She hadn't seen Hangar since that time, but the memory of his delivered torment hasn't faded from her mind.

Twisting in his crouched position, Viktor aims a scolding look to Anna. Hearing Casey tell him exactly what she remembers, he bellows into the open room, "He had his f.u.c.king hands on her! That ridiculously vile man touched her!"

Casey's shoulders involuntarily jerk in surprise. Her hands move to her head and she clasps them tightly around her ears, waiting with harsh antic.i.p.ation for the fallout of her truth to come barreling down upon her.

I shouldn't have told him, she thinks to herself. I should've said I didn't remember.

"I told you it was the night I found them alone in the bathroom," Anna reminds Viktor, but Casey only hears the mumbled relay of information. "It was the same night he slapped me."

"That f.u.c.king animal," Viktor hisses back. Now looking up to Cilas, he accuses, "You let him f.u.c.king touch her."

"No," Anna calls from her corner. "Ci wasn't here. He wouldn't have let anything happen to her."

Viktor dismisses Anna's interjection. "This..." He lowers his voice, but Casey can still hear the soft murmur of it. "It's inexcusable. All of it. He'll pay. Hoss will see to that, or I will and if I do..."

"Viktor," Anna pleads, wide eyes staring from him to Casey.

Turning toward her again, Viktor's hands reach to Casey's arms before he pulls them away from her body with more force than needed. Immediately, she complies as he places them back in her lap and holds them steady.

Feigning a smile so incredibly wide, he holds Casey's hands tightly. Speaking to Anna but looking at Casey, Viktor explains what Casey couldn't possibly understand. "This is why we're leaving. There's nothing more here. She's already gone."

She's already gone? Casey doesn't question him, but looks up to Anna quickly.

Anna starts to say something, but the knock on the door stops her before she can.

Cilas steps forward and puts his hand on the doork.n.o.b before silently turning back to Viktor for permission to open.

Chapter Ten.

"You don't need st.i.tches," Em advises, holding the alcohol swab above my badly cut eye. She's using more pressure than I know she needs to. She's still shaking after witnessing what happened. "But you need to keep ice on it."

"Thanks," I reply, grabbing the swab from her hand so she can continue rummaging through the first-aid kit.

Shaking her head to herself, she whispers quietly, yet knowing I can hear her fine, "I told you we should have stayed in tonight, but nope. Max wanted to go out."

"Babe," I start, not wis.h.i.+ng to hear her continue. "We need to get out more. Sittin' around here is driving us both crazy," I remind her.

"Did you recognize the man at the bar from anywhere? Had you seen him before?"

"No, not a clue who he is." I move the hair from her face before stating, "You didn't know him, either."

Shaking her head, she utters with worry, "No, I didn't."

Grabbing her and pulling her to my side, I try to make light in the darkness of our evening. "s.h.i.+t follows us, Em. It does."

She sighs, turns in place, and kisses my neck. "I'm glad you're okay. It could've been so much worse."

"It wasn't."

"It could've been." I can see her eyes are tired from worry. "I hated seeing you like that," she tells me, no longer smirking or smiling at all.

"I've been hit before, Em."

"Years ago," she corrects. "Back then, you were fighting as boys, not men."

"It's over," I whisper, grabbing her wrist in rea.s.surance. "It would've only been worse had you not been there, but you were and it was fine."

"He was a bully," she states with a huff.

I try not to smile at her, but now that we're home and she's safe, it's tough not to. "Bully?"

"Whatever. You know what I mean. You didn't do anything to provoke him."

"Right then. Bully." I'm still smirking, but can't help it.

Em moves in for a welcome change of subject. "I'm working tomorrow. I'll pick up dinner on the way home. Maybe you should go see your dad or Tommy or..."

Squeezing her wrist in my hand, it stops her from avoiding my eyes. I bring it toward me and hold it tightly on my lap. "Stop trying to keep me busy. I'll check in the shop tomorrow and see if Luke needs anything done."

"He's going to fire you soon if you don't go back."

"The shop is slow this time of year. And he loves me. He won't fire me."

She smiles finally, putting the box on the floor, then grabbing the television remote and burrowing herself in my side. "Hard not to love a man with a big black eye."

"Oh, yeah? Something about the danger of it you like?"

"No," she answers, focusing on the show she's just put on. "I feel sorry for you. You got your a.s.s kicked tonight. That can't be easy on someone's ego, especially yours."

Rather than walk further into her bulls.h.i.+t, I accept what she says as her way of being okay with the way our s.h.i.+tty night ended. We're together, in our apartment, alone and safe. It's a small blessing but one I'm thankful for.

A couple hours later, as I'm about to put a sleeping Em to bed, my cell phone rings in my jacket. Walking over and pulling it out, I find the caller ID states 'unknown'.

I slide the phone to connect but before I'm able to say a word, the voice comes through directly. "This Max Taylor?"

My mind still holds onto the vision of the man in the suit, so I'm on edge. "Yes, Max Taylor. Who the f.u.c.k is this?"

"This is Brayden. Aimes told me to get in touch," he says first. "I've got some information he wants pa.s.sed along."

Looking behind me to Emilyn sleeping on the couch, I think better of it and move this conversation out to the back balcony. "Hang on," I tell him as I open the door and step out into the night air. "So, you said you had something from Aimes?" I ask, but I'm leery considering Aimes never mentioned anything about this man. Not his name or his involvement in this. However, I haven't talked to Aimes recently, so I immediately ask, "How do I know you're legit?"

Laughing once, he comments, "He said you'd be skeptical. I'm supposed to tell you that you'd better be takin' care of Em or he plans to move in on all of that."

I don't smile because Brayden speaks the truth. That is exactly something Aimes would say. "So, you know him," I concede. "Where the f.u.c.k is he?"

"He's busy," he answers in a no-nonsense tone. "He won't be back for a while, but he said he needs you to keep your cool."

"Right," I reply.

"He said you'd be gettin' anxious and he's working something out with my brothers. He'll be in touch soon and when he is, you need to be ready for what's coming."

"What is coming?" I ask with bated breath. This is as close to something as I've gotten since Aimes went off the f.u.c.king map.

His answer, though, isn't what I wanted to hear. "A f.u.c.k-load of distraction."

I hate distractions.

Distractions get me nowhere. What I need is help, the solid kind I thought I could bank on with the Easton brothers.

"Your silence tells me you're over-thinkin' already, so stop," he voices tersely.

"Where's Low?" I inquire, wondering where the other Easton brother's run off to.

"He's with Aimes, but they're not talking right now. I've known them a long time, as have you, and we both know when those two argue, it's never pretty," he answers with a smirk in his voice, verifying again how well he does know them both.

Great.

"They need some things from you to get this in motion, though. A layout of the Creed property, a list of players you feel are the biggest threat, how many men at the Club during an average day. Things like that'll help."

"I haven't been back in almost two weeks," I explain. "I'm waiting for a call from Hoss Lattimore."

His voice goes dark as he sneers down the line. "Piece of s.h.i.+t," he spits, referring to Hoss. "The whole f.u.c.kin' outfit. The people in your town sure as f.u.c.k like to tolerate some bulls.h.i.+t."

I don't disagree, but don't agree either. "They're bigger here than what the people in this town are used to."

"And your town's law enforcement?" he asks rhetorically. "Joke."

"What am I supposed to do if I'm not allowed into Creed? I can't help anyone until I'm invited back."

"You know Aimes, right?" he asks, again posing this as a rhetorical question. "If too much time pa.s.ses and he thinks this s.h.i.+t isn't getting done like it should, he'll move in."

"Move in?"

"You're not the only one who can infiltrate a piece-of-s.h.i.+t MC."

I've heard these words before, and I don't like them any more now than I did then. Those words once came from Aimes and he's been off radar ever f.u.c.king since.

Standing up straight, rubbing my forehead in annoyance and feeling I'm nowhere closer to the end with him coming into play, I try to explain my position. "I don't know if I can get all you're asking. I can try, but my first priority is that little girl."

"She's ours, as well."

"Ours?"

"I'm in this now."

f.u.c.k.

Trying to placate him into leaving this alone and letting me do what I can, I tell him without delay, "I don't know if you know who these men are. They kill as if it's not a big deal to get caught."

"I kill as if those kind of people deserve to die."

Conceding his point again, I nod to myself. "I've felt the same."

"Then we agree," he tells me.

"I'd still like to know what the f.u.c.k he's doin'."

"What Aimes is doing is going to p.i.s.s you off," he states. "No one knows this kind of s.h.i.+t better than he does. When it comes time for you to know, you will. Until then, sit tight and do what you can from your end."

I'm no better off than I was before he called. I'm being left out of the plan and without being in control of a situation, I'm left to sit in place and wait for instruction.

And I thought I couldn't get more annoyed.

"All right. I'll do what I can," I agree.

"Good. One more message," he tells me.

"What's that?"

"Aimes said don't be p.i.s.sed once he starts to blow s.h.i.+t up." After this is said, the line clicks and Brayden is gone.

f.u.c.king h.e.l.l, Aimes.

Chapter Eleven.

I've learned you should never stop listening, even if they think you have.

"Her hair is too dark. I said I wanted a blonde. Her skin is too pale. I said I wanted a child of Asian descent. And it looks like she hasn't eaten in weeks. I'll break her the first time I use her."

Break her? Use her? Casey winces at the thought, but tries not to move.

She has no idea what the man is talking about, but hearing his husky voice say those words in that tone incites horror inside and makes it impossible for her to concentrate on standing in place. She sways a bit before regrouping.

This inspection of her body hasn't gone the same as it did the last week with the other men who've been brought in before him. The others looked down on her, scanned her body for merely seconds then only vaguely discussed their intent in front of her. This guest, as Viktor referred to him, has by far the dirtiest hands she's never even felt.

"Open," the interrogator commands as he lifts his fat finger and motions to her jaw.