Truth

by A. C. Bextor

  My phone buzzes in my back pocket. With all the commotion this evening, I hadn’t a chance to call Em. She’s who I suspect is trying to get a hold of me. I let the call go without answering and after a few more seconds pass, and before Hoss finally makes his way to our table, it rings again.

  Standing up and non-verbally excusing myself from the table, I walk past Hoss while grabbing my phone. He glances my way with eyebrows drawn up in question, so I point to the phone in my hand and make my way outside.

  A voice behind me breaks my concentration as I’m about to call Emma back. I need to check in and let her know I’ve seen Casey and that’s she’s okay.

  “Somethin’ up?” Hoss asks, staring into the dark and focusing on the concrete drive of the club.

  “Nothing big. Personal matters.”

  “Emma?” he asks with suspicion. I hate that he knows about my connection to her. It gives him a power I can’t take away.

  “Yeah.”

  “She on you about hangin’ around here with Dee Dee?”

  Without hesitation, I give him the true, honest answer, but it’s not meant in the way he’s referring. “Every day. She hates her sister being here.”

  “She hates Casey being here,” he corrects, and I glance in his direction. It’s dark and I can’t make out his features as well as I wish I could, but his eyebrows are furrowed. “She and Dee Dee don’t like each other.”

  “Won’t make up a story and say she’s not pissed about not being able to see her niece. So yeah, she’s pissed about Casey being here with Dee Dee.”

  “Hang’s fucked-up,” he tells me with a hint of anger. “Dee Dee’s got him laid up, but if he’s too much worse for wear tomorrow, I gotta call in a favor and have a doc look at him.”

  “Cilas didn’t do anything any of the others wouldn’t,” I tell him, defending Cilas and hoping to lessen Hoss’ retaliation, if that’s what he’s thinking.

  He thinks for a brief moment then returns, “Hang had it comin’. I don’t doubt it.”

  “He’s crazy, Hoss. You know this.”

  “He’s my VP, Max. Careful with your words,” he hisses. His voice changes quickly, and I assume he’s nervous to give away his true relationship with his son. “You coming back in for a drink? Charlie’s got shots ready to roll.”

  “Be in after I call Em.”

  “Whipped,” he mumbles, turning around and opening the door. Before he walks through it, he turns his heavy frame to the side. “I know you’re not stupid, but it’d be best if you remember not to discuss club doings with your woman.”

  “Got it,” I say to his back before hearing the door click into place.

  After I’m confident he won’t be coming back, I grab my phone and call Em. Although the hour is late—or early, depending on how you look at it—she answers on the first ring.

  “Where are you?” she whispers. I hear the worry in her voice, but more, I hear the disappointment.

  “Baby, I’m still at Creed.”

  “Did you see her?” she asks in reference to Casey.

  “I did, and she’s okay,” I confirm. “I gave her the book.”

  A heavy sigh comes through the phone. “Good. I’m glad she got it. Are you on your way home soon?”

  “No, I’m gonna hang around here for a while. Shit went down, as it always does. I’ll call or be home tomorrow afternoon.”

  “I talked to Tommy. He’s worried about you.”

  “He always is.”

  “Always,” she repeats. I’m met with seconds of silence before she speaks. “I love you, Max. Be careful.”

  “I will.”

  “Thank you,” she says. “For calling and for letting me know you’re both okay.”

  “Love you, Em. Sleep and I’ll see you soon.”

  The phone disconnects without another word.

  Before returning to the band of brothers, I sidestep where they’re sitting and grab a pad and pen, which sit on the inside of the bar.

  Quickly making my way down Viktor’s office hallway, I think carefully about what I’m doing. I’m accepting a position, tying myself to a man who has every intention of either selling Casey or, if that doesn’t pan out, taking her with him to Russia.

  Neither of these options is viable because neither work for me.

  Checking the office door and finding it locked doesn’t come as a surprise. Rather than hang around outside his office and wait to be caught by a member of the MC, I fold the note I quickly wrote and shove it under the door.

  I accept.

  A few minutes later, I’m back at my seat and hanging with the still-growing table of brothers. After what happened earlier, it seems no one is interested in sleep. And it’s not as if I feel uncomfortable with their company, per se, it’s just that I understand them. Their common connection is being part of the club; their common interest what goes on inside of it.

  “Max, you’re lookin’ a little worn,” Charlie tells me and the table.

  He’s right. Not only am I physically exhausted from stress and lack of sleep, but my mind won’t stop racing. I’m not big on drinking, never have been. However, tonight the alcohol acts as a soother, drowning out what’s in front of me even as I sit in the eye of it.

  “I’m good,” I reply.

  The men gaze beyond my shoulders. When I turn, I also find Cilas standing near the bar with a drink in hand. He doesn’t look hurt, other than a few scratch marks. His face looks heavy, and I’m unsure if it’s from worry or satisfaction.

  “Think he’s ever said a fuckin’ word?” Dog asks Iron in a low voice.

  Wick returns the question with one of his own. “Think he has a fuckin’ tongue?”

  “Doubt it,” Charlie answers. “I was with him once when he got stabbed. No way do you not make a sound when there’s a blade twisting around in your gut. Fucker didn’t even flinch, just pulled it out and beat the guy who did it to the ground.”

  “Kill him?” I ask, curious on how one of Casey’s only possible allies would handle being attacked.

  “No. I offered to help, but he refused.”

  “With a head shake,” Iron puts in with a laugh.

  A while later, after Cilas had taken off, I admit I’m feeling no pain. Along with the many bottles of beer, I’ve also consumed several shots. Again, I’m not a big drinker and I’ve realized too late that I’m a little drunk. It’s irresponsible to do this in their company, but with Hangar down for the count and Cilas still somewhat on guard, I need to take the opportunity to unwind. My mind is still reeling from all Viktor had explained.

  Don’t take my offer to mean I’m not capable of anything more than selling women.

  Nothing he said has left my mind, but that statement runs on an endless loop in my head. Viktor may care for Casey—fuck, he may even love her as he does Anna—but he’ll sell her to make his money just the same. This is in no way the charity he believes he’s running.

  The guys continue laughing, making jokes about Cilas and doing near exact impersonations of Hoss. I finally find myself relaxing and almost enjoying their back-and-forth banter. It’s then I watch as Charlie’s eyes scan the area to my left. Even in my semi-drunken fog, I hear the gasp coming from my right just as Dog’s face goes pale.

  “Jesus mother fuckin’ Christ,” he says before I turn in my chair. “No more jokes about Ci,” he demands with further fear. “Christ in God’s Heaven.”

  I look to Charlie on the other side of me and watch as his own face tightens. He mutters a quick “fuck” before I turn around and find what the commotion is about.

  Standing behind the bar, opening and closing cabinets below with a slam of each, stands Hangar. More so, what’s left of Hangar’s face.

  The room deadens in silence and before anyone can say a word, Dee Dee rounds the corner. Her eyes are swollen, but I assess this time it’s from tears not his fists. Hangar hasn’t put his hands on her this evening—probably only because he hadn’t had the strength.

  Dee Dee
walks to the bar without chancing a glance our way and assists Hangar with pulling out a glass and pouring him a shot of Jack Daniel’s. He takes it back, slams the glass, and she fills it again.

  Before he’s even finished the second shot, his gaze comes to mine and he slams the glass back on the bar. The dead look in his eyes is an irrefutable shade of evil.

  “Hang,” Iron voices. “You wanna come sit down?”

  Without releasing an appreciative expression for the invite, Hangar replies, “Fuck all you cunts.”

  Charlie, being the most vocal and jovial of anyone at our table, replies, “No, hamburger face.” He smiles. “Looks like you got fucked, brother. Cilas treat you with care when he finished fuckin’ ya?”

  Before Wick can finish the sentence he started in regards to ‘calming down’, Hang has pushed his way through Dee Dee. Her back hits the edge of the bar and I stand, watching as she loses her balance and nearly falls.

  Stumbling along, Hangar makes his way to where we’re sitting and stops just short of me near the table.

  I stand in protest and immediately feel his breath on my face, the stink of whiskey strong as he pours his passive rage onto me.

  “How’s Marie?” he asks on a sneer.

  I move to stand closer to him and his chest meets mine, taking a second to think before moving back. The smile on his lips is malevolent. My hand darts out, circling his throat, and I hear the chairs around us scuffle with each body’s movement as the others start to stand.

  “Say her name again, motherfucker,” I seethe. “Do it.”

  His hands rise to either side of his body as the same sadistic smile remains in place. “Maybe I had the name wrong, but isn’t Marie your woman?”

  “Emma is his woman, you idiot,” Dog answers from behind us. Dog and the others must not have any idea about my sister or they’d have kept quiet and taken the situation seriously.

  Charlie, now at our side, reaches in and grabs my wrist from Hangar’s throat. “You’ve got to calm down, Max. Hang’s not himself.” He’s making excuses for the VP. Trying to bring me to focus before I lose myself and fuck up. “You wouldn’t be yourself either if Cilas gave you a fuckin’ beat-down and didn’t kiss you goodnight after he was done.” His last words are drawn out and aimed to piss Hangar off.

  Releasing my hold on Hangar’s throat, but still standing toe-to-toe with the devil himself, I feel someone reach in from behind me. When I look back, I find the redhead from the poker game. Her body is draped along my back and her hands come to the front of my chest. She’s using her fingers to twist the piercings on my chest through my shirt. When I take a quick glance back, her shy smile doesn’t fool me.

  Iron steps in, pushing between Hang and me. He shoves him back and places his hand on my chest so I remain in place where I’m standing.

  How’s Marie?

  The effects of the alcohol spin through my senses as I feel the redhead’s tongue touch my neck, licking it, until her mouth is just under my ear.

  “Let’s find a room,” she coos.

  Hangar lets out a disgusted breath, then bites out, “He’s a pussy, Angel. Enjoy that.”

  Pulling my shoulders up and shoving the whore, finally known as Angel, off me, I head out of the bar alone to find somewhere to sleep.

  Fun’s over.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I’ve learned I’ve not been overlooked by those I’ll never be able to forget.

  When Casey woke up this morning, her chest still felt the heavy, stark remembrance of the gift Max had given her from her Aunt Emma. Because of that, she did something she couldn’t remember doing for a very long time—she woke up happy and ready to face the day.

  The first thing she did after her eyes adjusted to the morning light was to pull out the book from underneath her covers. She had kept it there so she could guard it in the darkness. Immediately, she sat up, not worrying where she was or what the day would bring for her, and she opened the first page. Only then did she see the unfamiliar handwriting staring back at her with what she deemed was love.

  True maternal, unconditional love.

  Her eyes started to get blurry as she read:

  My sweet Casey,

  I think about you every day and can’t wait to see your beautiful face again.

  All my love,

  Aunt Em.

  Casey’s fingers traced her aunt’s words again and again as she tried to draw out Emma’s face from her memory. Emma’s kind eyes and sweet nature called to her, drowning the bad memories she’s held on to from the past and calling upon the good. Her heart longed for the familiar safety Emma used to give her during her visits. It had to have been nearly a year since she’d seen her, if not more, but not a day went by when she didn’t wish to see her again.

  Do you remember your Aunt Emma?

  Her remembrances of a past life, which include living within the club, enter her mind. She appreciates the vivid images of Emma visiting on occasion, bringing her presents each time. Stuffed animals, blankets, and whatever else her aunt thought to bring her. She was happy then, and she’s finally realizing that even if it takes a while and even if she’s still held in this room, the possibility of seeing Em’s face again has stirred a ray of hope within her. So much so, it causes the back of her eyes to sting, and she feels her chest swell with happiness.

  She loves you, Casey.

  Last night, as Max explained he was somehow in connection with Em, she found herself completely overwhelmed at the thought. When he asked if she remembered Em, her throat got tight. She wanted to tell Max everything she remembered about her, wanted to express her happiness for him that he knew her, too, but instead she allowed herself to bask in relief as he held her close to him, tucked carefully to his side. For a few moments, she escaped from the fear of being under the constant eye of those who hold her here.

  After reading the book again, she finds she’s already memorized her favorite parts. Her Aunt Emma remembered correctly; Winnie the Pooh has always been her favorite.

  Casey stands and walks to her desk. Carefully, she pulls out all the supplies Viktor let Cilas and Anna bring to her. Colored pencils, papers of different sizes and textures, and new erasers now sit openly on top of her tidy area. As she unpacks each item, one by one, she’s excited to have something to truly call her own.

  At first, she wasn’t sure what to make of the gifts, only that she was so thankful for each of them. Once she started putting them to use, though, she was allowed an appreciative escape. Her mind went elsewhere as her imagination offered something her real life couldn’t.

  Using her new supplies, Casey starts with a smile as she begins to sketch from memory the face of her beloved Aunt Emma.

  You’re going to see her again soon.

  Chapter Twenty

  How’s Marie?

  The sound of Hangar’s voice wakes me from yet another nightmare, this one not as cruel as the ones before.

  Hearing my sister’s name from that sadistic fuck’s mouth sickens my already hungover state. The blinds are open and the sun is casting its demanding rays over me as I lie still long enough to collect my thoughts. However, I’m not able to do this when I hear the raised voices outside my door. It must’ve been what really woke me.

  What the fuck?

  Sitting up and taking inventory, I find I’m in the same clothes I wore to bed. The room I must’ve chosen last night is as dirty as any other room in this place. The wooden door shakes with a pound before I’m on my feet.

  “Get your pretty face outta bed, Max. We’re leavin’.” It sounds like Dog, who’s irritating my sleep and hungover state.

  Opening the door, I catch him leaning his lanky body on the wall across from it. “Good morning, sunshine,” he spouts.

  “What’s goin’ on?” I abruptly ask, grabbing a smoke off the table and lighting it, welcoming the first hit of nicotine.

  Straightening his smirk, he informs, “We’re goin’ out on a ride. Hoss says you’re to stay back. It
’s club business, which means you’re not invited.”

  Nor would I want to be invited, but I ask anyway, “A ride?”

  I’m familiar with rides, but not with this club. A ride at the MC I once belonged to meant business; it meant something was up and that something was never good.

  “Yep,” he answers. “I gotta go. Boys are waitin’.” He starts to turn away but stops then looks back. “You’re not very pretty in the morning, sunshine.”

  I don’t respond to his antagonizing sarcasm. Instead, I turn around, walk back into the shit hole of a room, close the door, and then grab my phone to check the time only to find it’s dead.

  Thirty minutes later, I’ve woken enough to know I’m able to keep my wits sharp. If the guys are out on a ride, there’s no telling how long they’ll be gone. I don’t plan to stick around this morning to ask questions, though. I have to get to work.

  Luke, my boss at the bike shop, has been good about offering me flexible hours, but in truth, I haven’t been to work in over a week. I imagine if I don’t get my ass back there soon, I’ll be put off the payroll entirely.

  I find the common room empty as I go in search of coffee. The area hasn’t been cleaned from the early morning get-together with the guys. Beer bottles sit on the tables with chairs pulled out or tipped over. Music from the speakers overhead continues to play the old hard rock classics.

  Just as I’m about to grab a glass for water from the counter, I hear Dee Dee’s voice come in behind me.

  Shaky and broken, she whispers out, “Good morning. I see you’re still in one piece.”

  “Yeah,” I acknowledge, absolutely uninterested in her broken appearance or her sullen tone.

  “You didn’t go ride with the rest of them?”

  “No,” I reply quickly, filling my glass at the sink.

  “Not a member,” she whispers under her breath, seemingly to remind herself I’m not one of these idiots.

  I can tell she’s uncomfortable in my company. The one quick glance I let myself take of her appearance indicated she’s as sober as I thought she was last night. With her symptoms of withdrawal obvious, I still don’t put weight on the fact she’s trying to get better. I’ve been around junkies and from what I know of them, their sobriety only goes as far as their next hit until professional help is given.