by A. C. Bextor
“My bike,” I state out loud, realizing he must have seen me on his property through video feed.
“It wasn’t your bike that pissed him off,” she admits. “It was my hand on your chest that did. I never knew the house was wired with surveillance inside, Max. I wouldn’t . . .”
She closes her eyes and an angry tear escapes, landing on my thumb resting near her chin. Before I can brush it away, her hand wraps around my wrist with desperation. “He was so angry. He went a little crazy.”
“Crazy?”
“With confession,” she states, drawing her eyes down and away from mine. “He told me he’s been having an affair and it’s been going on for some time.”
“An affair,” I repeat, letting the information sink in.
“With his assistant,” she adds. “His assistant!”
“I don’t know what to say, Em. I’m sorry.”
Her anger increases as she spins around in a small circle and places her hand to her forehead. Owen watches carefully beside her.
“We just got married!” she exclaims. “We just started our life together, and he’s already decided I’m not enough?”
“Em, I don’t know if that’s . . .”
“Don’t talk!” she shouts, and I close my mouth to give her room to speak. “God,” she says. “Men are stupid.”
I take the hit for all men, considering she appears as though she’s about to snap.
“I cannot believe this shit! He was so angry because I let you in the house, but then he tells me he had sex with her!”
“Em . . .”
“Like I’m to blame! I don’t give him enough attention, he tells me. I don’t like as much sex as he does, he said. Our marriage isn’t a good one.”
“But you’re jealous. I get it.”
This was the wrong thing to say. I can see that as her face scrunches with disgust then she laughs, but it’s not real. “Right, Max. I’m jealous. I haven’t had sex with Greg in . . .” she pauses, trying to remember. “Well, it’s been a long time. It wasn’t the kind of sex women swoon over. So, no. I’m not jealous she had sex with my husband. I’m pissed I was the last to know. I was disrespected and it doesn’t matter who you are, it’s not a good feeling.”
Her face is red again, her hands shaking at her sides as she stands a measured distance from me.
“Baby, I think you should calm down.”
Her head rears back and she looks at me like I’ve grown three heads.
“Calm down?” she snaps, then lowers her voice. “Are you not hearing me? He slept with someone else. He had his hands on another woman.”
“Yes.” I ignore the visual of him with another woman. The fuck-head has to be insane to ever want another woman when all the power of this one is his.
“Oh, I get it,” she retorts at me directly. “You’re a man, so you’re with him on this. Okay.”
“Fuck no, I’m not.”
With defeat, she drops her head. “I’ve never been one of those women, you know? Dee Dee was. She was okay sharing. I’m not like that.”
“You’re not,” I confirm.
“He promised to make me happy.”
I couldn’t have made her any happier, but I knew enough not to try. Seeing her so sad and upset infuriates me, but I do my best to hold it back for her sake. I’ve never been good at holding shit back for long, though.
“Where is he now?”
“What?” she asks puzzled, as if I’d asked her to solve a math problem.
“Emilyn!” I bellow and watch her jump back. Owen steps to her side for guard. “I asked where the fuck your husband is.”
I see the panic in her eyes as she tries to explain. “Max, he didn’t hurt me physically. We had a fight. I told him who you were and what you were to me. I told him you were helping with Casey. That’s it.”
Calling Owen to the kitchen, I pull out a pack of beef jerky from the pantry and a bowl from the cabinet.
I need a fucking minute.
Pointing to my couch, I tell Emma, “Sit right there. Don’t fuckin’ move.”
“You’re angry. I shouldn’t have come.”
“Your husband treats you like a piece of shit, Em. I’m not angry, I’m fuckin’ furious.”
“It’s happening to me, for fuck’s sake, Max. Not you.”
I have to stop for a collective breath, unsure whether to rage against her ridiculous statement or laugh in the face of her language. As long as I’ve known Em, I’ve never heard her use the word ‘fuck’ in any fucking manner.
Getting ice from the freezer and making her a strong drink, I walk to where I’ve told her to sit. She waits patiently while her eyes circle throughout my apartment.
My possessions are minimal. No pictures hang on the walls and there are no coverings on any windows. I’m rarely home, so extravagances such as those are lost on me. I don’t bother.
“So, you’ve brought Owen,” I state the obvious, watching the puppy continue to tear through the entire bag of jerky I’ve laid at his feet. “I don’t have any dog food.”
Starting to stand, Emma says again, “I shouldn’t have come. This was a mistake. I’ve already asked you for too much.”
“Not your mistake,” I tell her, taking her with me as I make a move to sit on the couch.
“Owen would’ve been neglected or worse if I’d have left him with Greg. It was Owen that stopped the arguing. He doesn’t like raised voices. He went after Greg when it was bad. That’s when I left.”
“Does your husband know where you are tonight?”
Shaking her head, she tells me, “It won’t be long, though. He has connections.”
“Just because a man has connections, doesn’t mean he knows what the fuck to do with the information they give him, Em.”
He could send a cruiser over, he could have a GPS planted in her car. Although, none of it would matter if Greg doesn’t know what to do once he knows where she’s at—or the fact of where she’s chosen to be.
Nodding this time, I watch as she silently agrees.
Standing up, I turn around to look down at her. The angry redness around her eyes hasn’t gotten better. I hand her the drink and she positions her hand on top of mine to hold it still. The warmth from her skin causes me to step back.
“You’re staying here tonight. I’ll take the couch. You sleep in my bed.”
“I don’t want to impose, Max. I came here because I didn’t know where else to go, but I don’t have to stay.”
“You’re not going back to that shithead until you’ve had a chance to cool down and clear your head.” Bending down in front of her, I move the hair that’s fallen around her face behind her ear. It’s soft, smooth, and too easy to enjoy. “You came here because you trust me. So now, you’ve got to trust me when I tell you going back right now, when things are still heated, is not a good idea.”
“Okay,” she reluctantly agrees.
Standing again, I hold my hand out for hers. She accepts it and stands next to me as Owen comes to sit at her feet.
“Told you he was a good guard dog,” I remind her.
Her voice softens through her next words. “Greg would never hit me. It hurt to hear he’s been having an affair, but that’s it.” She looks down and repeats, “He’d never intentionally hurt me. If I know anything, it’s that.”
Carefully running my fingers over her tear-stained cheek, I answer her with the truth she hasn’t seen. “He already did, Em. Sleeping with another woman is hurting you intentionally.”
“You’re right. I know you are. Thanks for letting me stay.”
“Anytime.”
A few minutes later, we’re in my room. Because I work as a bike mechanic and oftentimes don’t give a fuck about the state of my apartment, I finished changing the sheets after I gave Em something else to sleep in. Something more to sleep in.
“Why do I have to wear this again?” she smiles, stretching out my favorite orange Harley tee-shirt over her small body. It completely dwarfs
her in size.
“‘Cause I’m sleepin’ on the fuckin’ couch and it’ll be easier for me to imagine you in that, versus what you were probably wearing, or not wearing, under that robe.”
“It was a nightgown, Max. Women wear those. I didn’t come strutting over here without clothes.”
Glancing to her barely there robe, which sits on the chair by my bed, I wait for her to realize I’m a man and she’s a beautiful woman. “You admitted to me just the other morning that you crushed on me, Em. Let me tell you now, you weren’t the only one who thought about what life would’ve been like if I hadn’t hooked up with Dee Dee.”
Her breathing stops, and she stays quiet.
“You must not remember. I rarely stayed the night with Dee Dee. As in, very rarely. When you’d come home from college to visit, and you were staying with her instead of your parents . . .”
“You were always there,” she finishes.
I nod. “Always.”
“I never realized.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything. I thought about you more than I should’ve been. Thankfully, you were always gone. That helped.”
Biting her bottom lip, she smiles. “It’s probably good I didn’t know. I may never have finished school.”
“You may never have left my bed,” I tell her with the God’s honest truth. “Now, get some sleep. We can sort this shit in the morning.”
Walking past her, I reach out and squeeze her hand quickly then turn to leave.
“Max,” she calls out before I reach the door. “Thank you for letting me stay. I’ll wait Greg out. He’ll apologize, and then he and I will work through what we need to work through.”
“We’ll talk in the morning.”
Nodding, more tears rush to her eyes. It’s then I realize she’s not so sure she believes her own words.
Chapter Ten
“Cilas is gonna take you to The Hall,” Hoss informs as I sit across from him at his desk.
His office is the typical man hole; all that’s missing is the latrine. The walls are bare, other than some old black and white pictures of people I obviously don’t know. His desk is cluttered and the monitor to his computer looks to be over a decade old, taking up nearly the whole area. His keyboard is littered with dust and the filing cabinets behind him are silver, dented, and look to have a variety of old stickers half torn off them.
Hoss’s office is a shithole.
“He’s gonna show you some things in that Hall that if I find out you’ve let leak, it’ll make your death not so quick.”
“Where’s this place?”
“It’s where our things are kept. Today, you’re gonna learn what it is you’ll be looking after for me.”
Ignoring his threat, I straighten my posture and ask, “Things?”
“Things,” he confirms, snidely. “Important fuckin’ things I know you’ll want to question, but I won’t answer.”
Standing up, I take another look at Hoss as he types furiously at his computer. The one-finger pecking speeds up as he continues to ignore my presence.
I’ve been dismissed.
Looking to my left, I see Cilas standing guard by Hoss’s office door. His eyes are too dark; I can’t tell what’s hidden behind them. He’s wearing his cut again, no shirt under it. His hands are braced in front and his jaw ticks with each word from Hoss.
This fucker looks as crazy as his president.
Brilliant.
Before following Cilas out the door, I hear Hoss call out behind me. “Oh, and Max?”
Turning around to face him, I watch as an evil grin takes up his features. I try to remain casual. “Yeah?”
“You fuckin’ talk to anyone about the shit you’re about to see, it won’t only be you who pays for your mistake. I know where Emilyn Carsen lives and breathes.”
He knows I’m with Emma; however, he’s not acting as though this is a threat in any way. This proves she was right and that he laughed at her when she came to visit. I can’t say anything in regards to Casey, though, because I still don’t know that she’s truly living here.
And it frustrates me.
Trying to hide my apprehension and anger, I mentally snap his neck in my hands. My fingers curl into my palms, itching to feel the heat of his flesh as I cut off his air supply and watch as he stops breathing—for good.
“You’ve got no reason to threaten her, Hoss. We have an agreement. You and me, that’s it.”
Pulling a cigarette from behind his ear, he lights it before throwing the lighter down on the desk. “We do, so don’t fuck it up and I won’t have to.”
* * *
On the way out of the office, we pass the main room. Iron, Wick, and another member I’ve never seen are sitting around a table drinking beer.
Hangar sits at the bar with his arms holding his head. There’s a woman lying on top of the bar near his head. Her nose is covered in white powder and she’s rubbing her tits while another brother I haven’t seen before stands above her, snorting more cocaine from her stomach. She laughs and her foot hits Hangar’s head, but he doesn’t wake up.
“Hey, Ci,” Wick calls, but of course Cilas ignores him.
Iron moves his attention to where Wick spoke and gives me a curious glance, but then looks away.
The man I’ve never seen asks Wick who I am. I hear Wick answer, “Hoss knows him from a while back. He told us in the meeting that he’s gonna be around helping us out ’til shipments are in next week.”
“Welcome,” the stranger greets with a friendly smile.
Standing from the table, Wick and Iron ignore his movement toward me. This is the first time since arriving in this shithole that anyone’s offered a formal and friendly greeting.
I’m skeptical.
“Charlie Benaim,” he tells me, lifting his hand for me to shake.
“Max Taylor,” I reply, accepting his offer.
His dark brown eyes and bald head both shine with humor. “Don’t let Cilas here talk your ear off. Fucker gets started and never shuts up.”
“He’s been chatty all morning,” I joke and look at Cilas. He’s seething, of course.
Charlie turns his head toward the table. Wick and Iron have a deck of cards out and Wick is shuffling.
Pointing over his shoulder, he says, “I’m gonna get back. Enjoy your visit here, man. I’ll see you around.”
“Take care,” I tell him and the others as I start to follow Cilas out.
On the way to The Hall, I attempt to make further conversation with Silent Cilas.
“You don’t say much,” I tell him. “Other than Hoss’s guard dog, you got any other position within this place?”
His head turns to mine, his eyes narrow, and he continues walking without looking ahead.
“Guess that answers nothing,” I finish before he ends eye contact.
After we exit the main building, Cilas walks me to one of the buildings behind the others and closer to the tree line. Hoss never explained this particular cement structure. During our discussion the other day, I hadn’t bothered to ask. I was too shocked and overwhelmed by his offer to help me with Marie’s killer.
Once we make it inside the building, I have a chance to look around. The brightly lit kitchen we’re standing in is filthy. Food lies around haphazardly, strewn about on the counters. If I’m right, it looks as though mice feces and mold take up space on its surface.
“I’m about done, C,” a woman’s soft voice calls out from the corner of the room.
I turn to look in her direction as Cilas takes a seat at a small table set up in the center.
The woman is wearing a nice, black silk robe and a pair of what I would call ballet shoes. Her dark, shiny hair drapes down her back, her eyes dark in color. Her makeup is simple, but elegant. She’s shorter than the average woman. I’d say she’s about five-two in height if she were standing straight up. And if she weren’t preparing small plates and glasses on top of various trays, I’d say she didn’t look as though she belonge
d here.
She’s a very beautiful woman. The kind of beauty that should be described as classic and timeless. Her presence within this building is eerily unsettling.
“Viktor was here yesterday,” she tells Cilas.
Viktor?
“He gave Hoss instructions to keep a few of the girls better fed. These are for her.”
Girls.
Her.
My mind filters through the possibilities, hoping the conclusion is exactly what I’m after.
Cilas doesn’t answer verbally, and I hadn’t expected he would. He sits in place and lets her continue to talk freely with me sitting here.
The woman turns her gaze to mine. I observe her posture and decide she’s obedient. I’ve known a fuck of a lot of women in my life; this one looks scared. With my past such as it is, I’ve watched abuse happen. I’ve witnessed women being tortured, raped, and verbally abused. In my previous MC, women were often used as pawns for power or a night of entertainment, and rarely with their own consent. This woman looks nervous.
I take a quick glance, head to toe, and find around her left ankle is a fitted strap of material. I can’t make out its details, and I look away to avoid her seeing me try.
“You have company?” she asks Cilas, pointing to me with careful caution.
Nodding again, he answers her without words.
“Here,” she says, pushing a tray of food in his direction. “Don’t leave yet. I have more.”
He stands, walks to her and grabs the tray. He holds it away from his body as if touching it any other way would cause him pain.
When the woman with tan skin and long, dark hair comes back, she’s holding several pieces of what appear to be blank white paper. Cilas allows her to place them under the plate sitting on the tray while neither of them makes eye contact with me or each other.
“She’s not expecting a guest, Ci,” she says, turning to look at me directly. “It’ll scare her. Make sure she knows he won’t hurt her.”
Won’t hurt who?
Cilas’s face clenches tight. I’m unsure if it’s because this woman is handing out instructions or Ci is nervous about where he’s about to take me.