by A. C. Bextor
“Poker game tonight is at eleven,” he states, still angry, before hanging up and disconnecting the call.
Finally, I’m invited back.
On one hand, I’m thankful I’ve not been shunned out of the fold. I need to get in and see Casey to ensure she’s okay before I continue the façade of brotherhood with those animals.
On the other hand, though, I’m fully aware that my life inside Creed is a dangerous one. It’s taking me to a place I’ve spent endless energy trying to forget. I never wanted to end up where I once was so long ago, but here I am. I’m befriending the dirty, dark, and ugly, but this time it’s not for a cause without meaning.
Casey’s life is worth every risk.
Chapter Thirteen
“Mom was right. You do look like hell,” Dad reminds me as we stand in his garage, sorting through some of his tools. Before leaving the apartment, I had thought it was a good idea to stop by before heading into work to talk to Luke, but now I’m realizing it may not have been such a great idea.
“I’ve been in fights before,” I casually defend. “You used to tell me it was part of being a man.”
I hear Dad mumble something about me never growing up, but choose to ignore it.
“Are you and Em comin’ to dinner next Sunday? Mom wants to make something Mexican. Thinkin’ if anything, it’d be good weekend entertainment.”
As his back turns to me, I smile without him seeing it and answer, “I’ll talk to Em.”
Dad dumps a box of old parts onto his bench then takes a few seconds to pillage through them. When he’s done, he wipes his forehead before turning back around in place. “Em’s been talking to your mother about Casey.”
“Yeah?” I ask, then wait for his response. It doesn’t come right away; he’s thinking. As of this moment, it’s safe to assume my mom briefed him on as much as Em had told her.
“Yeah. You ready to play house once Em gets custody?” he asks with half a smile.
Judging by his reaction of my mom’s excitement, it’s fair to say Dad’s accepted what’s happening. Even if I don’t give him the details of Creed, it’s good to know he’s not against what Em and I are working for.
“House, Dad? Yeah, I guess I am.”
Dad walks to his garage refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of Coke. “Before I forget,” he casually states, but the dim look on his face tells me he’s anything but casual. “I saw Dee Dee at the gas station while I was fillin’ up the truck this morning.”
“You did what?”
“Yeah,” he answers while shaking his head. “Have you seen the likes of that woman lately? Jesus Christ, son, if the dead could walk and talk.”
“Fuck, Dad. Tell me you didn’t run your mouth about anything Mom told you.”
“Hell no, I didn’t. She’d hardly speak to me unless it was to ask about you. She wanted to know how you and Em were doin’, how long you’d been back, shit like that.”
“Jesus.”
He takes a drink, wipes his mouth with his hand then lowers his voice. “She wanted to know how my boy was fittin’ in with the boys at Creed.”
Releasing a breath, I feel my cheeks puff the air out as my head instantly begins to pound.
“Tell me my son isn’t gettin’ caught up with those boys,” he demands.
“Dad, it’s complicated.”
“Tell me my son isn’t doin’ somethin’ he knows he shouldn’t be,” he demands further.
“Dad,” I start, but can’t finish.
“I lost a child, Max,” he starts with a pained whisper. “Marie’s been gone a lotta years. You don’t know what that does to a parent because you aren’t one yet. And if you ever want to be one, you’ll get your neck outta the way of a place like that and live right.”
“You know why I’m doin’ what I’m doin’,” I try to explain.
“Dee Dee looks real bad.”
“I haven’t seen her yet,” I inform him, my focus going to the keys in my hand and sensing it’s time to go.
“You don’t wanna see her, Max. She’s not the same pretty girl she used to be. I wouldn’t have recognized her if she hadn’t told me who she was.”
Dad’s face is pensive. His disgust for the woman he’s known most of her life is obvious.
Before delving into a conversation I’m not ready to have, I inform, “I gotta go check in at work.”
As always, though, Dad isn’t swayed. “For me, Max, please help those you can, but don’t lose yourself in doin’ it.”
I nod, then look down the drive and reassure him. “I won’t, but it’s complicated.”
“All things are complicated,” he says.
He’s right about this.
“Go on now,” he dismisses. “Tell Em I’m looking forward to seein’ her pretty face soon.”
“Will do. Take care, Pop.”
Chapter Fourteen
When I arrive at the MC, I’m greeted by a familiar face. Not a friendly one, but a familiar one.
Cilas is back and he looks every bit as pissed off and bitter as he always had before. Only now, apparently after finding out I’ve been working his rounds and doing it alone, he’s more pissed and even more bitter. Although no way to know verbally, I can feel the drill of his stare into me each time his eyes pass over mine.
After being away for so long, then spending the afternoon at Dad’s, my nerves are frayed. Even with all that, though, it’s time to put on my mask of indifference when handling the members here.
“Hey, Cilas.” I keep my greeting casual, although I feel anything but. Although part of me loathes having to be back here, the other part is relieved at the time I’ll have with Casey.
I don’t get a smile, a nod, or a small wave of Cilas’s rather large hand. Instead, his nostrils flare, so I keep walking.
The next person I regretfully run into is Hangar, who sits at the bar with a redhead I’ve seen here before, but she’s usually on Wick’s lap.
“Max,” he greets. I’m almost shocked, as it’s unusual to get an acknowledgement at all, let alone one this welcoming.
I’m sensing something’s up.
As I did with Cilas, I do for him—I go for casual. “Hangar. What’s happenin’?”
“Same ol’ shit. Wanna beer?”
Mentally taking a breath and sitting on the stool next to him, I reply, “Sure, if you’ve got an extra.”
“Callie!” Hangar’s voice bellows without delay. It’s not until now, with his focus elsewhere, that I get a good look at him.
On the first pass, his hair looks wet. It’s not. Instead, it looks chock-full of dirt and grime, as does his body. His fingernails, which sit on top of the club whore’s thighs, are penetrated with deep grooves of dirt underneath each. The smell of him, even from where I’m sitting, takes up the space around the bar. He also looks completely shit-faced.
Pulling my attention away from him, I watch a woman, looking worn from wear and not from consensual sex, walking timidly toward us at the bar. She says nothing but looks directly at Hangar, as if waiting for instruction.
“Get my friend Max a beer,” he demands. She nods and starts to turn away, but he stops her before she can. “And how about you do it naked.”
Son of a bitch.
The woman doesn’t hesitate at all. Doing as she’s told, she unhooks her dress from the straps at the top around her shoulders, which hold it together, and then the black material pools at her feet. The redhead sitting on Hangar’s lap inhales deeply when she eyes the scars, faded and new, sticking out in vibrant shades of pale pink to deep red. The woman’s chest and stomach are full of them. Some look angry and swollen, and others seem to be thick with scar tissue heavily surrounding them.
“That’s better.” Hangar smiles wickedly. “Now get him a fuckin’ beer, bitch.”
My teeth grind and I feel my jaw tense. The woman, showing no emotion, moves robotically to do exactly as he’s ordered. She places the bottle of beer in front of me on top of a yellow napkin. Her eyes
briefly capture mine and she doesn’t budge. She’s waiting for something further, but I don’t know what.
“Need anything else?” Hangar asks.
Leaving my eyes on her, I shake my head and move my hand to signal I’m done.
Jesus Christ, I’ve just dismissed her.
“Hold up, Callie,” Hangar calls to her again.
Using the same meek and slow motions as before, she stops and turns in his direction. No reactions cross her face. This isn’t a standard club whore, and I don’t recognize her place.
“Come here, cunt,” Hangar calls out.
Once she makes it around the bar and to him, he reaches his hand up from his seated position and pulls at her hair. Then he pushes her head toward the face of the redhead still on his lap. Callie winces in pain; it’s the first emotion she’s displayed since I’ve seen her.
“Kiss her,” Hangar orders. “And make it fucking interesting.”
The redhead giggles while leaning forward. My stomach turns realizing the club whore has authority over the poor woman Hangar is treating worse than I’ve ever seen a woman here treated—those locked in cement cages included.
In any club I’ve been in, including the fucked-up one I was part of before, the club whores were the lowest of the low. They would loiter and wait for any attention they could find from a member; it didn’t matter his rank or the time he had served in the club, either. This is something different.
As she stands in front of me, I take a quick look down at her ankles. Neither holds a strap of color of any kind. This isn’t one of the girls who are considered property. This is a whole new brand of fucking crazy.
“If this is for my entertainment, don’t bother. I like ‘em clean,” I say in reference to what’s about to happen. I don’t want to see it.
“Ain’t for you, fuckhead,” Hangar returns, sitting back in his chair and grabbing the redhead’s chest with both hands from behind her. His hips thrust slightly upon contact.
His eyes move to Callie. His hand comes up and slaps her hard in the back of the head to get her moving in on the redhead again.
“Fuck yeah, that’s it,” he oozes as they start to aggressively kiss in front of us.
He grabs Callie’s hair tightly in his fist again, forcing her against the redhead, not allowing her to move—not that I think she would if given the chance.
“Callie here is earning her place, so to speak,” he starts to explain in front of the two women who continue going at each other. “Callie thinks being an old lady is all fun and games. We’re showin’ her it’s not.”
“She’s someone’s old lady?”
“Not yet; gotta break her in first. Who knows, she may end up with Cilas.”
Cilas may be a lot of things, such as angry, intimidating, and quiet, but abusing women hasn’t been something I’ve seen him even attempt to do. I’ve also not seem him partake in club whores of any variety, either. At least not when I’ve been around.
I take a pull of my beer, turning around and looking ahead rather than what’s happening in front of me. I sneer in disgust. “She looks like she’s having a good time.”
“She’s not here to have a good time. She’s here to entertain,” he sneers.
After what feels like a few long, drawn-out seconds, I hear the slam of something heavy behind us. Turning around in my seat, I get a clear view of Cilas holding what’s left of a broken chair in his hand. The remnants surround him and he looks enraged. His jaw is clenching, his chest is moving up and down, and even his forearms are tense, as he clutches the leftover wood in his hands.
I was right, Cilas doesn’t hurt women.
Hangar laughs at him, though, finally pulling Callie off the redhead as his whore wipes her mouth.
“Get outta here, slut,” he says to Callie. “You’ve got shit to do.”
Hangar grins as Cilas drops what he’s holding and steps back, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Hangar. And he doesn’t leave the room. Instead, he stands guard at the door, positioned back in his usual stance. Now with his hands held clutched together in front of him while his large body, shirtless under his cut, stands watch around the room.
Callie disappears in the back before I’m able to turn around to see if she’s okay.
“Max!” I hear Hoss greet me before patting my back with a hard slap; hard enough to tell he’s still pissed, and the act is sending me an unsaid message that he is. “See you made it and you’re already having a drink without me.”
“I am. It’s been a long fucking day,” I answer, not that he’d have a fucking clue or care about the stress I’m feeling.
Hoss’ pissed-off mood regarding my altercation last night and bringing attention to his club appears to have calmed, only slightly. I had expected an immediate ass-chew, but it doesn’t appear there’s one coming – at least not yet.
Instead, Hoss observes, “Nice fuckin’ shiner, brother.”
Tilting my beer and taking a drink, I reply, “Thank you. I hadn’t noticed.”
Hoss takes in the sight of Hangar and his whore then lifts his thumb in the air over his shoulder. “Get out. You’ve got work that needs done.”
“Jesus Christ, Hoss,” Hangar spits out. He must realize he’s being dismissed just as he dismissed Callie. “We’re havin’ a drink, for fuck’s sake.”
“Hang, I’m about one more word outta your mouth from putting you down for good. Do as I say and move your fuckin’ ass!”
Hangar slaps the whore’s leg with an audible force, signaling her to stand, so she does. She prances off half-naked into the other room.
Before Hangar is able to pass Cilas on his way out, I watch as the palm of Ci’s hand hits him square in the middle of his chest. Hangar is nothing comparable in size to the tall and dark giant holding him still, so he’s stopped dead in his tracks.
Cilas gives him a deathly stare and Hangar’s reaction is to lift his hand and tap Cilas’ cheek as if life’s a big joke, because he assumes Hoss will protect him.
“Watch yourself, Conan. Anything happens to me and they’ll know you did it,” Hangar chastises while smiling.
Then for the first time ever, I see something I’ve never expected to see. Cilas smiles. And it’s wicked.
His teeth are perfect, straight and clean, but it’s the way his slashed face, which holds that long, jagged scar, moves as he does that’s frightening.
“Boys!” Hoss yells. “Ci, let him go,” he demands next. “Hangar, unless you truly have a death wish, stop fuckin’ with him and go about your business.”
“Right, Prez,” Hangar replies before walking out of the room without another word to anyone.
“Christ, these boys,” Hoss says the moment he sits. “You gettin’ an idea of why I want you to join the club at all yet?”
Taking a pull of my beer, I look forward to the mirror across from us at the bar. “Gettin’ it.”
“I’m tellin’ ya, Max. You’d have the world by the ass if you’d join us.”
“Prospect life doesn’t excite me,” I return. “And I sure as fuck would never work for your crazy VP.”
“He’s all right,” Hoss states in Hangar’s defense. “Couple of screws loose, sure, but overall, he does what he’s told. Everyone here has a purpose.”
Sitting back in my stool, I turn my head to see Cilas still standing guard. “What’s Hangar’s story? How’d he end up here?”
“Phew. That’s a tale of its own,” he tells me, then takes a pull of his own beer he brought in with him. “Hang’s had it rough.”
Obviously.
“Most of the boys here have, but Hang’s out there sometimes. He served a stint in prison for rape. I’m not sure the details, but the girl was young. Hangar could’ve gotten a bad rap.”
Of course.
“Prison time for pedophiles, I suspect you can imagine, isn’t time spent reflecting. It was hard on him. He’s not a big man, so he was…”
“Someone’s bitch,” I put in, not letting him finish,
but enjoying the first visual of Hangar I’ve ever had.
“Yeah, that and more. Got the fuck knocked outta him daily, too, I’m sure.”
I’m silently wishing I could’ve personally been there to see that shit.
“When he got out, he had nowhere to go and at the time, a friend of his, Triad, was my VP.”
The one you had murdered—yes, I remember.
“He and Hang grew up together. Triad asked I take a chance on Hang. Wanted me to give him menial jobs to see if he’d work out.”
“And he did,” I finish for him.
“Yeah and no. I still don’t fully trust him with any of the girls.”
My eyebrows rise and, clarifying, I ask, “The property girls, not the whores.”
“Exactly. Those pieces of property belong to Viktor, not me. Hang gives in to his temptations often in regards to rough sex, which I assume is why he’s with Dee Dee. So I don’t want him near the stock.”
Human stock.
“Hang fell in love with a woman a long while back. She was a townie, a girl from around here, too. I’m sure it was the first time he ever felt a caring thought about anyone, including himself. When shit didn’t go down the way he wanted it to, meaning she refused his proclaimed undying love, he went wild. Punished her somethin’ good. It was bad, and bad in the sense that it was hideous. I felt for him at the time. He was young, not bright, and he just snapped.”
“And you protected him?” My question is stated as an accusation and that’s exactly what it is.
“I did. Ever since, he’s not been too tough to manage and when shit goes down, he’s the first in line to defend Creed.”
Changing the subject as my stomach churns and blood starts to warm, I ask, “What time is tonight’s poker game?”
“It’ll start in about an hour. I need Ci for a few other things before we head in. Need you to handle the girls this evening and meet us back in the game room. If you don’t know where that’s at, ask Wick or Iron. They’ll tell ya.”
“Anna on kitchen duty?”
“She is.” He slaps my shoulder as he stands. “See, you already have this shit down. Rethink the cut, Max,” he suggests in a serious tone. “We’ve got opportunities for you here.”