Page 31 of Forbidden Deviant Games

“Oh.” That means he’ll be there. I swallow roughly, nervousness eating at my mind.Why the fuck am I hesitating? Just fucking spit it out, Haley.

“Can I ask you a question?” I say, forcing the first words out as he steers the SUV onto the highway.

“You can ask,” he replies, but it’s said in a way that makes it clear that just asking won’t always get me an answer.

I bite down on my lip, chewing roughly as I contemplate how to put it. “How did you … erm … come to Eastpoint?”

He looks at me with raised brows. “What makes you want to know something like that?” he asks curiously.

I shrug. “Just thought about it, that’s all.” It’s only a little fib. I had actually thought about itafter.

Viks stares at me for a brief moment before turning back to face the windshield. “What’d they say to you?” he asks instead of answering.

“What?” My head jerks to the side.

“You’re asking for a reason,” he guesses. “I want to know what you heard first before I answer.”

I clench my teeth. I don’t really want to tell him what Josh said to me. My hands twist in my lap. “It was nothing,” I say. “Forget it.”

A beat passes and then Viks sighs and reaches forward, shutting off the radio. “I grew up in a shithole town just south of here,” he says. “It’s called Silverwood. There ain’t much there but drug dealers and gang bangers.”

“Really?” I lift my head once more and turn, looking at him fully. His face is a mask of no emotion. I can’t read him at all. “Why’d you come here?” I ask.

He shrugs. “There wasn’t much there for me after my parents passed,” he answers.

“But how did you … I mean you practically run Club Outsider,” I point out.

“For now,” he agrees. “It won’t be around much longer.”

I frown. “What do you mean?” I ask.

“Nicholas plans on changing the name and giving it to his son when he turns eighteen.”

“But what about you?”

Viks’ eyes cut to me and he arches a brow. “What about me?” he repeats.

“I mean, you’ve run it for years. Are you still going to if his son takes it over?” I ask.

Viks shrugs. “Dunno. Maybe, but probably not.”

“That’s not fair,” I point out.

“What about it makes it not fair?” Viks asks. “I don’t own the club and I make a hefty salary running it now. I’m not going to be hurting for cash. If anything, I’d say I came out pretty well off after this endeavor. It’s certainly not where I expected to be five years ago.” His lips twist. It’s a half smile, half grimace and one hundred percent self-deprecating.

“Where were you five years ago?” I ask hesitantly.

“Do you really want to know that, Haley?” he asks, his fingers flexing on the steering wheel.

I do, I realize. I want to know as much about this man as possible. Find out all of his little quirks. Know his past enough to be able to predict why he is the way he is in the present. What made a man like Mitchell Vikson?

“Yes,” I answer.

Silence stretches between us. His jaw clenches and unclenches. He’s hesitating, though why, I can’t say.

“Prison,” he finally admits.

I blink. That was not the answer I’d expected. “Prison?” I repeat as if to make sure I hadn’t heard him wrong. He nods.

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