Part 8 (2/2)

Pulling my attention away from him, I watch a woman, looking worn from wear and not from consensual s.e.x, walking timidly toward us at the bar. She says nothing but looks directly at Hangar, as if waiting for instruction.

”Get my friend Max a beer,” he demands. She nods and starts to turn away, but he stops her before she can. ”And how about you do it naked.”

Son of a b.i.t.c.h.

The woman doesn't hesitate at all. Doing as she's told, she unhooks her dress from the straps at the top around her shoulders, which hold it together, and then the black material pools at her feet. The redhead sitting on Hangar's lap inhales deeply when she eyes the scars, faded and new, sticking out in vibrant shades of pale pink to deep red. The woman's chest and stomach are full of them. Some look angry and swollen, and others seem to be thick with scar tissue heavily surrounding them.

”That's better.” Hangar smiles wickedly. ”Now get him a f.u.c.kin' beer, b.i.t.c.h.”

My teeth grind and I feel my jaw tense. The woman, showing no emotion, moves robotically to do exactly as he's ordered. She places the bottle of beer in front of me on top of a yellow napkin. Her eyes briefly capture mine and she doesn't budge. She's waiting for something further, but I don't know what.

”Need anything else?” Hangar asks.

Leaving my eyes on her, I shake my head and move my hand to signal I'm done.

Jesus Christ, I've just dismissed her.

”Hold up, Callie,” Hangar calls to her again.

Using the same meek and slow motions as before, she stops and turns in his direction. No reactions cross her face. This isn't a standard club wh.o.r.e, and I don't recognize her place.

”Come here, c.u.n.t,” Hangar calls out.

Once she makes it around the bar and to him, he reaches his hand up from his seated position and pulls at her hair. Then he pushes her head toward the face of the redhead still on his lap. Callie winces in pain; it's the first emotion she's displayed since I've seen her.

”Kiss her,” Hangar orders. ”And make it f.u.c.king interesting.”

The redhead giggles while leaning forward. My stomach turns realizing the club wh.o.r.e has authority over the poor woman Hangar is treating worse than I've ever seen a woman here treated-those locked in cement cages included.

In any club I've been in, including the f.u.c.ked-up one I was part of before, the club wh.o.r.es were the lowest of the low. They would loiter and wait for any attention they could find from a member; it didn't matter his rank or the time he had served in the club, either. This is something different.

As she stands in front of me, I take a quick look down at her ankles. Neither holds a strap of color of any kind. This isn't one of the girls who are considered property. This is a whole new brand of f.u.c.king crazy.

”If this is for my entertainment, don't bother. I like 'em clean,” I say in reference to what's about to happen. I don't want to see it.

”Ain't for you, f.u.c.khead,” Hangar returns, sitting back in his chair and grabbing the redhead's chest with both hands from behind her. His hips thrust slightly upon contact.

His eyes move to Callie. His hand comes up and slaps her hard in the back of the head to get her moving in on the redhead again.

”f.u.c.k yeah, that's it,” he oozes as they start to aggressively kiss in front of us.

He grabs Callie's hair tightly in his fist again, forcing her against the redhead, not allowing her to move-not that I think she would if given the chance.

”Callie here is earning her place, so to speak,” he starts to explain in front of the two women who continue going at each other. ”Callie thinks being an old lady is all fun and games. We're showin' her it's not.”

”She's someone's old lady?”

”Not yet; gotta break her in first. Who knows, she may end up with Cilas.”

Cilas may be a lot of things, such as angry, intimidating, and quiet, but abusing women hasn't been something I've seen him even attempt to do. I've also not seem him partake in club wh.o.r.es of any variety, either. At least not when I've been around.

I take a pull of my beer, turning around and looking ahead rather than what's happening in front of me. I sneer in disgust. ”She looks like she's having a good time.”

”She's not here to have a good time. She's here to entertain,” he sneers.

After what feels like a few long, drawn-out seconds, I hear the slam of something heavy behind us. Turning around in my seat, I get a clear view of Cilas holding what's left of a broken chair in his hand. The remnants surround him and he looks enraged. His jaw is clenching, his chest is moving up and down, and even his forearms are tense, as he clutches the leftover wood in his hands.

I was right, Cilas doesn't hurt women.

Hangar laughs at him, though, finally pulling Callie off the redhead as his wh.o.r.e wipes her mouth.

”Get outta here, s.l.u.t,” he says to Callie. ”You've got s.h.i.+t to do.”

Hangar grins as Cilas drops what he's holding and steps back, but he doesn't take his eyes off Hangar. And he doesn't leave the room. Instead, he stands guard at the door, positioned back in his usual stance. Now with his hands held clutched together in front of him while his large body, s.h.i.+rtless under his cut, stands watch around the room.

Callie disappears in the back before I'm able to turn around to see if she's okay.

”Max!” I hear Hoss greet me before patting my back with a hard slap; hard enough to tell he's still p.i.s.sed, and the act is sending me an unsaid message that he is. ”See you made it and you're already having a drink without me.”

”I am. It's been a long f.u.c.king day,” I answer, not that he'd have a f.u.c.king clue or care about the stress I'm feeling.

Hoss' p.i.s.sed-off mood regarding my altercation last night and bringing attention to his club appears to have calmed, only slightly. I had expected an immediate a.s.s-chew, but it doesn't appear there's one coming at least not yet.

Instead, Hoss observes, ”Nice f.u.c.kin' s.h.i.+ner, brother.”

Tilting my beer and taking a drink, I reply, ”Thank you. I hadn't noticed.”

Hoss takes in the sight of Hangar and his wh.o.r.e then lifts his thumb in the air over his shoulder. ”Get out. You've got work that needs done.”

”Jesus Christ, Hoss,” Hangar spits out. He must realize he's being dismissed just as he dismissed Callie. ”We're havin' a drink, for f.u.c.k's sake.”

”Hang, I'm about one more word outta your mouth from putting you down for good. Do as I say and move your f.u.c.kin' a.s.s!”

Hangar slaps the wh.o.r.e's leg with an audible force, signaling her to stand, so she does. She prances off half-naked into the other room.

Before Hangar is able to pa.s.s Cilas on his way out, I watch as the palm of Ci's hand hits him square in the middle of his chest. Hangar is nothing comparable in size to the tall and dark giant holding him still, so he's stopped dead in his tracks.

Cilas gives him a deathly stare and Hangar's reaction is to lift his hand and tap Cilas' cheek as if life's a big joke, because he a.s.sumes Hoss will protect him.

”Watch yourself, Conan. Anything happens to me and they'll know you did it,” Hangar chastises while smiling.

Then for the first time ever, I see something I've never expected to see. Cilas smiles. And it's wicked.

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