Page 84 of Lucifer's Hounds

“About what?”

“Basically anything. You’re acting strange. You were crying your eyes out one minute then the next your locked up tighter than a nun’s cunt. I don’t know about Carrie, but I’m just trying to figure this shit out.”

“I’m not really sure what to say, but Iamsure I want that fucking drink and I want to see Cass,” I say, pointing to the drink that was just sat in front of me.

I down half of it before setting it down on the bar. I unlock my phone and see that there are eighteen texts from Mindy. Shit. There are no unread messages from Cass and that strikes me as odd. I open the thread between us and the last thing that was sent is a photo of me, bloody and beaten and out cold. Before the picture, Cass had texted constantly.

There were at least thirty messages, maybe more. I dial his number and wait. It rings five times before going to voicemail. Anxiety rises in my chest.

“He isn’t answering my call,” I sigh.

“He’s probably on the bike, love,” Carrie says, rubbing my arm.

The door that Shorty and Leo have been guarding swings open and Gater pops his head out. “Lilly, we need you in here. “

I take a breath before walking into the room. I have no idea what’s waiting on the other side of the door, but I know they’re probably going to want details of what happened tonight.

Inside of the room is a long, wide black table similar to the one in Cass’s office at the shop. There are twelve chairs around the table, but only six men are in the room, including Gater.

He stands at the head of the table, no doubt filling in since Cass isn’t here. The other men in the room are men I’ve never seen before. My eyes scan over them one at a time. Next to Gater sits a dark-skinned man with jet-black, slicked back hair. His name patch deems him Mario and he has a sadness in his eyes when he looks at me.

Next to Mario is a man that is the polar opposite. He has ivory skin and his hair, although under a hat, has a tint of red. His name is self-explanatory—Red. Next to Red is an older man with soft, light eyes but his rough exterior will keep most people from noticing that detail. His name patch is in old English lettering and labels him ‘Old School’.

Next to Old School is a large, bald, stocky man. His head looks freshly shaved and the look on his face alone is enough to intimidate anyone. He has this look about him that says, ‘I’ll fucking kill you’. His name patch states his name is Snapper. Rightfully so.

Digger sits next to Snapper. He’s young, looks like he just graduated from high school. His baby face doesn’t make him look like much of a biker, but that shit’s in the heart anyway, so who am I to judge?

“We talked to the throw-aways, say they won’t give out any information unless it’s to Cass,” Gater says to me.

“Throw-aways?” I ask. I understand who he’s talking about but that’s a new term to me.

“Yeah. Throw-aways. Expendable. Trash. Druggies that they aren’t worried about. They only let them into their club to do their dirty work and if they get caught then the club washes their hands of them most of the time.” Snapper’s voice is deep, but somehow soft when he speaks.

“What?” he asks, looking past me at Gater.

I look between the two of them and Gater’s face says Snapper should stop talking. While the two of them stare one another down, I speak up.

“Where’s Cass?”

“Him and Scott are on their way here. We called him when you showed up,” Gater states, annoyed that he has to speak to me.

A flood of relief envelopes me. I’m finally going to get to see him and be safe in his arms where I belong.

“What are y’all going to do with the throw-aways?” I ask, my voice void of any concern. I don’t care either way, I’m just curious.

“We’ll take care of them, don’t worry,” Old School says. His sadistic grin somehow makes me feel at ease.

“We were going to ask you some questions. That’s why I called you in here, but it sounds like Prez is here.” Gater points toward the door.

I don’t wait for another word. I’m out the door and barreling into the parking lot. An exhausted Scott stands next to an even more exhausted Cass. They look tired and pissed. Cass’s eyes light up when he sees me. My feet are beyond my control because before I can tell them to, I’m in a full blown sprint across the parking lot.

I don’t slow down as I close the distance between, I simply barrel into his arms. He stumbles back but regains his footing quickly. He wraps me in his arms, my feet hanging just above the ground. His head is buried into the nape of my neck and for a moment, it feels like nothing has ever gone wrong. That fades quickly when Cass sets me down and stares at me. His expression morphs from one of relief to anger in the same second.

“Hi,” I say, smiling as best I can.

“Hi.” Cass places his hand under my chin, guiding it in different directions as he inspects the damage. His nostrils flareeach time his eyes land on a different wound. I’m not sure when he got here, but Scott is standing next to Cass staring at me. His facial expression is unreadable, expressionless, but there is a darkness in his eyes that scares me. It’s like a storm brewing, but not one that comes on strong at first. No, this is not that kind of storm. It’s like the eye of a hurricane. A quiet, dark calm before the storm.

“Stop,” I whisper, fighting tears as Cass eyes me. I can’t handle much more of the look on his face.

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