Truth

by A. C. Bextor

  “Your silence tells me you’re over-thinkin’ already, so stop,” he voices tersely.

  “Where’s Low?” I inquire, wondering where the other Easton brother’s run off to.

  “He’s with Aimes, but they’re not talking right now. I’ve known them a long time, as have you, and we both know when those two argue, it’s never pretty,” he answers with a smirk in his voice, verifying again how well he does know them both.

  Great.

  “They need some things from you to get this in motion, though. A layout of the Creed property, a list of players you feel are the biggest threat, how many men at the Club during an average day. Things like that’ll help.”

  “I haven’t been back in almost two weeks,” I explain. “I’m waiting for a call from Hoss Lattimore.”

  His voice goes dark as he sneers down the line. “Piece of shit,” he spits, referring to Hoss. “The whole fuckin’ outfit. The people in your town sure as fuck like to tolerate some bullshit.”

  I don’t disagree, but don’t agree either. “They’re bigger here than what the people in this town are used to.”

  “And your town’s law enforcement?” he asks rhetorically. “Joke.”

  “What am I supposed to do if I’m not allowed into Creed? I can’t help anyone until I’m invited back.”

  “You know Aimes, right?” he asks, again posing this as a rhetorical question. “If too much time passes and he thinks this shit isn’t getting done like it should, he’ll move in.”

  “Move in?”

  “You’re not the only one who can infiltrate a piece-of-shit MC.”

  I’ve heard these words before, and I don’t like them any more now than I did then. Those words once came from Aimes and he’s been off radar ever fucking since.

  Standing up straight, rubbing my forehead in annoyance and feeling I’m nowhere closer to the end with him coming into play, I try to explain my position. “I don’t know if I can get all you’re asking. I can try, but my first priority is that little girl.”

  “She’s ours, as well.”

  “Ours?”

  “I’m in this now.”

  Fuck.

  Trying to placate him into leaving this alone and letting me do what I can, I tell him without delay, “I don’t know if you know who these men are. They kill as if it’s not a big deal to get caught.”

  “I kill as if those kind of people deserve to die.”

  Conceding his point again, I nod to myself. “I’ve felt the same.”

  “Then we agree,” he tells me.

  “I’d still like to know what the fuck he’s doin’.”

  “What Aimes is doing is going to piss you off,” he states. “No one knows this kind of shit better than he does. When it comes time for you to know, you will. Until then, sit tight and do what you can from your end.”

  I’m no better off than I was before he called. I’m being left out of the plan and without being in control of a situation, I’m left to sit in place and wait for instruction.

  And I thought I couldn’t get more annoyed.

  “All right. I’ll do what I can,” I agree.

  “Good. One more message,” he tells me.

  “What’s that?”

  “Aimes said don’t be pissed once he starts to blow shit up.” After this is said, the line clicks and Brayden is gone.

  Fucking hell, Aimes.

  Chapter Eleven

  I’ve learned you should never stop listening, even if they think you have.

  “Her hair is too dark. I said I wanted a blonde. Her skin is too pale. I said I wanted a child of Asian descent. And it looks like she hasn’t eaten in weeks. I’ll break her the first time I use her.”

  Break her? Use her? Casey winces at the thought, but tries not to move.

  She has no idea what the man is talking about, but hearing his husky voice say those words in that tone incites horror inside and makes it impossible for her to concentrate on standing in place. She sways a bit before regrouping.

  This inspection of her body hasn’t gone the same as it did the last week with the other men who’ve been brought in before him. The others looked down on her, scanned her body for merely seconds then only vaguely discussed their intent in front of her. This guest, as Viktor referred to him, has by far the dirtiest hands she’s never even felt.

  “Open,” the interrogator commands as he lifts his fat finger and motions to her jaw.

  The sweat clinging to his brow threatens to drop. He has more of it lining the base of his throat. He smells of smoke, like she remembers Hangar smelling when he came into her room one night, which feels so long ago.

  “Twenty grand,” he says out loud to the others. “That’s it. I don’t have to tell you she’s also older than I had requested.”

  Casey’s stomach flutters with nerves, remembering how Anna had once told her she was “old” and her own time had passed. She hadn’t understood her expression at the time. She doesn’t understand it now, either. Casey is well aware she’s only nearing twelve years old and by comparison to many she has seen throughout her time here, she’s still young.

  Viktor clears his throat and Casey jumps in place when she hears it. The large man with short black hair and crusty, chapped lips drops his finger from nearly touching her face, so she uses the opportunity to peer around him to aim her gaze at Viktor. It’s a bold move to do such a thing, a challenge of sorts, but she’s never felt so exposed in front of one of their guests.

  Viktor’s hands are resting on his desk. He looks eerily calm and collected. He’s smiling, and it’s a smile she doesn’t trust because she’s seen it before. This time, though, it’s not aimed at her. He’s angry.

  “Twenty grand?” Viktor mockingly questions.

  The man turns his body in the direction of Viktor’s voice. “Yes. Anything more would be ridiculous.”

  “Ridiculous,” Viktor repeats in the same sarcastic tone.

  “Yes,” the man counters as he pulls his unfitted sleeves down from underneath his jacket to cover his wrists. The suit he’s wearing must be at least three sizes too small.

  “Cilas!” Viktor yells, his voice bouncing off the walls between them.

  The door opens immediately and Casey realizes Cilas must have been standing just outside of it—always on guard, as ever.

  “Cilas, I’d like your opinion please,” Viktor starts and Cilas nods. “Do you think Casey should have to wear her hair blonde for the rest of her adolescence?”

  Anna clears her throat to gain Casey’s attention. Casey looks in her direction and Anna smiles as her hand comes up, signaling her to take a seat in the same chair she was sitting in before the foul man ordered her to stand for his outwardly physical inspection.

  Once seated, Casey looks to Cilas and finds him almost smirking at her. She doesn’t understand the humor of the situation, but feels comfortable enough in her surroundings to cast a small one back.

  Cilas shakes his head no, so Viktor continues. “Do you think we should change the color of her skin? Tan her? Make her look a different origin, maybe?”

  Cilas looks back to Viktor and shakes his head again.

  “Look, I didn’t mean any offense,” the fat man in a now even-sweatier suit placates as he holds his hands out in front of him. His back is to Casey, so she can’t see his face pleading in anxiety and fear. “I was only stating the obvious.”

  Viktor picks up a file, the same one she saw him and Anna reviewing when she arrived. He tosses it on his desk near the man and advises, “You were negotiating, Mr. Carlson. And not doing a proper job of it.”

  “No, I was simply stating…”

  “Simply stating what, exactly?”

  The room goes tense with Viktor’s question. The man standing in front of her moves to crack his neck, holding his own chin as he does.

  Finally, pointing behind himself to Casey, he counters the offer with one better. “Twenty-five grand. Cash. And I’ll have it today. But that’s my final offer. I did
n’t say I didn’t want her…”

  “Cilas,” Viktor calls again as Cilas straightens his posture, understanding the tone Viktor is using. “Mr. Carlson here tells me he’ll break my sweet Casey the first time he uses her.”

  The words echo through Casey’s mind again; after her run-in with Hangar, the meaning of his words aren’t lost on her entirely. It’s not lost to Cilas, either. His face, usually hardened in the anger of his life, changes. The menacing growl which comes from the back of his throat is clear with its intent.

  Cilas is really mad, Casey thinks with her eyes growing wide.

  “Can you please remove Mr. Carlson from Casey’s view? She’s been insulted almost as much as I have.”

  “Wait… I don’t…”

  Before the man can apologize or take back words that shouldn’t have been spoken, Cilas grabs him from behind. Casey cowers in her chair, realizing he’s about to be hurt. Acting swiftly, though, using all of his strength, Cilas pushes him out the door as Anna moves to close it behind them. The loud scream of agony rips through the wooden door, filling Casey’s ears. In response, she lets out a small whimper, which Anna hears from beside her.

  Grabbing Casey’s wrist, Anna squeezes while reassuring, “No, sweetheart. Don’t be scared.”

  “She’s right,” Viktor confirms as he stands, straightens his suit, and walks toward them.

  Anna stays by her side as Casey collects herself and sits up straight.

  Talking to Anna, disregarding the fact that Casey’s still sitting in the room, Viktor speaks as if she’s not able to listen. “Another one with no appreciation,” he says, clenching his teeth. “If I don’t find someone for her, I’ll be forced to take her with me.”

  Whispering softly, and with sincerity, Anna returns, “Maybe that should happen regardless of whether you find someone or not.”

  “Anna,” Viktor pleads, walking toward her and reaching to hold Anna’s arms at her sides. He pulls her closer to him, and Casey realizes it’s meant to be an intimate gesture. “You must know by now I can’t keep them all.”

  Casey processes the information, but she has no way to translate it. She sits motionless in her chair, threading her fingers in and out of each other, taking in deep breaths and trying to remain quiet. It’s surprising to hear the way Anna is able to talk to Viktor when they’ve forgotten she’s there. She understands now, almost without a doubt, that Viktor loves Anna, possibly caring for her deeply. She finds herself envious of Anna for having that.

  “We’ve discussed all this before, have we not?”

  Sighing, Anna looks down to Casey in thought.

  “There are others here who may be interested,” Anna voices, giving in but not looking at Viktor as she speaks. “I believe there are others who could take care of her if you’re...”

  Viktor doesn’t give Anna a chance to finish. “You’d have me give her to one of these fucking animals?”

  “Hoss’ friend, Max,” Anna whispers. “He likes her. He cares for her.”

  Casey’s heart rate increases hearing Anna refer to a man she hasn’t seen in weeks, but she stays quiet.

  “Ah,” Viktor returns, moving his eyes to Casey. “The man in her pictures.”

  Casey gasps a quiet breath hearing him all but admit to taking her pictures of Max. Her pictures. Those she drew. She can’t express her renewed anger and she’s not fluent with its feeling, but her skin warms and her cheeks jump quickly hearing him confirm what he’s done.

  “Yes. The pictures,” Anna replies.

  “Another animal,” Viktor comments. “I’ve not met him, but if he’s running shit for this godforsaken club, I don’t imagine he’s got any money. As you know, Anna, this is a business. I don’t do this for charity.”

  Hearing Viktor’s tone change and deny Anna’s request, Casey looks up to watch as her friend’s eyes close tightly.

  Anna’s soft response to Viktor is held to a low, agonizing whisper; an almost shameful way of remembering a secret which seems as though it wasn’t meant to be said out loud. “I was a charity case once. I was Casey’s age when you found me. You kept me safe and made me a home, Viktor.”

  As the quiet of the room hits, Casey watches Viktor lift a hand to Anna’s face. She slouches low in her chair in hopes not to disrupt their subtle moment together.

  Viktor’s eyes grow soft. Casey doesn’t remember him every looking so genuine. “You were also the only one I’ve ever cared enough about to ensure you were kept safe from idiots like the one who just tried to negotiate a price for Casey.”

  Anna’s back straightens. The side view of her body, which is all Casey can see, goes straight. “Kept being the operative word,” Anna clips back then corrects her tone.

  “You could’ve sold me or let me go. You didn’t.”

  The room’s mood shifts with unsaid violence. Viktor pulls her chin roughly toward his face, and Anna’s small whimper amplifies in Casey’s ears. She doesn’t want to see her hurt, but challenging him would make that certain.

  “If you ever utter another unappreciative word to me about all I’ve given you again, Anna, it will be your last.”

  “Vik--” Anna tries to speak, but he cuts her off, still holding her to him.

  “I can’t keep her,” he says next, letting her go. Casey recognizes his defeated tone. “I’ll do what I can in the little time I have left to do it. I’ve made calls, temporary arrangements of sorts. That’s all I can do for her now.”

  With a voice full of regret, Anna looks down and tries to explain. “I didn’t mean what I said...”

  “You did,” he replies, taking a step back and away from her. “And I understand.”

  “I’m sorry,” Anna utters, casting a quick glance to Casey. It leaves her unsure who those words are meant for - her or Viktor.

  Rounding his desk, Viktor unbuttons his suit before he sits. “Take her back to her room. We’ll try again. I have another coming in tomorrow night from the city.”

  “Yes, Viktor,” Anna complies, leaning in and pulling Casey up by the arm.

  Before picking up the phone on his desk, Viktor instructs, “And tell Cilas to keep Hoss and his pigs out of my space. I need a break from these invalids. I’ll talk to him later about Hangar. He put his hands on my property…” He stops, using his finger to point to Anna and Casey. “He’s taken his hands to both of you and something will be done. Maybe this Max you speak so fondly of would like to do the honors.”

  Property. The single word gives Casey reason to pause.

  “Yes, Viktor,” Anna acknowledges in a robotic tone before turning to close the door on their way out.

  Chapter Twelve

  I wake to the sound of Em’s hair dryer. She must have already showered and is getting ready for work. My phone sits on the floor, blinking with messages I hadn’t bothered to check last night before settling Em in bed after she fell asleep watching her mindless television.

  The bathroom door opens and I hear Em’s footsteps before seeing her reach the mouth of the hall. Her eyes widen when she takes in my morning appearance.

  “I’m going,” she tells me as she slips on her shoes. Her face scrunches as she studies mine.

  “Do I look that bad?” I ask, sitting up and running my hands through my hair. I smell like smoke and definitely could use a shower.

  “You look hideous,” she answers, but a smile she’s trying to hide says she doesn’t mean the insult. “You need anything before I head out?”

  My eyebrows rise. I could think of a few things, but answer, “No. Go on and call me later, if you get a minute.”

  Walking toward me, Em reaches the bed and bends down. She holds my face and smiles again; this time I know she’s about to say something smart. “Be good, Max. Stay out of trouble.” She runs her finger carefully over my blackened eye. “I’ll see you later.”

  As she walks toward the door, I tell her I love her. She returns the sentiment before leaving to start her day.

  Over the next hour, I hang a
round the apartment as always, waiting for word. I think about Em and how far we’ve come in such a short time. Then I think about how different my life could’ve been had I stayed here after Marie died. I don’t believe I’d have been any use to anyone back then, though. My temper always had a way of fucking up the life around me.

  Growing up, the only thing I could ever count on was the peace I felt with Marie. Loving her smart mouth, her equally quick temper, and protecting her was all I ever cared about. As I sit here stewing about a little girl trapped behind cement walls, I’m convinced I won’t find the peace I struggle so badly to gain until she’s free.

  The phone rings in my hand, and seeing the now-familiar number causes me to stand in anticipation before answering.

  Hoss is finally making contact.

  “Max,” I answer casually.

  “Hoss,” he returns.

  “What’s goin’ on?”

  “What’s going on is you fucked up,” he tells me with a harsh voice full of years of cigarettes, but I can also hear he’s pissed. “You gotta face-to-face meet with Viktor at ten o’clock tonight.”

  This surprises, intrigues, and relieves me. “Viktor?”

  “Yeah,” he snaps. “I need to talk to you before you go walkin’ your ass in there unprepared.”

  “Why the meet?” I ask, eyebrows furrowed and genuinely interested.

  “Cause you fucked up, damn it,” he repeats. “That’s why.”

  Since I’m still unsure what he’s talking about, I seek further clarification. “How do you suppose I fucked up?”

  “Gas station incident last night? Witnesses. People know you’re associated with Creed, member or not. You start bringing attention to yourself, people start looking harder at what makes you tick. This leads you here, which leads you to me, which pisses me the fuck off. But it also leads to Viktor, which leads him to start coming unglued. Get me?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Staying low isn’t something you’re apparently very good at. Now, you gotta talk him down. He’s more pissed than I am.”

  “Yeah, okay, I’ll be there,” I confirm.