again and find another window to leap out of. He reaches for my collar and tugs on it, maintaining deep and terrifying eye contact.

“Because you’re mine and I don’t like that you keep things from me.”

“You can’t just slap a collar on me and get me to expose my darkest secrets.”

“So it’s a dark secret,” he says. “Interesting…”

Owen runs his thumb over my lip again and I know he’s just doing this to piss me off, hoping that the physical affection makes me so uncomfortable that I spill the details of my past. Unattractive, awful, stupid details that portray me as a weak, naive woman. That’s not who I am anymore. Trauma might cause you to make bad choices, but if you keep fighting through it, trauma can also make you strong. I’m not justifying it, I’m just trying to make the best of it.

It’s a hard truth about life that we’re all going to have to deal with trauma eventually. Loss. Grief. Pain unlike anything else. I don’t want to share any of that — especially not with Owen.

“It’s not interesting. Just let it go. I’ll help you kill Hakeem.”

“I changed my mind,” he says, smirking because he’s an evil bastard who realizes he can use this to get some control over me — even if it’s just pissing me off. “I don’t need your help. I need to know the details of your past.”

“Okay,” I say, making a show of dragging out the word. I want this man off my ass like yesterday. “Long ago, two black people had sex and?—

Owen slams his hand over my mouth to shut me up. He looks pissed off, like he has a right to feel anything about my choices to share my personal life with him. Angry Owen glares down at me over his sharp nose. He has such a handsome face for an asshole.

“That’s not what I mean, Vickie,” Owen says. His voice is soft and controlling — almost threatening.