by A. C. Bextor
Fuck no.
“I’ll give the thought its due,” I return on a lie.
“You got your meet with Viktor before the party tonight. You ready for that?”
“Ready? As in?”
“As in, don’t go in there with your mouth blazin’. He’s not someone you wanna fuck with.”
“What’s he want from me?”
Hoss’s head turns quickly, surveying the area around us. “I have no fuckin’ idea other than you fucked up last night.”
“I wasn’t working for the club when it happened. I was on my own time.”
“You fucked up,” he repeats with a carefully measured tone. “And now you need to apologize.”
“Right,” I confirm, still not understanding my purpose in meeting Viktor but sure as fuck welcoming it nonetheless.
“Go on out and take care of the girls. I’ll see you after you’re done with Viktor.”
“See you then,” I answer to Hoss’ back.
Hoss walks away and passes Cilas as he instructs him to follow. Cilas cuts me a glare and I remain sitting quietly as I take in the sight of all the debris from the broken chair.
Hoss didn’t even fucking notice.
* * *
After finishing the check of the women inside each room, I make my way to Casey’s. My heart is heavy with anticipation, both praying she’s still there and also hoping she’s as I left her before—still as safe as she can be and definitely untouched.
Before making my way inside her door, I notice it’s open. The vague voice talking from inside sounds familiar. The words spewing from that mouth make my blood run thick through my veins and causes a fury so deep that even with all I’ve seen in this place already, I hadn’t thought it possible.
“You’re no different than me.” A pause as the woman clears her throat and sets something down on Casey’s desk; its echo sounds like glass hitting wood. “When you’re ready, he’s going to sell you. Viktor will throw you away for money. A girl like you, still sweet and underdeveloped, will go first.”
I don’t hear any response, so I assume the person talking is saying it directly to Casey.
“I thought about leaving here, ya know?” she continues, now sounding bored. “But where would I go with a bastard child whose father wanted nothing to do with her?”
Jesus Christ.
“Hangar wants you, but Viktor would kill him if he ruined you. Someone’s gonna get to you, though. You’ll see. Then you’ll regret being such a filthy brat to me all these years.” The voice stops and the glass hits the table again, sounding as though she stopped for a drink. “You think I was a bad mother? Ha! Wait ‘til some big, fat man puts his hands to you. You’ll scream my name, but I won’t come.”
Hearing Casey’s heavy sob escape her, I act quickly and throw the door open to its fullest extent. I step in and see the world’s worst mother staring back at me with a scowl crude enough to match my own.
“Dee Dee,” I seethe her name as viciously as I can. It helps release my tension in wanting to backslap her. “What the fuck are you doin’ in here?”
“M-Max?” she stutters, dropping her arms as she takes a small step away from Casey.
It’s a fair assumption she had her filthy fucking hands on her, and Casey confirms once she sets her free. She looks from her mother to me before scurrying to her bed, sitting up in the corner and drawing her knees to her chest.
“Askin’ again, woman. What the fuck are you doing in here?”
Walking toward me, with her body languid and unhurried, Dee Dee speaks softly, almost reminiscent; a clear contrast to her hated words of resentment moments before, which were aimed toward her own daughter. “I never thought I’d see you again.”
Leaning against the door jamb, blocking her way out, I state again to keep it simple. I want an answer. “This doesn’t tell me why you’re here.”
She snaps, holding the key to Casey’s room out in front of her. “I came to visit my daughter.”
Without giving her a chance to put it away, I grab it from her fingers, pocket it, and say in a clipped tone, “Get out. She needs to rest, and you don’t need to be here.”
Dee Dee’s eyes grow wide as she stares at the pocket of my jeans. I have no idea—other than she’s Casey’s mother—why she would ever have rights to a fucking key. I don’t contemplate long as Dee Dee starts laughing herself into hysterics while my own eyes widen in response. She holds her stomach and wipes her well-bruised eye.
By the look of her battered face, I’d say Hangar must’ve taken his hands to her recently.
She regroups her composure before asking, “And what do you care about this little one?” Looking back at Casey, she asks the more ridiculous question, “Is she what you’re saving your pennies for? A little girl for sale?”
“Dee Dee.” I say her name in warning, attempting to pull her away from whatever she’s intending to insinuate.
I find she’s too far gone when she continues. “You like little girls, Max. I should’ve known, considering the way you always used to look at Emma.”
“Shut your mouth and get out.”
I can’t see Casey from behind me, but Dee Dee can. She twists her body around my frame and talks to Casey directly. “Casey, honey. You remember your sweet Aunt Emma?” she asks. Casey says nothing, so Dee Dee keeps going. “She didn’t want you, either.”
“Shut up,” I counter quickly.
Looking at her fingers, Dee Dee picks at the nails with nervous tension. “I saw your dad in town,” she informs. “He looked like a broken father who lost his daughter.”
Her rude accusation is easy to ignore, being that it comes from a piece of shit. “You don’t know anything about my family.”
When she moves forward, closing the distance between us, I smell her breath and my eyes move to the drink she had set on Casey’s desk. It smells of tequila – and a fuck lot of it.
“I missed you when you left,” she confesses with a swift mood change. “I thought you’d come back. You never did.”
“No, Dee Dee. I didn’t think there was much to come back for.”
Ignoring my attempt to insult her, she turns her body in Casey’s directions and starts to make a move toward her. I reach out for her arm, moving quickly and grabbing a hold of her with more force than I had intended. Slamming her against the cement wall near the door, I hear Casey yelp in surprise as Dee Dee’s head snaps back, hitting the concrete with brutal force.
I’ve never man-handled a woman. I’ve never had a reason. Dee Dee isn’t a woman, though. Instead, I consider her to be no more than the filth of the earth’s surface, a pillar of bad parenting, and a lowly excuse for a human being.
My arm holds tight against her throat and with great effort, I resist my desire to permanently cut off all oxygen to her used-up, dried-out, rarely used brain. Casey’s whimper in plea is what probably saves her life.
“If you ever lay another hand on her, Dee Dee, I will kill you slowly and painfully. Do you understand?”
Her eyes, now back to being wide and alert, look frightened for the first time since I walked in here. Her body, tense and rigid, remains still and her breathing, now staggered, starts to slowly even out.
Pushing harder on her throat, I demand, “Tell me you hear what I’m sayin’ to you.”
“I hear you,” she finally whispers in response. Looking into her eyes now, I find they’re dead and void of any human connection.
I ease up on her throat and drop my arms to my side, but still block her way so she can’t get to Casey.
Rubbing her neck, she talks quietly. “You shouldn’t have left. I would’ve given you a life, Max.”
“Something like this one?” I ask, stretching my arms out to the room. My tone can’t be mistaken for anything other than fury and disgust for the woman in front of me. “You’ve raised your kid in a club full of men who, at any time, could hurt her.”
“Max…” she tries to stop me, but I keep going.
“You’re nothing, Dee Dee. Nothing to the club, nothing to these men, and sure as fuck nothing to your daughter. Nothing. What the fuck is it about this life you’re hoping to get?”
“You don’t understand,” she responds with petulance and looks away from me to the ground.
“Fuck that bullshit. I do understand. You always were self-serving. After I left, that changed. You’re also self-destructing.”
“I’m not. This is what my life came to when I figured out you were never coming back.”
Taking a breath, I explain what I know I shouldn’t have to. “We make our own paths, Dee Dee. You did this, no one else.”
“She did this to me,” she returns, pointing to Casey.
Leaning in, I get in her face, close enough I’m able to ensure she’s listening. “Not another fuckin’ hand touches her. Not yours, not Hangar’s, not Hoss.”
“Right,” she assures, but it can’t be believed. Dee Dee is too far gone. “I’ve gotta go,” she tells the room as she walks toward the door in no rush.
I don’t give her the satisfaction of saying anything more than, “You do that.”
Once she’s gone, I grab the handle to the door and shut her out with a slam. I listen, though, as she continues to raise her voice and talk all the way down the hall. Her ramblings include exacting revenge, my body parts being ripped from my body, and somehow Hangar is going to do it himself.
Right.
Breathing a sigh in relief now that she’s gone, I turn to the room and find Casey still crouched in the corner of her bed. Her back is leaning on the cement wall behind her, her knees still drawn into her chest. Her eyes are closed, her hands cover her ears, and she’s rocking quickly back and forth.
“Casey?” I call, loud enough for her to hear me.
She’s refusing to acknowledge I’m still in the room.
“Casey!” I snap, wishing I didn’t have to be this vocal, but I know better than to touch her.
Her rocking stops and her hands fall away from her ears. She clutches her knees to her chest, but her eyes remain closed.
After walking toward her quietly, I crouch down in front of her. “Sweetheart, look at me.”
She doesn’t.
“It’s Max. I want you to look at me.”
Her eyes open. Once she scans my face, I see the tension in her eyes and the sadness in her lips’ quiver.
“Does she come in here a lot?” I ask.
She shakes her head.
“Does anyone else?”
She nods.
“Do all the men who come in your room wear the black leather vests?”
Again, it’s a no.
I stand up to give her space and step back. When I do, Casey darts forward and wraps both her arms around my legs. Her hold is fierce as she buries her face in my knees and locks her arms together around me. If I tried to move at all, I’d fall.
I haven’t seen her in weeks and the first time I do, she’s had to witness my temper. It doesn’t matter if it was triggered by someone hurting her or not. It says a lot about her trust in me that she’d feel safe enough to hold on so tightly.
“Shit,” I curse out quietly. “Okay, monkey. I see we have a situation here. You gotta let go of me for a few seconds so I can bring in your food.” As I continue looking down to the crown of her dark hair, I reach out my hand and squeeze her head as I ask, “Aren’t you hungry?”
Her arms release me and she looks up with shining eyes. Then she positions herself to sit on the edge of the mattress, waiting for me to tell her what’s next.
“Anna made you spaghetti tonight,” I tell her on my way to get the tray.
Casey’s eyes light up and I notice the tension slowly seeping out of her.
“You like Anna,” I observe in passing, setting the tray on the desk next to her water and tossing her mother’s drink on the cart outside.
“Yes,” she answers.
“Well, there’s my monkey’s beautiful voice.” She smiles at the compliment. “Get up there and eat. I’ll hang around here for a little while, if you don’t mind.”
I move to the corner of the room next to the door. Casey stands up, walks to the desk, pulls out the chair and takes a seat. Her hands move to the glass first, where she takes a healthy drink.
“I’ll grab you more water when you’re done with that.”
She nods, sets the glass down, and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. The snapshot visual of that action reminds me again she’s still just a kid.
Trapped in a pile of absolute trash.
“Cilas is back,” I inform her, not sure if she’s aware of that or not.
I don’t know her feelings about him, but now that I have Anna’s acquaintance with her clear, I’m pushing for more. My statement doesn’t come as a surprise. She continues chewing her food.
“Do you like Cilas?”
She shrugs and nods while eating. Again, the childlike demeanor is there, but never allowed to be outwardly present.
“So, I was wondering,” I start, trying to think of random things to ask a child to keep them talking. I’m not much of a talker myself, so I’ve no idea what to really talk about. “I hear you like Winnie the Pooh.”
She nods again, shoving another forkful of spaghetti into her mouth, and then abruptly starts to chew it.
“Have you ever seen one of those books?”
“Yes. A long time ago.” she answers quietly and without looking in my direction.
“You like to draw, I know that.”
She nods, taking in a mouthful of food.
“Draw anything recently?”
“Yes,” she swallows.
“Can I see what you’ve got?”
Scooting her chair back, she walks slowly to her mattress. From the same spot where she kept the other pictures, she pulls out more. Walking toward where I’m still standing in the corner by the door, she reaches her full hand out to me. I grab the pictures and move my body toward the middle of the room, directly in the moon’s view, so I can see them.
More pictures of kids, one after another. Boy, girl, girl, boy. The last picture, though, completely takes my breath away.
Looking up at her, I find her standing in front of me with her hands clutched tightly in front of her. She’s waiting for my reaction.
This is a picture of me and her. It’s a candid head and shoulder shot. In the drawing, her arm is wrapped around my shoulder and we’re both smiling brightly. As always, her pictures are drawn as though the subjects are looking into a camera. This specific drawing is merely an outline, though. There isn’t as much shading as she’s usually added to her pictures. She must’ve just started it.
“This is beautiful, Casey,” I compliment her while using her real name. “It’s perfect.”
“Thank you,” she answers, walking back to her food.
Moving toward her now-seated position, I place my hand on her head again and squeeze gently. The muscles in her jaw move with every bite she chews as I hold onto her, not ever wanting to let go.
“I told you Cilas is back,” I remind her, waiting for her to look up at me. When she does, I break the news as gently as I can. “This means I may not come around again for a while, but it doesn’t mean I’ve left you.”
She stops chewing and her eyes water with understanding. The despair of her situation grabs hold, pulling at the center of my chest. She doesn’t say anything further, but as she looks away, I’m reminded of what I’ve given her since the day we met.
Hope.
As I lean over and grab her empty glass, I let her know, “I’ll be right back. When you’re done, push the tray away and I’ll come in and get it.”
“Okay,” she answers without being prodded.
Leaning down, I shock even myself when my lips meet the top of her head. She stills beneath me, but lets me stand over her for a few seconds of any affection she’ll let me offer.
“Be back,” I say as I turn around and walk out of her room, closing the door behind m
e.
Thirty minutes later, I return with a refilled glass, a bigger one that Anna had insisted on giving me, and I find Casey’s done exactly as I had told her. She’s pushed her finished tray to the side. She’s also tucked all her drawings away, curled herself up on her mattress, wrapped her small body in a blanket and has already quickly fallen fast asleep.
An outsider looking in wouldn’t know or understand the dire living conditions she’s struggling to survive in. To someone who wouldn’t know, she looks peaceful and so much like a child.
Chapter Fifteen
On the way to Viktor’s office, I check my phone for the time. I have over thirty minutes before the poker game with Hoss and his boys starts.
Reliving the conversation I just had with her, I realize Dee Dee’s muddled brain doesn’t concern me. Whether I want to admit it or not, the Dee Dee I remember from before is gone. The woman I once knew as we grew up has vanished. She’s trash, and I can’t say I’ll mind seeing her burn with the others if it comes to that.
As I arrive to the end of a brightly lit hallway, I find the big wooden door with a silver handle closed. Dog gave me specific instructions as I passed him in the hall.
Always knock, Max. Viktor doesn’t like company, even if he knows they’re coming.
Heeding Dog’s warning, I knock with enough force I’m sure whoever’s waiting for me on the other side—Viktor, and possibly someone else—can hear.
“Enter,” a terse voice answers, the accent not defined enough to determine its origin through the one-word command.
As I open the door, I find it’s as though I’m in an entirely different building. This office is clean, unlike any other room I’ve been in.
“Sit, please,” Viktor demands as he points to an empty chair across from his desk. He turns his back to a small bar with several elaborate bottles filled with what I assume by looking around his office can only be described as expensive liquor.
I turn to close the door behind me before taking in the expanse of the room. My chest pounds heavily with both anticipation and nervousness.
With his back to me, I watch as he grabs two glasses and starts to fill them one after the other. He inquires, “Do you know who I am?”
