Page 79 of Lucifer's Hounds

“Don’t y’all know a girl’s gotta get beer in the back to keep serving you up front?” I ask, walking out with a case of Busch cans. Not that they needed to know I already have two cases in the front cooler.

I hear the roar of Cass’s motorcycle as I slide the case of beer into the cooler. I wonder where he’s going and why he needed that list. I make sure Travis and Leda don’t need anything beforeI slip back into the office. The list is still right where I left it, underneath one of the folders I organized earlier. I fold it up and stuff it into my pocket.

Travis and Leda leave around one o’clock, leaving me alone for the next hour. The bar is quiet aside from the humming sound of the coolers and every now and then the sound of ice dropping in the ice machine, nearly giving me a heart attack every time. I clean everything and have everything stocked by one-thirty. Curiosity gets the best of me, and I grab my phone to shoot Cass a text.

Lilly: Found your list. Movies?

I hit send before I can chicken out. It’s perfect, he was looking for the paper and I found it, which means I get to ask questions.

Cass: yes. I like TV

Lilly: Why are there cities next to the movies, then?

Cass: That’s where they were filmed.

Lilly: No it isn’t. I’ve seen Forrest Gump and it was NOT filmed in Baton Rouge.

Cass’s name lights up my phone as a call comes in from him.

“Hello?”

“I don’t have time to explain this shit. I’ll tell you about it later!”

His words are harsh and for the first time since I’ve known him, they were directed at me. I don’t know how to feel about that. The phone dings in my ear, letting me know the call ended.

I sigh in frustration and toss my phone on the bar. I close the bar down and at two o’clock on the dot, I’m walking out of the bar and to my car. I guess I won’t be calling him on my way home.

I roll my eyes at the thought. He’s busy and I know that. I don’t know much about his world, but I understand that there are a lot of secrets that he carries that I don’t know about. At least that’show it seems. He never said anything about what he was out doing when he’s doing ‘club shit’.

I approach my car but stop short at the sound of motorcycle pipes in the distance. I walk around to the trunk of my car, waiting. As the sound grows closer, I think of how I will approach him when he gets here. What will I say? Should I pry about the list or just leave it alone?

As the bike pulls down the driveway, I see a pair of headlights behind it that sit high off the ground.

He parks behind my car, his headlights shining right at me, making it hard to see. The truck parks next to my car and the passenger door opens. A man steps out and I look to the man on the motorcycle, my smile fading quickly as I realize that isn’t Cass parked behind me.

Something in my gut tells me this is wrong, but before I can react, I’m struck in the back of the head with something hard.

I’ve never been hit with anything metal, but I guess that this is what it feels like. I’m not sure if the ringing in my ears is from the impact or the sound of metal clanking on metal. My vision blurs as my hand reaches up instinctively to the back of my head. That only frees my face for the assailant. The metal object connects with my cheek, then my temple. Excruciating pain is the last thing I remember before darkness surrounds me.

Chapter Thirteen

The distant sound of voices is the first thing I hear when I begin to regain consciousness. Men. I hear men’s voices. I listen closely, trying to make out anything that they’re saying. Nothing. I can’t hear shit, but I know enough to know they’re out of earshot which means I’m alone. Slowly, I open my eyes. I’m handcuffed to a chair in the center of a small room. The only light comes from a tall lamp in the corner. There’s one small window to my right with curtains drawn over it, but there is no light peeking through, telling me it’s still dark out.

The room has plywood flooring and it appears there was once carpet here but not anymore. The smell of mold infiltrates my nostrils. It’s hot and damp, almost like rain had just free fallen into the room. I stare up at the ceiling, checking to see if I can see a leak. I can. The ceiling looks like it will cave in any minute. Great. If they don’t kill me, I’ll die from being crushed when the ceiling caves in.

I don’t know how long I’ve been unconscious, but everything on my face hurts. What the fuck did they beat me with? Whatever it was, it fucking hurts. My cheek feels like it did thattime I had my wisdom teeth removed in high school, and I was so swollen I looked like a chipmunk. I imagine I look similar to that now, except this hurts a lot worse. At least I had pain meds then.

What time is it anyway? I have no idea. My phone is nowhere to be seen, obviously, but I look anyway. From what I can see, it isn’t in my pocket or anywhere on the ground around me.

I don’t know who has me much less why they want me. I don’t understand. Maybe they made a mistake. I’m just the bartender. Whoever it is showed up on a motorcycle with someone in a truck. I realize now that the truck’s purpose was to haul me here after they beat the shit out of me.

I scan the room again, looking for anything that might giveaway where they’ve taken me. From the layout and the floor, I think they’re keeping me in a mobile home. A shitty, rundown one at that. The air vent I hadn’t noticed earlier on the floor has been used as a trash can of some sort filled with plastic water bottles among other trash. Slobs. Ugh.

My nose crinkles in disgust. The sound of footsteps approaching the closed door in front of me has me on alert. A man I don’t recognize swings it open and it crashes into the wall behind it with a thud. He’s short, probably my height, and scrawny. He looks like he hasn’t slept, or bathed, in days. I think his hair was once blonde, but with all the dirt and grime I’m not really sure.

He wears a solid grey shirt, now covered in whatever he has encountered in it over the last week. His jeans are tattered and stained, and he has jailhouse tattoos covering both arms and his neck.

He steps toward me, stopping a few feet back. “‘Bout fuckin’ time you woke up.”

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