Page 36 of Property of Bull
I can’t help the laugh I let out. Yeah, I picked the right woman for me alright.
Chapter 10
Margo
Picking out some clothes for the next few days was decidedly easier than our first stop. Looking at the Ulta across the street, I almost ask to have a few minutes in there. Between being ostracized by most of my classmates after my parents’ divorce, then being on the swim team in high school and later flight lessons, I never had a close circle of girlfriends to talk about makeup with, so I never really thought about it. Until today’s comments.
After my parents’ divorce, Mom got me every other weekend, which over the next few years became fewer and farther between as her husband’s job took off and she wanted to travel with him. There was always a reason not to include me on their elaborate vacations.
To counter that, Dad tried to share his love of camping with me, but by the time I was thirteen he admitted that there was no amount of bug spray that mosquitos wouldn’t hazard to taste my blood. And eventually, we stuck to visiting his dad.
It was when I started flight lessons during my senior year that Dad started spending more time working toward his goal of becoming a professional nomad. Traveling the country in an RV was his lifelong dream and, to his credit, he started a podcast with a faithful following.
After my graduation, he was able to do that full time and we were both happy, working toward our dreams. Until the David situation.
It’s when we pull up to the sheriff's office that my head starts to spin, suddenly terrified that there’s a warrant out for my arrest or something of the sort.
“What exactly does he want to talk about?” I ask Stryker for the third time, finally allowing him to pop my seat belt loose.
“It’s alright, Go-Go,” he insists, tugging me from the car. “There are going to be lots of questions, but I’ll be right there with you. If you need a lawyer, we’ll get one in here.”
I plant myself on the sidewalk in front of his SUV.
“What happens if…” I stop talking, worried that there might be cameras with audio out here.
“Margo.” Stryker says my name so softly it almost sounds like a hug. “Can you trust me?”
“I barely know you,” I snap back, instantly squeezing his hand as a sort of apology.
“I’m not asking you if you love me. I’m asking you, as the man you met a decade ago, as the man you gave yourself to last night, do you trust me?”
His words, so full of meaning and calmly delivered, gets me looking up at his face and nodding my head.
“You’re always going to be safe with me.” He gives me the same promise he did on the way home from dinner and I feel the fight drain from my body.
“Let’s go,” I say, smiling up at him.
By the look on his face, I’m giving him whiplash, but he isn’t running away, so that counts for something.
Inside the stark looking building, there’s a young man who is vaguely familiar sitting at the desk. He obviously recognizes Stryker and half stands to greet us.
“Howie, I didn’t know that you were working here,” Stryker greets him. “Can you let Clark know that Miss Tucker and I are here for her interview?”
“Yes, sir,” he says, looking over his shoulder to make sure no one is around. “Mr. Tucker is here, and he’s fired up. Best stay over in the corner so he doesn’t see you.”
My jaw drops and I look up at Stryker, trying to make sense of who Howie means by ‘Mr. Tucker’, until the door behind us is ripped open and someone yanks on my ponytail.
“You’re a murderess, just like your grandmother was!”
In my next breath, I’m lying on the tile, staring up at a man I haven’t seen in years, my head feeling like it’s been stabbed with a hundred needles from the force he pulled on my hair.
I know it’s one of my uncles, I just honestly don’t know which one he is.
The boy at the desk starts screaming for help just before Bull—because the man standing over me is the president of a motorcycle club, and not the man who makes my panties wet—steps forward, shoving my uncle hard enough to send him back through the door and onto his ass on the pavement beyond.
“Margo,” Bull growls out the word, his face transforming from anger to concern as he kneels beside me. “Stay where you are, baby, we’ll get you checked out.”
The pressure he puts on my shoulders holds me in place even as he shifts them to wrap around me. “Paint him as the unhinged aggressor,” he whispers in my ear before slightly pulling back to cup my cheek, speaking louder. “Are you alright?”
