Page 2 of Cruel Debts
I took the seat next to the older lady and struck up a conversation all the way to the depot. By the time our stop had arrived, she’d already suggested several job openings in her neighborhood, given me the number to an outreach coordinator, and strongly suggested I go to the police about the missing wallet, which had been at the top of my list of things to do.
I wondered if I’d ever see her again.
Some people were only in your life for a brief moment, but stuck with you forever. She was one such acquaintance, I think.
So many people in my life were only there briefly.
I was madder that my phone was missing than I was that the cards and wallet were. Without a phone to navigate town and without the knowledge of a local to guide me, I was flying blind. One wrong move, and I could end up in a place I wouldn’t easily be able to leave, like South End.
I’d heard stories of South End. Filled with the worst of the worst, it butted up against the old asylum on the far side of the city and was filled with freaks that nobody wanted. Mentally ill, homeless, twisted and depraved, even those on the run from something with a longer arm than the law.
The Guild.
I’d heard stories here and there, but nothing concrete. All anyone was willing to say about them was that they worked in the shadows and kept the worst of the worst from breathing the air they didn’t deserve. My guess was that they were avigilante justice group, and somehow, they worked without the constraints of following the law. Maybe they had the police on their payroll.
Wouldn’t be the first set of organized criminals to pay off the pigs to avoid prosecution.
I stepped onto the bus headed for the downtown circuit, a few bucks in hand thanks to the older lady, and just prayed I could remember the directions she’d given me long enough to get to the police station.
Life was about to be really, really difficult if I couldn’t.
ONE
ASHER
“Asher,for fuck’s sake, why the hell did you bring us here?”
I rubbed my temples as we stood in line, waiting for the damn doorman to check everyone’s IDs and move us along. “It wasn’t my decision. Look at Hawke, okay?”
The birdbrain in question stood arguing with the bouncer about the height on his ID, a back-and-forth that was going nowhere fast. Part of the allure of the sex club scene was the anonymity, and this asshole was making it hard to fly under the radar. Every so often, he’d glance back at us, waiting for someone to come to his defense, but there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell I was going to stick my nose in his little pissing contest.
Of course, that meant that Liam would. He pulled his wallet out and slid the poor bouncer a crisp hundred, which the man gleefully took with a greedy grin and a nod in the doorman’s direction.
When the man tried to stop Hawke and I, Liam gestured in a circle in our direction. “Nah, fam, all three, or you can slip me back that c-note I just gave you.”
His partner nodded again, and suddenly, we were inside, the doors sliding shut to cut off the sound of the rest of the line loudly complaining behind us.
I grabbed Hawke by the back of the collar and yanked him to me, snarling in his ear as Liam forged ahead. “You pull any more shit like that and you’re on your own, asshole.” My hand made a nicecrackas it connected with the side of his head. “We’re supposed to set an example and keep a low profile. You’re out here acting like you’re fresh out of the frat house.”
“Alright, alright,” he whined, rubbing his scalp, “I get it, man. Jeez, you don’t have to be such a prick.”
“You haven’t seen me act like a prick yet,” I pointed out as I accepted a nondescript black mask from the girl at the desk. “But you will if you don’t get moving.”
“You know, you could suck the fun out of a wet dream, Asher,” he complained, marching into the fray to promptly lose me. I didn’t mind, though. He was here to circulate and have fun.
I was here to scope out a new contact for a future contract I hoped to land.
The Goldminewas a BDSM/sex club where the citizens of Port Wylde could mingle and fuck—anonymously, of course—without worry that their escapades would get them unwanted attention. There were people from all walks of life here—from politicians and police to normies and tourists alike. People came from miles around to visit the renowned sex dungeon.
And I was here to see its owner, Minnie Huang.
I held out my pin as I slid up to the bar, side-eyeing the office door I knew I’d find her behind. “I’m here for your boss,” I offered the confused bartender, and he simply took the pin and walked away, huddled over the back counter with what looked like a security guard. Their eyes shot back to me as they inspected the pin, no doubt worried about the authenticity.
They didn’t know their boss was expecting me.
St. Clair had sent word ahead to watch for me, and Minnie had responded with a warm welcome—well, as warm as one could get when life had run you ragged and left you managing a whorehouse, so to speak.
The bartender took longer than I expected to finally wander back with a scowl on his face. He handed me back the pin with an attitude, his upper lip curling in a sneer. “Here’s your little brooch back, bucko. I guess you’re welcome to head into the office. But you’d better watch yourself, you hear? Security is top-notch here.”
