by A. C. Bextor
“And you believed it,” Viktor retorts with a chastising grin.
“I did.”
“As I’m sure you can understand, Hoss isn’t proud of his relation but he loved and adored Ursa. He’d have done anything for her and did until the day she passed.”
“I understand,” I comment. And I truly do. What I’m doing for Em and Casey now is borne from my feelings for them both.
“He’s stuck to that story for so long and told it so many times that, by now, he may even believe it to be true.”
Moving my focus and shifting the conversation I tell Viktor with no uncertainty, “Casey can’t stay here. But you’re not taking her to Russia.”
“I’m finding her a home, Max. And you’re here because I’m asking you to help me do that.”
“I’ll take her.”
“That’s not an option.”
“Why the fuck not?”
“Can you afford what I’m asking for her?”
“Selling,” I state, claiming the truth and waiting for him to admit it again. Maybe if he can openly admit what he does, he’ll lose the ridiculous ruse he carries in thinking he’s doing these women a favor.
“Yes,” he quickly does. “Selling.”
After correcting his prior statement, I try again. “What about her Aunt Emma? She’s family.”
“Emma,” he repeats. “She’s not her mother.”
“No, but she loves her and she would take care of her.”
“I do what I do. It’s a business, whether you choose to believe this or not. I’ve taken care of Casey over the course of the last year. I’ve kept her safe in that room so she’s remained unharmed. I’ll also decide where she goes from here.”
Standing up and losing my temper as I know I shouldn’t, I rest both hands on his desk and lean in slightly. “Your bullshit reasoning is fucked and you know it.”
“Sit down,” he commands with his voice on edge. “I’m giving you an opportunity to help. You’ve not heard all I have to say. There are others like Casey who you’d be helping, as well.”
Running my hand through my hair as I try to grasp what this lunatic is saying, I ask, “How the fuck am I able to do that?”
“Work for me.” The deadened tone in his voice indicates this could go bad quickly. “There’s an incentive for you in this,” he adds.
“What’s that?”
“Hoss knows who took your sister Marie from you, does he not?”
“He says he does.”
“He does,” Viktor confirms. “As do I,” he states with confidence. “Cilas has been the only person in this rat hole I’ve come to admit I can’t live without. Being that he’s a faithful servant to Hoss himself, I can’t expect him to continue to work for me once Hoss gets word of my leaving.”
“What’s Cilas do for you?”
“He helps my girls, as you already know. He also supervises the men coming to interview their purchase. I’m always here, of course, but sometimes it requires a heavy hand when dismissing said men.”
“So, you need a lackey.”
His head tilts to the side as he answers, “Of sorts.”
“And you’re interviewing me for this position?”
“Of the sort.” He grins, and it turns my stomach.
“What do the anklets mean? I’ve seen them on several of the girls.”
“Stature only,” he says. “A way of categorizing them.”
“Explain,” I seethe.
“Watch your tone, Max.”
“If you’re bringing me into this, I need more information.”
“White,” he starts. “Like Casey. She’s not been touched. She’s still young and hasn’t reached womanhood.”
Virgin.
“Red,” he continues. “Women who’ve been used, but are still young and viable. They still have lives worth living.”
Their lives are worth money, you mean.
“Black,” he says, almost with sadness. “They hope for death. They long for it. I can’t help them, but I do try to keep them as comfortable as I can.”
“What do you do to keep them comfortable?”
“Feed, clothe, provide them medical care when needed. That type of thing.”
“It’s sick,” I tell him. “I’ve seen these women. They aren’t happy.”
“Are you happy, Max? Are there aspects of your life you’d change if you could?”
Not allowing him to turn this shit on me, I ask, “Do any of these women want their freedom?”
“Yes,” he states, plainly and with little regard. “But I won’t allow them to go back to where they came from. They’re safer with me.”
“You sell their bodies without consent,” I accuse the obvious.
“They consent with their lives. It’s better staying with me than living on the streets as they had before I found them.”
“Is it?” I ask with a clip to my voice.
His eyes harden with his response. “Life for them out there on the streets is certain death.”
“In your opinion,” I return.
“Everyone has an opinion. It’s the way of the world, Max.”
“The way of yours.”
“We won’t discuss our differences simply because I don’t care to hear your opinion.”
“What happens to them once they’re sold?”
“I won’t answer for my clients. I have their word that those I bring them are taken care of.”
I don’t buy this bullshit. Nothing about this indicates he’s helping anyone but himself. However, to get everything Aimes needs, I only have one more question. “When do you need my answer?”
“I’m surprised you’d need time to think about it.”
“You’re asking me to be a part of your paid charity of selling women, Mr. Koslov. So yeah, I need to think about it.”
“Tomorrow morning,” he concedes without correcting the label of the situation. “You’re clear on what I’m offering?”
“You’ll keep Casey safe and you’ll tell me what I need to know about Marie.”
“Yes.”
“I’m going to ask you a favor and the answer needs to be yes,” I tell him, knowing I have his full attention.
“Okay.”
“I have a book for Casey. It’s from her Aunt Emma. I want her to have it and not have it be taken away.”
“I’m not unreasonable. It’s hers. Take this back to her, as well.” He hands me the picture after picking up Hangar’s file and tossing it behind him.
“Thank you.”
As I reach to grab it from him, he pulls it back. “Don’t take my offer to mean I’m not capable of anything more than selling women. Don’t mistake my generosity for their lives to mean I won’t have you shot where you stand if I feel you’re crossing me in any way.”
“I don’t.”
“Good. If you need a reminder of this at any time, try to contact Hoss’ recently deceased VP, Triad. He tried to run away with one of my girls. Neither of them is running anymore.”
Fuck.
Chapter Sixteen
When I walk into the common room ten minutes later, the haze of smoke is thick. I haven’t had time to process my discussion with Viktor. I knew before leaving I was already late in getting to the party, but I didn’t want to rush him. I needed every piece of information he was willing to share. I could’ve answered him then, right there, as his foreign eyes bored into mine.
I will work for him.
However, I’ll also work for Hoss.
Playing both sides will be risky, especially since Hoss is bound to figure out my play eventually. It seems, though, that Viktor’s information, confidence, and strategy will get me as close to Casey as I need. This is the information Aimes needs.
Walking further into the room, I see the redhead, who was with Hangar earlier, sitting at a small brown table with a black money bag resting on top of it. She’s sitting back in her chair, studying her fingernails as the gum in her mouth continues to snap.
; She greets me first. “It’s a one hundred dollar buy-in. Hoss put your chips on the table next to Cilas.”
Lifting my gaze toward the poker table, I notice Cilas sitting down and concentrating on his phone. As she said, my chips sit next to his in front of the only empty chair left.
“Sounds good,” I confirm, pulling out my wallet and handing her a hundred dollar bill.
Leaning forward, giving me an eye-full of her chest, she offers, “For three hundred more, I’ll finish you later, no matter if you win or not.”
Not admiring her heavy makeup, mirroring that of a raccoon, and her trashy clothes, I disrespect her while remembering the way she treated Callie and don’t feel bad about. “Aren’t club whores just that? Whores? Your services are fuckin’ free.”
Her lip lifts on one side and she snarls, “You’re not in the club. You pay.”
Leaning down, placing my hands next to hers as they rest on the table, I advise, “I don’t pay for sex, darlin’. If I did, I sure as fuck wouldn’t spend my dime on you.”
“Asshole,” she utters, turning back to look for Hangar. Or Wick. Or Iron. Who the fuck knows? Or cares.
Standing tall, I don’t give her any additional parting words, as my point was made clear.
“Finally!” Hoss bellows from his end seat at the metal table after finding I’ve arrived.
The walls inside this room are lined with windows and outside, I can see the view of the street I pull up on each time I arrive. There’s a white camera stationed outside the far left window. I haven’t been to or seen the camera room yet, but I’m assuming it’s in this particular building and probably near Hoss’ office.
“Finished a little later than I’d hoped,” I inform him. “Girls are good for the evening.”
Hoss hits me with a look of curiosity. I still haven’t decided if or how I’ll tell him how my meet with Koslov went. It’s his club, but being that Hoss isn’t the one I need to use to get closer to Casey, I don’t feel the immediate need to share what went down.
Hangar, sitting next to Hoss, however, pins me with a look of disdain. “Surprised you’re allowed back there. Those wenches are off-limits to us lowlife’s who are actually part of the club.” His eyes move to Hoss, who sits at his right, and sneers, “Looks like Max is the new favorite, and he ain’t even one of us. How did that fuckin’ happen?”
Hoss turns his body toward Hangar, who I now know is his adopted son, and sneers his own words. “You have somethin’ to say, you say it.”
Sitting back in his chair, Hangar casually replies, “Thought I just did.”
While dismissing Hangar’s comment, Hoss turns his attention to the table. Iron, looking nervous, and Wick, seeming a little drunk, sit quietly waiting for his instruction.
“Deal the fuckin’ cards, Ci.”
Cilas, still sitting next to me, has ignored my presence since I entered the room. While he shuffles the cards, Hoss explains, “Five card draw. In two hours, winner with the most chips wins braggin’ rights. Funds from the buy-in go to the club. Consider it a contribution.”
“Bragging rights?” Wick questions. “We usually get…”
Hoss quiets him while looking at me. “Club members only, Wick.”
Wick’s eyes drop to the table in front of him. “Got it.”
“Don’t let me hold you up,” I tell them, thinking I don’t want any part of this anyway. “I can catch you next time.”
“We’re good,” Hoss states, turning his narrowed eyes at Hangar. I assume he’s waiting for a response, but Hangar’s too busy counting his chips. We’ve not started and he’s already looking to be ahead of the others.
Hoss pulls out a cigar as Cilas deals. While lighting it, he asks, “You play cards, Max?”
“Not so much,” I answer, looking around the room for a beer.
“Well, it’ll be easy to take your chips then, won’t it?” He smiles while biting down on the cigar and giving me a view of his yellowed teeth.
As I look at my cards, I maintain my composure.
A pair of aces.
Hoss doesn’t realize my poker face has been set for weeks while being here. I can get through a card game without issue.
Throwing three cards back, I reply, “Probably easier to take my money at this than a game of pool.”
“Maybe you’ll play Cilas then. He’s good at pool.”
I turn to Cilas after Hoss’ comment to find him still ignoring me. I think it best to stay quiet. I suck at pool anyway.
After a few rounds of cards are dealt, I take a quick glance around the table and find Hangar and I are the only ones left with full stacks in front of us. The clock on the wall is ticking and although I’m not excited about having bragging rights, I’m more certain I’d rather have me win it than the piece of shit sitting with yet another club whore on his lap.
She walked in about twenty minutes ago, dressed in a see-through, fishnet black gown. When she arrived, she traipsed herself right into his waiting arms. It has to be said I don’t understand the attraction, other than his position within the club, as to why women flock to him. Hangar’s greasy blond hair, pock-marked face, and lanky body build has zero appeal to me, but I’ve never seen a woman look at Cilas or the others in the same lust-filled manner. Even Hoss has more or less been club whore-free.
“Holy shit, Hang!” Wick calls out, watching me lay down three kings.
Hangar’s face doesn’t change form. He looks incredibly confident.
“That’s how we’re playin’ this, huh?” he asks the table as a cigarette dangles from his mouth, the smoke forcing his eyes to narrow.
Hoss sits quietly next to him, playing with the undealt cards before peering over at Hangar’s hand. His eyes come to mine before a small smile plays across his lips.
Hangar drops his first three cards first. Three aces. I fucking lost. The last two come next. A pair of twos.
“Boat!” Iron exclaims, slapping Cilas on the back and getting no reaction from the muted man.
“Damn! Time’s about up.” Wick advises, putting out his cigarette. “I’m out.”
Hoss starts to pick up the cards, using his fat hand to form the deck. “One more hand. Then we’re done for the night.”
“I gotta hit the head,” Hangar calls out, pushing the whore from his lap and standing.
Hoss starts to shuffle as Cilas leans back in his chair. They make eye contact again as Wick and Iron remain quiet. I don’t get it.
“You’re welcome to stay here tonight, Max. It’s late and there’s room,” Hoss explains.
Thinking of my conversation with Viktor and all I’ve seen since being back, I don’t think it’s a bad idea. It may help mend the time since I’ve been away.
“May do that, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. Several ways to pass the time, too. If you’re looking for somethin’.” Hoss nods to the whore I paid my buy-in to. I hide my disgust by smiling back as if I’m considering it.
Just as I hear Hangar return to the room from behind me, I also hear a voice call my name. It sounds distant and muffled. When I turn around, I see Dee Dee. Her face is, for lack of better terms, even more fucked-up. Her hair is matted on the side with dried blood and her clothes are stained with it.
I hear the gasp from the redhead near the door before Dee Dee starts to address me. “Max,” she starts. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”
Her words and tone sound much different than they had been earlier. She sounds almost sober and looks like she hasn’t had a hit of something since I last saw her. Her body twitches in place and her eyes are having trouble staying focused. Her body tenses with nervousness, so staying in my twisted position, I nod to her in greeting then reposition my focus to the front of the table.
“Anyone need a drink? Dee’s here to service.” I don’t miss the way Hangar phrases this as a statement meant to be vile and sexual. He’s walking back to his chair, and his eyes are holding mine.
“Hang, shut up and sit the fu
ck down,” Hoss calls out.
Hangar does as he’s told, for once, and moves to take his seat next to his master. Hoss’ eyes don’t leave Hangar’s until he’s seated, calm, and ready.
“Last hand. I’ll deal to Max and Hangar,” Hoss informs, already starting his deal.
Once I have my hand set, keeping a four clubs’ flush in hand, I tell Hangar. “Your turn.”
The others watch me hold four back and their interested focus moves to Hangar. His eyebrows furrow as he slides three cards to Hoss.
Lifting the card I asked for and praying like hell it’s a club of any kind, I hold in a devious smile when I find it is. I have a Jack-high flush. It’s not perfect, but unless Hangar’s holding a powerhouse that’s equal or better, it’ll beat most.
Hangar picks up his cards and starts arranging them in his hand. His face is telling me nothing.
“Go ahead, princess,” he nags at me from across the table to show my hand.
I lay my cards down all at once and immediately Hangar angrily stands, throwing his cards on the table with a heavy hand.
“Fuck this!” he shouts to the room.
Cilas, sensing this is about to get worse, stands and steps away from the table. He takes two steps then stops next to Hangar.
Hoss belly-laughs, and the table shakes with the movement. “You fuckin’ lost, Hang. Deal with it. It was a good game.”
“He didn’t win,” Hangar explains. “Rules are rules, Hoss. He’s not part of the club, so he’s not part of winning what the club offers. I win.”
“It’s a poker game, Hang. For fuck’s sake, shut up,” Hoss tries to explain, but his son isn’t listening to a word. He’s having none of it.
After pushing my chair back in, I stand. Hangar rushes to me before Cilas can stop him. He appears to be foaming at the fucking mouth.
“You’re a dead man,” he whispers.
Leaning in, I whisper back without caring about the others in witness. “I’ll gut you like a pig if you ever lay another hand on Dee Dee again.”
His head pulls back, his cheeks jumping as his eyes narrow. “Fuck you. That bitch is mine.”