Dirty Page 9

Looking in my direction, the woman addresses me for the first time. “She doesn’t feel comfortable with new people.”

  “She?” I ask.

  “She,” she answers. “If possible, please don’t bother her. Let her eat and enjoy the meal.”

  “It’ll be fine.”

  “Thank you,” she says sincerely while looking down.

  Once she disappears down another hall, Cilas turns around and nods for me to follow.

  The breeze through the cemented space is cold. The limited light available comes from a string of dimly lit bulbs placed above each closed door. If this were another time or place, I’d believe this building used to run as a prison, but instead of cages and cells, the doors are wooden. One floor, lined with toxic doors, empty walls, and unkempt amenities show its age.

  And the building is eerily silent.

  Once we make it to a door marked with an angel’s halo, which hangs above the light on the frame, Cilas stops. Turning around, he shoves the tray into my chest and I quickly grab it from his hold before it falls to the floor. The water in the glass jars slightly before I’m able to gain my balance.

  As he pulls out a round, silver ring, overflowing with keys, Cilas reaches for the handle. He braces one hand on the door knob, another on the key ring he uses to unlock it and it pops open with little effort. Giving me one last look, which admittedly scares the fuck out of me, he communicates without words.

  I’m a guest here, nothing more.

  After he’s opened the door and taken the tray back from my hand, he uses the hand not balancing the meal to push down on my shoulder. Cilas is big. Not only in posture, position, and muscle, but his disposition is menacing.

  We lock eyes. Seconds go by before he lifts his hand from my shoulder and looks into the room. I remain standing on the outside of it, unsure I even want to fucking know what we’re walking in to.

  Chapter Eleven

  I’ve learned not all strangers’ eyes will haunt you in your dreams.

  Casey watches quietly from her bed as Cilas enters her room. The smell of the meal that’s been prepared travels through the musty air and hits her senses instantly.

  She’s so hungry.

  After Anna finished with her yesterday, she was brought back to her room right away. Everything was just as she had left it. She always worries when she’s gone they’ll find her pictures hidden under her mattress and she’ll suffer unreasonable consequences.

  Cilas enters and, as always, she waits for him to back up before moving greedily toward the tray. This time, though, something’s changed. He’s not backing out. His face is set hard as it usually is, but she’s not afraid.

  He glances around her room, appearing to contemplate. She watches his eyes dart throughout her small area. Finally, satisfied with whatever he was looking for, he begins to back up. His head nods to his left and another man’s face peeks through the still-open door.

  She should be scared by a new face, nervous this man will hurt her. She knows strangers bring with them those possibilities. Oftentimes, these possibilities are the ones that leave her jumpy and anxious. But not this time.

  His eyes scan her face before he positions his body in front of Cilas. His hands make their way to his hips and his posture is straight. He’s not near the size of Cilas, but he’s strong; she senses it in his rigid stance. Most importantly, she notices he’s not wearing the black vests as the others do, helping to ease her worry.

  He’s not one of them.

  Looking her over carefully, assessing her small body, he whispers, “I’m Max.” She finds his voice is rough, but gentle; a total contradiction of itself. Bending down, but not inching any closer, he asks her a question. “What’s your name, monkey?”

  She recognizes he’s coining her a nickname, but she’s completely unsure why. It’s not the same term of endearment Viktor’s used before. This one is almost friendly in nature.

  Not waiting to hear her answer, he advances. She backs up slowly until her feet and ankles hit the mattress, which sits on the floor behind her. Gaining her balance then standing straight, she looks him in the eye, just as she’s been told to do before.

  Never look away. Viktor’s words ring in her ear like the chimes that quietly sing to her in the evening wind.

  Crouching down in front of her, the man studies her features. He doesn’t take time to look closely at her small, frail body—only her face. She gazes into the depths of his hazel eyes, spotted with green, and notes a kindness she can’t ever remember seeing.

  His dark hair, mixed with grey, and the wrinkles around his eyes tell her he’s aged with worry as she has. His strong shoulders and large arms remain tense.

  His hand raises, and she watches it draw near her face. Instinct forces her to pull her head back. She may not be scared of him, but she doesn’t want him to touch her either.

  I’m dirty, she thinks. He’s not.

  Chapter Twelve

  Cilas walks over and stands near me as I reach my hand out to the young girl with unruly, long, curly dark hair and big amber eyes. His hand raises to signal me to stop, so I drop it to my side immediately. Her eyes stay trained on mine. An unreadable expression would be easier to accept. Instead, her face falls with sadness and despair. I don’t know her, but what I see in the depths of her eyes is an obvious sign of a life of loneliness and neglect.

  She’s definitely the girl in the picture, though. I’m certain. Her dark eyes can’t be mistaken for any other child’s. The almond shapes of them are as defined now as they were back then.

  Smiling gently, I tell her, “If you don’t give me a name, I’m goin’ to have to keep callin’ you ‘monkey’. You gonna let me do that?”

  A shy smile crosses her lips, and I hear a heavy breath in relief. She still doesn’t answer.

  “All right,” I sigh as I stand. My hand reaches out to the top of her head and I move to lay my palm on top of it, which she may allow but Cilas does not.

  I feel his fingers dig in to my arm and Casey’s body jerks in place as she watches with wide eyes. Lifting my hands in surrender, I placate Cilas without words and take a step back from a now-terrified little girl.

  “Maybe you’ll tell me next time,” I supply and watch her visibly relax.

  After I start to step further back from her, she looks up at me and I wink. The shy smile she’d worn before Cilas broke her confidence is back, but now it’s been set into a full grin.

  Cilas shakes the keys in his hand so my head turns to him. He nods toward the door. He’s ready to go.

  “I’ll see you soon, kiddo.”

  As I start to back out of the room, I keep my eyes on hers as she remains grinning. Cilas follows me out, finally blocking my view of the room. He closes the door behind him, locking it before turning away.

  A thousand emotions plague my mind and heart. Relief that it could be Casey I just met. Fear that I may never see her again. Nervousness as to why I was allowed that introduction, but most of all I’m sickened by the way she’s living.

  No child deserves to spend a life in a room without windows. Most animals are given better care by their owners.

  On our way down the hall, Cilas stops at another door. This one is dark inside and no light above the door’s frame shines as Casey’s did. When he unlocks the door, I don’t stop as I had at hers. Instinctively, I follow him in.

  A young woman, lying on a similar mattress as Casey’s, rests alone without clothes. There’s only a sheet to cover most of her body. I can’t see much of her skin, as there’s no light other than the small amount the moon coming in her skylight outside offers. Jagged scars and fresh bruising appear above her chest near the bottom of her neck and around her throat. Her lower leg has the same strap of material wrapped around it. Its color is red.

  I pause, trying to recall if the young girl I just met had the same. I can’t remember.

  Cilas looks around the room, of course saying nothing, then picks up an empty tray from behind the door. She’s already
been fed.

  We’ve been feeding the animals in their cages. My stomach twists further, and I’m forced to turn around and walk out before my mask of indifference slips.

  As we leave the room, the fury I had held close starts to make its way to the surface. Grabbing Cilas’ shoulder as I trail behind him, he spins. He doesn’t stop because I’m as strong as he is, but I assume he knew my question was coming.

  “What the fuck is this place?” I ask with impatience.

  He shakes his head in answer. I’ll get nothing from him. His lips rise in a small smirk, and my eyes narrow in response.

  “You don’t wanna talk,” I observe.

  He shakes his head again and starts to turn around. The plates on the tray rattle as we continue down a darkened hall.

  Once we make it back to Hoss’ office, I find him talking to Hangar. Their discussion is heated, considering the harsh whispers which bounce from the walls. When Hoss catches me standing in the door frame, he stops talking. Hangar turns around in his seat to give me a menacing look, but in comparison to what I’ve just witnessed, his attempts to piss me off fail miserably.

  “Got a second?” I ask Hoss.

  I don’t know what it is I think I’ll find in answers, but Cilas is no help.

  I watch Cilas walk past me from behind and lay the keys on Hoss’ desk. Hoss looks up to him, grins wide, and he says to Hangar, “We’ll finish this later. Tell Viktor I’ll be ready whenever he is.”

  Hangar nods, stands, and turns to walk toward me. When he does, he gives me a crazy-eyed look then shoves his shoulder into mine, causing me to take a step back. Cilas interferes by pushing Hangar away and shoving him through the open door.

  Once they’ve both walked out, Hoss watches as I carefully take the seat Hangar just left.

  Putting his fat hands on the desk in front of him, he laces his fingers together before saying, “Whatever you’re about to say, I’ll remind you to be careful with your words. Hangar has already worn my patience fuckin’ thin, brother.”

  “Women,” I state with confidence, ignoring his intentional nickname of ‘brother’. “You’re holding women and children hostage here.”

  “Children?” he asks. He has the nerve to look offended.

  “Yes. There’s a little girl . . .”

  I’m cut off before I finish. “That little girl you met is Dee Dee’s daughter.”

  “Casey,” I let slip then instantly regret using her name. He wasn’t supposed to know I knew anything about her.

  He nods. “She told you her name. That’s surprising. She doesn’t talk much.”

  “Would you?” I smart. “Why is she kept in that cement fuckin’ room? She’s a kid, for fuck’s sake, Hoss.”

  “She’s someone’s property, Max. That’s all I’ll say regarding the matter.”

  Property, my ass.

  Standing up, I rest my hands against his desk and dip my head close enough to ensure he hears me. “When we talked, you mentioned helping. I thought I’d be supervising kids with drugs on the street, not feeding women trapped in cement cages.”

  Sitting back in his chair, bracing his hands on either side, he answers smugly, “Girls, drugs, guns . . . tell me, Max, what’s the difference? They’re all worth something to us. Some are just worth more than others.”

  I don’t answer. If I do, he’ll surely kill me where I stand. My resolve strengthens after hearing him talk about Casey being someone’s property and worth something more than her own life.

  “Whatever you’re thinkin’, you should know. The game you’re playing, if you decide your conscience can’t handle what’s about to happen, will cost you dearly if you gonna back out once you’re in.”

  “I suppose it will.”

  “This is your last chance to turn back. I’ll offer it now and won’t again. Are you in or out?”

  Casey’s face crosses my mind. Her saddened expression as we entered the room hit my chest. The small smile she eventually gave, tells me she still has a chance.

  If I can give that to her at all, I will. “I’m in.”

  “Then so be it. Be ready whenever I call.”

  I don’t respond further. Instead, I turn around and exit his office without looking back.

  On the way down the hall, I hear something I’d guess is a man gagging. I don’t think anything of it, until I hear the sound of flesh meeting flesh, then what seems to be vomit hitting the floor with a splat.

  What the fuck?

  When I pass a room on my left, I turn my head and find several large Creed men wearing their cuts and standing against a wall. The door’s been left open, so I peer in and what I find turns my stomach.

  Hangar, of course, is standing front and center in the eye of everyone’s attention. He’s standing before a man with his arms strung up by ropes. His wrists are held tightly above his head, hung by giant hooks, and his legs have long since given out. He has no shirt on, and from here I can see he has shallow holes that have been burned into his chest with only God knows what instrument. His head hangs low, and vomit pools on the floor near his bent ankles.

  The table off to the side has several items on it, one of which I recognize. It’s an instrument of torture.

  “What the fuck you doin’ in here, pretty boy?” Hangar hisses as he wipes his mouth of saliva and sweat. He’s had quite the workout, I can tell.

  All eyes turn to me. When I take a look at the men surrounding the area, I find most of their faces are full of fear, while some expressions are nervous with tension and a few are smiling.

  Sick fucks.

  Walking further into the room, I ask, “What’s goin’ on?”

  “None of your fuckin’ business, visitor,” Hangar seethes back in anger.

  The man in the ropes raises his head slightly. One eye is completely swollen shut, the other caked with blood and still dripping from his forehead. By now, some of it has started to dry, indicating he’s been here for a while.

  “What’d he do?” I ask casually, leaning against the wall next to a face that was smiling.

  The large, bald member I don’t know comes closer and informs me. “Scottie here,” I assume that’s the victim’s name, “didn’t pay what was owed. So he’s payin’ in blood.”

  “What’s he owe?”

  “Couple G’s, I suspect. The way Hang’s goin’ at him, though, I’d say it was more. Anyone around here knows they get caught stealing dope from the club, they’ll pay for it with their own blood.”

  “Does this shit happen a lot?” I ask.

  The voice behind me answers with certainty. “It happens when it’s needed,” Hoss says to the room.

  All eyes, even Hangar’s, who’d gone back to beating the face of the restrained man, turn to Hoss.

  “Hang, I’ve told you to keep this shit outside. The smell of blood, piss, and vomit so close to my office puts me in a mood.”

  “Nowhere else to do it. Shed’s full, and no one’s bothered to clean it out,” Hang answers, looking at Hoss but cranking the vice that now holds the poor bastard’s foot.

  The scream of agony and the sight of bone bursting out of torn flesh causes even the large man beside me to cringe.

  “Max, you need to go. I need to talk to the boys,” Hoss addresses me, and I’m more than willing to do as he asks.

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “Keep your phone handy,” Hoss instructs as I pass through the door.

  I don’t answer. Instead, I lean my body against the wall once I’m clear of the exit and raise my head to the ceiling.

  I need a fucking drink.

  On the way to O’Malley’s, I’ve let go of the sight I just saw. Instead, I’m filled with the same mix of emotions I had when seeing who I’ve confirmed to be Casey: relief, fear, sadness, and regret.

  Her life is worth more than she’s living of it now, and I’m going to give her the chance to change it.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I’m in,” Lelow states, slamming his beer down on the
table.

  I give him a look to quiet him and his eyes scan the room for anyone we’re not familiar with. Although there’s no plan in place, I don’t want Hoss getting word I’m out having a drink and strategizing conversation with the Easton brothers. It would only make him suspicious.

  “I’m in, too. I can’t let my little brother go off and be named a hero without me,” Aimes puts in with a lower voice.

  When I called the two of them, they readily agreed to have a drink and listen to what I had to say. It’s been said, as they’ve aged, these guys have become hungrier for action. They don’t always live within the means of the law, so they’re exactly the kind of players I’m looking for.

  Aimes and Lelow get off on finding people who’ve gone to ground and don’t want to be found. It’s what they do.

  The brothers are younger than Tommy and I, and smart as fuck. Aimes knows guns, ammo, strategies and tactics. Lelow could hack his way into the Oval Office if he had enough motivation, but unfortunately it takes a fuck of a lot to keep him motivated.

  Tommy looks at the two of them sitting across from us, then his eyes land on me and he shakes his head, stating, “You’re all fuckin’ crazy.”

  “Maybe,” Aimes shrugs. “But demand for our kind is at a low right now. I haven’t hunted in a while. I’m startin’ to get itchy.”

  “You’re so gonna blow shit up.” Tommy smiles as he takes a drink of his beer. “Let it be known I said it first.”

  “Fuck yeah, we are,” Lelow tells him, running his hands through his long, blond hair. His ice-blue eyes stare into mine as he asks with hope, “We are, aren’t we? ‘Cause I really want to.”

  “I don’t have a plan yet,” I share and watch Lelow shrink in his seat. “I need to meet Viktor. Those men are fuckin’ out there. I’ve seen some shit, and this was nearly as bad.”

  “You’re gonna have to do something drastic to get his attention for that to happen. I imagine getting a man like that to notice you will mean you’re gonna have to blow shit up,” Aimes informs with a smile.

  “Christ,” Tommy utters, “I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”