She's refusing to acknowledge I'm still in the room.

"Casey!" I snap, wis.h.i.+ng I didn't have to be this vocal, but I know better than to touch her.

Her rocking stops and her hands fall away from her ears. She clutches her knees to her chest, but her eyes remain closed.

After walking toward her quietly, I crouch down in front of her. "Sweetheart, look at me."

She doesn't.

"It's Max. I want you to look at me."

Her eyes open. Once she scans my face, I see the tension in her eyes and the sadness in her lips' quiver.

"Does she come in here a lot?" I ask.

She shakes her head.

"Does anyone else?"

She nods.

"Do all the men who come in your room wear the black leather vests?"

Again, it's a no.

I stand up to give her s.p.a.ce and step back. When I do, Casey darts forward and wraps both her arms around my legs. Her hold is fierce as she buries her face in my knees and locks her arms together around me. If I tried to move at all, I'd fall.

I haven't seen her in weeks and the first time I do, she's had to witness my temper. It doesn't matter if it was triggered by someone hurting her or not. It says a lot about her trust in me that she'd feel safe enough to hold on so tightly.

"s.h.i.+t," I curse out quietly. "Okay, monkey. I see we have a situation here. You gotta let go of me for a few seconds so I can bring in your food." As I continue looking down to the crown of her dark hair, I reach out my hand and squeeze her head as I ask, "Aren't you hungry?"

Her arms release me and she looks up with s.h.i.+ning eyes. Then she positions herself to sit on the edge of the mattress, waiting for me to tell her what's next.

"Anna made you spaghetti tonight," I tell her on my way to get the tray.

Casey's eyes light up and I notice the tension slowly seeping out of her.

"You like Anna," I observe in pa.s.sing, setting the tray on the desk next to her water and tossing her mother's drink on the cart outside.

"Yes," she answers.

"Well, there's my monkey's beautiful voice." She smiles at the compliment. "Get up there and eat. I'll hang around here for a little while, if you don't mind."

I move to the corner of the room next to the door. Casey stands up, walks to the desk, pulls out the chair and takes a seat. Her hands move to the gla.s.s first, where she takes a healthy drink.

"I'll grab you more water when you're done with that."

She nods, sets the gla.s.s down, and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. The snapshot visual of that action reminds me again she's still just a kid.

Trapped in a pile of absolute trash.

"Cilas is back," I inform her, not sure if she's aware of that or not.

I don't know her feelings about him, but now that I have Anna's acquaintance with her clear, I'm pus.h.i.+ng for more. My statement doesn't come as a surprise. She continues chewing her food.

"Do you like Cilas?"

She shrugs and nods while eating. Again, the childlike demeanor is there, but never allowed to be outwardly present.

"So, I was wondering," I start, trying to think of random things to ask a child to keep them talking. I'm not much of a talker myself, so I've no idea what to really talk about. "I hear you like Winnie the Pooh."

She nods again, shoving another forkful of spaghetti into her mouth, and then abruptly starts to chew it.

"Have you ever seen one of those books?"

"Yes. A long time ago." she answers quietly and without looking in my direction.

"You like to draw, I know that."

She nods, taking in a mouthful of food.

"Draw anything recently?"

"Yes," she swallows.

"Can I see what you've got?"

Scooting her chair back, she walks slowly to her mattress. From the same spot where she kept the other pictures, she pulls out more. Walking toward where I'm still standing in the corner by the door, she reaches her full hand out to me. I grab the pictures and move my body toward the middle of the room, directly in the moon's view, so I can see them.

More pictures of kids, one after another. Boy, girl, girl, boy. The last picture, though, completely takes my breath away.

Looking up at her, I find her standing in front of me with her hands clutched tightly in front of her. She's waiting for my reaction.

This is a picture of me and her. It's a candid head and shoulder shot. In the drawing, her arm is wrapped around my shoulder and we're both smiling brightly. As always, her pictures are drawn as though the subjects are looking into a camera. This specific drawing is merely an outline, though. There isn't as much shading as she's usually added to her pictures. She must've just started it.

"This is beautiful, Casey," I compliment her while using her real name. "It's perfect."

"Thank you," she answers, walking back to her food.

Moving toward her now-seated position, I place my hand on her head again and squeeze gently. The muscles in her jaw move with every bite she chews as I hold onto her, not ever wanting to let go.

"I told you Cilas is back," I remind her, waiting for her to look up at me. When she does, I break the news as gently as I can. "This means I may not come around again for a while, but it doesn't mean I've left you."

She stops chewing and her eyes water with understanding. The despair of her situation grabs hold, pulling at the center of my chest. She doesn't say anything further, but as she looks away, I'm reminded of what I've given her since the day we met.

Hope.

As I lean over and grab her empty gla.s.s, I let her know, "I'll be right back. When you're done, push the tray away and I'll come in and get it."

"Okay," she answers without being prodded.

Leaning down, I shock even myself when my lips meet the top of her head. She stills beneath me, but lets me stand over her for a few seconds of any affection she'll let me offer.

"Be back," I say as I turn around and walk out of her room, closing the door behind me.

Thirty minutes later, I return with a refilled gla.s.s, a bigger one that Anna had insisted on giving me, and I find Casey's done exactly as I had told her. She's pushed her finished tray to the side. She's also tucked all her drawings away, curled herself up on her mattress, wrapped her small body in a blanket and has already quickly fallen fast asleep.

An outsider looking in wouldn't know or understand the dire living conditions she's struggling to survive in. To someone who wouldn't know, she looks peaceful and so much like a child.

Chapter Fifteen.

On the way to Viktor's office, I check my phone for the time. I have over thirty minutes before the poker game with Hoss and his boys starts.

Reliving the conversation I just had with her, I realize Dee Dee's muddled brain doesn't concern me. Whether I want to admit it or not, the Dee Dee I remember from before is gone. The woman I once knew as we grew up has vanished. She's trash, and I can't say I'll mind seeing her burn with the others if it comes to that.

As I arrive to the end of a brightly lit hallway, I find the big wooden door with a silver handle closed. Dog gave me specific instructions as I pa.s.sed him in the hall.

Always knock, Max. Viktor doesn't like company, even if he knows they're coming.

Heeding Dog's warning, I knock with enough force I'm sure whoever's waiting for me on the other side-Viktor, and possibly someone else-can hear.

"Enter," a terse voice answers, the accent not defined enough to determine its origin through the one-word command.

As I open the door, I find it's as though I'm in an entirely different building. This office is clean, unlike any other room I've been in.

"Sit, please," Viktor demands as he points to an empty chair across from his desk. He turns his back to a small bar with several elaborate bottles filled with what I a.s.sume by looking around his office can only be described as expensive liquor.

I turn to close the door behind me before taking in the expanse of the room. My chest pounds heavily with both antic.i.p.ation and nervousness.

With his back to me, I watch as he grabs two gla.s.ses and starts to fill them one after the other. He inquires, "Do you know who I am?"

"Yes, I do," I answer, moving to the seat he pointed out seconds before.

"Do you know my purpose in being here?" he asks, then clarifies his question. "Why I'd choose this place of any place to be?"

"No. I can't say that I do."

Once he's finished filling the two gla.s.ses, he turns back to me and sets one on the edge of his desk as my invitation to take it. With my nerves on edge after my discussion with Hoss, then my run-in with Dee Dee, I accept the drink and down it in one pull. It's smooth and unlike anything I've ever tasted.

And it tastes expensive.

"You're not a man who savors, I see," he comments with a smirk after he watches me indulge.

Judging from his appearance alone, I mark Viktor as a man who enjoys all the finer things. He's dressed for business. His black jacket and white dress s.h.i.+rt are obviously tailor-made, and both are void of visible creases. His hair, mostly grey, is combed back nicely and his complexion is nearly flawless. He's a business man left without any jagged edges. It appears he's never lived a day in the blue-collar life as I have.

Sitting back in his chair, he rests his drink on his clutter-free desk before pulling back to rest on the chair's arms.

"Do you know why you're in my office?" he asks pointedly, once again getting down to business.

"No clue," I return the answer as quickly as his question was asked. Aside from what Hoss mentioned, I'm only here for me, to get my questions answered.

"Your little skirmish last night drew in some unwanted attention. I've no doubt your reaction to a man who wanted to say h.e.l.lo to Emilyn Richards has caused the lazy eyes of law enforcement in this G.o.dforsaken town to look further into you."

My breathing stops at the mention of details from last night.

He knows about my altercation.

He knows the reason for it.

And he knows Emilyn by her full maiden name.

"I'll handle James Fuller, though. That's easy enough," he tells me.

This confirms the police department, namely James, has been paid to look the other way. I'm just not sure how many instances they're paid to turn a blind eye at.

Playing it cool, I sit back in my own seat after discarding the gla.s.s back on the desk. Before I'm able to speak, Viktor nods to it with another invitation.

Moving my hand in front of me, I wave him off to answer his unasked question. "No, thank you. I'm good."

"Tell me, Max. What could've persuaded you to strike an innocent man?" he asks.

"Innocent?" I ask. "He did this to me," I explain, pointing to my black eye. "He offended me."

"How so?"

"Honor, Mr. Koslov." I hate respecting him with my address, but I'm also not a fool. I want to know why I'm here and what he's willing to tell me, so I'll play his demented little game.

"Honor," he repeats. "Yes. I understand that." He nods. "Did the man offend your sweet Emilyn in some way?"

"I call her Emma, but I'm guessing you already knew this."

Nodding again only once, he returns with a fiercer tone, "I did. Now answer my question."

"Yes. She was on the back of my bike last night and he insulted her by making her uncomfortable."

"So, you have honor, too. Am I right?"

"I'd like to think so," I tell him honestly. "What's the point of me being here?" I add the question to my answer. I'm losing patience.

Getting right down to it, he answers without delay. "The man you a.s.saulted was one of my men." He pauses then continues, "He was sent to follow you and apparently, from what he told me, and judging by your reaction to him being near your woman, he did an outstanding job of it."

"You're having me followed?" I ask, realizing the extent he's gone to find out more about me.