Page 83 of One Night with the Biker

My jaw clamped. I refused to answer that motherfucker. I hadn’t eaten or drank anything since yesterday.

“Do you need a smoke? A drink? A cock suck?”

All the above. I’d rather gnaw off my toes than admit that.

“Do you know why I offered to help you?”

He didn’t intend to leave without my engagement. “You already told me.”

“Maybe I want you to repeat it.”

“Maybe I don’t feel like it.”

“Maybe I’ll throw you out in the fucking desert and see if your fucking survival skills kick in. If you make it back, I’ll really help you. If you die, then it’s no more than you deserve for being such a pathetic motherfucker.”

Without pondering what I could and couldn’t do, I shot into a sitting position, ready to headbutt him. If not for the .44 pointed at me, I would have.

I raised my arms, unable to truly surrender. Shame poured into me and I flicked my glance over the stitches. Narrowing my eyes, I processed the fact that my bandages were gone.

“Self-pity is as soul destroying as any addiction,” Bash said calmly, still holding the gun on me. “When you’re pushed, you do what you must, so why not take balls in hand and make the most of what you have?”

I dropped my gaze to the floor and lowered my arms.

“I’m out of credit with most of my suppliers. I refuse to touch the club’s merchandise because, well, I don’t want to end up like Big Joe Foy.”

Since I didn’t know who the fuck that was, I didn’t respond.

“Mind over matter is surprisingly effective. It’s what Daddy always said. Didn’t get a clue the first couple times he beat my ass for my addiction, but that last one? After I OD’d? That lives with a man. My father loved me. His brand of tough love was the wake-up call I needed. I learned to control myself when I couldn’t get my hands on coke. Don’t mean it don’t feel like I’m crawling out of my fucking skin sometimes. It just means my father impressed upon me the necessity of mind over matter.”

New form of therapy: abuse. I managed not to snort since Bash seemed so convinced his father’s treatment was right.

Lowering his gun, he fell silent, allowing me to turn his words over in my head. I wasn’t sure where he was going with this.

“I relieved Boom Boom of a hefty amount of cash. On behalf of you,” he added with a chuckle. “Yeah, I think a man who loves his little sister as I love mine should be whole, but you disappointed me today. You turned yourself into an invalid.”

“Exactly what the fuck I am. Hands are important. Physically, psychologically, socially. I didn’t lose one. I lost both. I can’t even surrender with dignity.”

“If you feel like you’re a cripple, I don’t need to waste my fucking resources on you.”

“Cripple is an ugly word. And it isn’t your resources. It’s my president’s.”

“Who’d just as soon see you dead.”

“Did he tell you that?”

Bash shrugged. “If not you, then Ainsley.”

“He walked that back and decided to sell her to you.” As if that was any better. She would’ve been little more than a sex slave, destined for a slow, painful death. “Execution might’ve been better.”

Not responding, Bash studied me before finally asking, “Why should I help you, Roman?”

“You took Boom Boom’s money. Fucking over him is to your detriment.”

“I’ve fucked over more than one motherfucker in my life,” he countered without remorse. “Do you honestly think he cares if you get the fucking prosthetics? He left you with me with no questions asked. Me thinks he’s hoping I fuck you up.”

I wouldn’t put it past him. I still had my suspicions about how Warrior sniffed out my location, but my head was spinning. I no longer trusted my own president, or any of my brothers, and hesitated to trust Bash.

“Do you fucking deserve to have hands again if you’re such a whiny bitch? Surviving means rolling with the punches. You saw no one was coming in, so you took care of business. Exactly what I expect you to do. I should’ve waited to see how fucking long it took you to tuck your tail between your fucking legs and come out for food, but a situation has developed that I think you’d want to know about.”

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