by A. C. Bextor
Setting the photo down, Casey peers further into the box that she now realizes isn’t meant to be marked as hers. Knowing full well she shouldn’t continue her search, she can’t help herself; this is a part of Max’s past life she’s never known to exist. She remembers only knowing men in vests to be vile and disgusting, the same men who avoided, ignored, or were outright cruel to her. Even in the safety of her new home, the memories of their faces and the strong smell of the leather they wore still hold strong.
Her posture straightens as she hears the gentle knock on her open bedroom door.
“Casey?” Turning her face to Max, she freezes, letting the picture drop back in place inside the box.
“What’s that?” he asks, nodding to the frame she just released.
“This one isn’t mine,” she whispers, coming clean and admitting to what she’s seen. She’s been taught never to lie and as much as she wants to now, she won’t.
Max walks toward her and instinct causes her to flinch and take a step away. His eyes are cautious and she can’t place his expression. He reaches out and touches the crown of her head in the same gentle manner it always has before.
“I see you’ve met some of my friends,” he says. Casey watches as he turns in place and peers inside the open box. He studies the picture and smiles. “That picture seems like it was taken forever ago.” He points to the dusty photo before picking it up and taking a closer look. “I miss them.”
“Your friends,” Casey lets out with mild disappointment. She still can’t imagine Max willingly being part of more men who wore leather.
Max doesn’t hide his knowledge in sensing she’s nervous.
“Sit,” he tells her, pointing to the bed.
Casey does what he’s instructed and positions herself at the end. He walks with her, but doesn’t take a seat. Instead, her eyes follow his hand as he places the picture on the bed beside her.
Bending down and dropping his voice to a whisper, he reaches out and holds her face while he explains, “The men you see in that picture are good men, Casey. They aren’t like those you knew.”
“Who are they?” she asks, full of doubt.
She watches as realization truly dawns in Max’s eyes and he smiles. “See we’re gonna have to have a lesson on people, aren’t we, monkey?”
Nodding, Casey eagerly agrees.
“Years ago, I lost my sister. You remember me telling you about her?”
“Marie,” Casey says her name out loud. “I remember.”
He had told the story of his sister with deep regret during a shared session with Casey and Doctor Stacey. Casey remembers feeling the loss with him as he explained what his life had been like since she’d been gone. It troubled her greatly to know Max still carries that pain. He’s been better, but she often sees past his tough façade.
“Yes, Marie,” he confirms. “You know when she died, I told you it felt like I lost a part of me. But with that, I also did things I wasn’t proud of, mainly to help cope with the loss of her. I left here and didn’t come back for a long time.”
“Is that where you found them?” Casey asks, pointing to the picture in reference to his friends.
Max sighs, leans back on his heels, and looks again to the picture. “Yes and no. My point is that sometimes, families come in places you don’t expect them to. I found them during a time…”
With her curiosity piquing and not fearing Max in the slightest, Casey cuts him off. “Did you have a funny name, too?”
“Funny name?” he asks, looking at her directly and trying to understand her question.
“Yes,” she confirms. Swallowing a lump in her throat, she says the names of several she hopes to soon forget. “Hangar was a funny name. His friends were Dog and Wick.”
“Ah,” Max returns. “A road name.”
Casey nods.
“I had a funny name, I guess.”
“What was it?”
“Hood.”
“Hood?” she asks with a raised brow. The name makes no sense. “That is a funny name.”
“It was mine. I haven’t been called that in a while, though. And maybe you wanna never call me that, either,” he finishes sternly. It’s meant as a light warning, but Casey realizes it’s not something she’d ever do anyway. And knowing Max as she does, he means no offense.
Casey replies, “I won’t.”
“Good. Anything else you need cleared up?”
“Was Cilas your friend?” she asks next, thinking of the only other man she loved who wore a vest.
“No, Cilas wasn’t my friend.” Max shakes his head. “But Cilas wasn’t like the others at Creed.” He points to the picture for emphasis. “Neither were they.”
Casey sits quietly and continues to search Max’s eyes for answers to questions she can’t think to ask.
“We can talk about this when you’re ready,” he tells her. “I don’t think you are, and if we don’t let my mom in here to take pictures, my dad will have to deal with her on his own.”
Casey knows Max is using his parents as a distraction and for a brief moment, she thinks about saying so, but decides against it. Instead, she stands up and he gives her room as he takes a step back.
“Owen’s coming to live with us,” he advises her.
She had met Em’s dog, Owen, while staying with Em’s parents. She’s gone to visit him a few times and has always been sad to leave him behind before going home.
“I can keep him?”
“He’s yours,” Max assures. “Does this make you happy?”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s go bring him home.”
Home, Casey thinks.
I’m finally home.
Chapter Forty-Two
One week later…
“You don’t look relaxed to me,” I tell Aimes, who’s sitting beside me on the porch.
His knee hasn’t stopped bouncing since he sat down. His hair is starting to grow back, along with his thick, dark beard. He looks much more like Aimes Easton now that he’s no longer posing as Dextor fucking Ahrens.
“I’m fine,” he snaps. “Gettin’ restless.”
Aimes and Low get this way. When they have time on their hands and nothing to do with it, they get edgy. The problem being Aimes knows exactly what he wants to be doing and none of it’s any fucking good.
“Stay away from her, brother. She’ll be taken care of,” I state in reference to Anna.
Aimes sends me a look of disgust before telling me how he really feels about her going away. “That sick fuck wants her back. You know as well as I do he’s gonna stop at nothing to get what he wants. He considers her his fuckin’ property, as sick as that shit sounds. He’s whack enough to believe it.”
“She’ll be safe. She’s leaving here to be sure she stays that way.”
After Anna gave her sworn statement against a very dead Hoss and the crew at Creed, along with Viktor, she finally admitted she wasn’t safe and agreed to protective custody. It wouldn’t be forever – only until all this was handled and Viktor had been found. As of now, there hasn’t been any word. His entire life’s work was blown sky-high and his precious Anna was taken away from him as it happened.
“He’ll find her,” Aimes adds.
“He won’t.”
“Then I will,” he seethes. “And when I do…”
“Stop,” I snap, turning my head completely in his direction so I can make my point clear. “You don’t know her, Aimes. She’s damaged. She’s had a shit life and she’s finally gettin’ a chance to live it, and what are you doin’?” He doesn’t move to respond, so I keep going. “You’re planning ways to jeopardize that.”
“Men like him don’t stop ‘til they get what they want.”
“Men like him…” I mumble with contempt before I accuse, “Men like you, Aimes.”
As much as I don’t want to agree, it’s hard not to. Viktor loves Anna. And although I’m not sure the direct manner in which he loves her, as that was between them, I do k
now his feelings toward her were strong enough for him to make the decision to leave Creed and go back to his home.
Loving Emma and Casey as I do now, I can understand the lengths he’ll go to, to get that back now that it’s lost.
Looking out over the railing of the deck, he concedes. “Right. Men like me.”
“You want to do something for her? Give her time,” I put in, still trying to convince my friend to let this go. “It took a fuck of a lot for her to realize Viktor keeping her was fucked. She thinks he’s half-hero. You don’t really know her.”
“I know her enough. Those fuckin’ eyes, Max. In the time I had with her at Creed and then after I got her out, they told her story better than any words could. She’s not scared and broken, even after all she’s gone through with that sick fuck.”
“You’re not giving her a chance to be who she should be,” I observe with care.
“This isn’t me out cruisin’ and lookin’ for a woman, asshole,” he returns, correcting half my assumption. “I’ve just seen some shit, and after a while, it’s good to be able to witness a happy ending, you know?”
Sitting back in my chair, I cross my arms over my chest—not in annoyance, but in certainty. “She’ll have hers.”
Standing up, he looks down at me and smirks. I don’t like the looks of it – at all.
“Get your ass out of trouble with the Feds yet?” I ask as a reminder, knowing he’s still buried in paperwork, even after all this time. Aimes needs to chill the fuck out.
With someone on the inside, it was also concluded that Aimes was used without his knowledge to help those women and burn down that operation. When he was informed that he wasn’t the only one who played hero, he was annoyed.
“Did you know there was more than one of those bitches in there?” he asks, his voice terse.
“Yeah, I’d heard, but still haven’t figured out who the other one was. Do you know?”
Shaking his head, he runs his fingers through his hair. “Fuck it all,” he tells me. “It’s done. I’ve got shit to do.”
“More shit needs blowin’ up, I’m sure,” I flip back, and he smiles wide.
Leaning against the rail of my deck, he explains, “Low’s trying to talk me into a fuckin’ vacation.”
“You two should take one,” I answer back. “If anyone needs a break, it’s you.”
“This is my break,” he replies, stretching his arms out onto my porch. “Besides, if I’m taking a vacation, it won’t be with that asshat.”
“Right.”
As he slaps my shoulder and starts to turn away, I can’t help but smile. “See you around?”
“I’ll be in and out,” he replies as he starts to walk off the porch.
Typical.
“Tell Low I said hi and I’ll see him soon.”
With his back to me, Aimes lifts his hand above his head with a middle finger to the sky. “You tell him; he’s not talking to me anymore.”
Can’t imagine why he’s not.
Chapter Forty-Three
“Wider,” I demand, standing in front of Em as she spreads her legs. She’s breathing heavily and her face is flushed. “Tell me how much you want my cock, Em.”
I’m still fully dressed, but she’s not. She’s on her back, naked and spread out, just as I told her to be when I gave her the three-minute head-start upstairs after Casey left.
When I came inside from talking to Aimes and told the girls he and Low were doing fine after everything that happened, Casey smiled with relief. She knew the part he played in getting her out; she’d witnessed it firsthand. Emma had been on constant worry about our friends getting into trouble for everything they had done.
She’s more than appreciative of what Aimes and Low did for Casey. She wants to see them settled and happy. I just happen to be the one reaping the benefits of her well wishes.
“When’s Casey coming home?” she asks, holding her ankles as she spreads her legs further, giving me a glistening view of what I’m still deciding if I want to taste or fuck.
“Hours. Mom’s got her out shopping for school clothes.”
Taking her eyes off me, Emma raises her head to the ceiling before I hear the relief in her whispered, “Thank God.”
We haven’t had a lot of time together over the last few weeks. We’ve been preoccupied with getting Casey settled in, and with that comes my parents. They’ve been in and out of our house so much I’m starting to wonder why we bought one so close to theirs.
“Touch yourself,” I demand again. “Do it slow and stop yourself before you come.”
Positioning her head toward me, Em finds my eyes and I note hers are burning. Without making a sound, her mouth draws opens once her finger makes contact with her clit.
“Ready for me yet?”
She doesn’t answer, and I don’t like that she’s enjoying her own touch more than she’s wanting mine.
“You wet?” I ask, feeling my cock strain in my jeans as I watch her slip a finger into her pussy. “Tight?”
She still doesn’t answer, but the vein in her neck protrudes as her back arches off the bed. She’s about to let go and I’m still four fucking feet away.
Moving toward her with quick steps, I unbuckle my belt and unsnap my jeans on the way. She continues touching herself with her eyes closed, and the power she has over my state of arousal isn’t a bit fucking lost on me. I’ve not even touched her and I’m about to blow.
Grabbing her wrist, pulling it away, and shifting her body to the end of the bed, I whisper, “You come for me, Em.”
As I slide myself into her, I feel her insides clench around me. Her moan at my invasion only fuels my self-induced, delayed gratification.
“Tits, Em. Use your hands.”
In the broad daylight of our bedroom, I watch as Em rolls her fingers around her hardened nipples. She pulls them roughly and gasps another breath.
I’m already close. “When you’re ready, baby.”
Her hands drop from her chest, then her head moves in my direction and our eyes lock. As she grabs my wrists, still holding her hips place, her chest moves with each thrust. I feel her fingernails score my skin before she lets go in a series of curses and moans.
Not long after, I follow and release mine. The pleasure of watching her was almost as good as being inside her.
* * *
“You’ve got to stop touching me,” she hopelessly claims as we’re sitting around the dining room table an hour after we’ve showered.
Stopping mid-air as I lift my beer to my mouth, I remind her, “I didn’t touch you, sweetheart. I didn’t have to do shit. You did all of that on your own.”
Smiling and taking a drink of her wine, she informs, “Not with your hands, Max.” Leaning in, she kisses me sweetly and I taste the last drink she took. “Your eyes touch me as much as your hands do.”
“Noted,” I reply.
“Every time you look at me like that…” She stops, takes a breath, and swallows. I watch her long, slender throat move as she does and I picture her lying beneath me again.
Christ.
“Drink your wine, Emilyn. Casey will be home soon,” I tell her before standing.
She watches me walk toward the kitchen but no sooner do I hit the door of it then the doorbell rings.
“Max?” Em asks, looking out through the window at the same person I see waiting patiently on the other side of it. “Who the hell is that?” She pauses then asks, “Isn’t that the man Casey drew?”
The large man with dark hair and eyes, dressed in a nice shirt and looking all business, peers back at us from outside the door.
“Cilas,” I say on a breath before walking toward him.
As I pass Em, her hand reaches out and grabs my wrist tightly. “You’re going to talk to him?”
“Well, yeah, I wasn’t gonna let him stand outside.”
“What if he’s here for Casey?”
Her words give me pause. Em and Casey both still have residual fears of be
ing torn apart. We’re a family now, and the thought of one being taken away from the other still shakes us all to the core.
Lifting my hand and running my finger over her jaw, I give her a moment to regroup. “That can’t happen. We have her now. For good. Remember?”
“Okay,” she answers, but it’s weak and hesitant.
Once I open the door, Cilas straightens and looks me square in the eye. His large arm darts out and grabs me at the shoulder as he brings me in for a side-arm hug.
“What the fuck?” I ask, pulling back and taking him in.
His hair’s been cut—as in clean-cut, completely gone cut. He’s dressed in suit trousers, and he looks—for lack of better terms—normal and clean. He blends in.
“Wondered how long it was going to take you to answer the fuckin’ door,” he says.
Cilas having a voice doesn’t surprise me. I knew he could talk. I was told his dirty role in Creed was a mute for a reason; however, I have a thousand unanswered questions still racing through my mind regarding his position within that fucked-up organization.
“Come in,” I tell him, stepping to the side once he releases me and allowing him to enter.
His eyes lock with Em’s and her face falls with concern.
“This is Emilyn?” He points with this question to where she’s sitting, but he isn’t talking to her—he’s asking me.
“It is,” I confirm. “Em, this is Cilas.”
A small wave of her hand is all she can offer. Visibly, she’s in shock at his arrival.
“Can we talk?” he asks before his gaze moves to me. “Outside?”
Em nods to me, stands, and moves to the direction of the kitchen, giving me her unsaid approval to go with him.
Once we’ve made our way out, I pull out a chair for me. “Have a seat,” I tell him, pointing to the iron chair on the other side of the table. “Can I get you anything to drink?”
Raising a hand and looking into the street, he says, “No, I’m good. I don’t have but a few minutes before I’m headed out.”
“Long time, no see,” I state. “Long time, no talk,” I correct right after. “So fucked I never knew you had a voice, by the way.”
