Page 19 of The Hangman's Rope
Specter may have been a pain in the fucking ass, but one thing he was not was disloyal. The club was his fuckin’ life. Helived and breathed it. Whatever the club needed, he was our guy, content to keep things running smooth and straight, living at the manse and straight up off cash brought in by our less-than-aboveboard dealings. On paper, he was Synister’s executive assistant or some shit for Syn’s aboveboard dealings. In reality, he was free to come and go as he pleased, but rarely did anything that didn’t involve the club and keeping our asses covered.
He was the main cog in the well-oiled machine that was the Iron Wraith’s operation.
Every one of us knew it, too, which afforded him a little leeway with his fuckin’ attitude problem he liked to develop every now and again.
“Alright, I’m out. Call me if anything comes up,” I said.
“Will do,” he said with a sigh, settling back in my recliner and picking up the remote to turn on the television. “Just gonna sit here and fuck up your saves.”
I smirked and shook my head. “I’ve played through before. I won’t miss anything.”
“Damn,” he said and I laughed, picking up my jacket and cut off the set of hooks by the stairs.
“See you around,” I said and trotted down the steps to get out there and work a full day in the hot fuckin’ sun, digging graves with a heavy loader.
I led a charmed fuckin’ life, but I tell you, I wouldn’t trade it for the world. For the most part, it was a quiet life dotted with the odd sense of adventure and I liked it.
Chapter Eight
Lorelai…
I lay under a heavy mantle of sleep. One so deep, it was akin to death. Kissing cousins or some such. All I know, is that it felt like I was down, down, down, in some deep dark pool, floating, suspended, the waters still around me and that waking was like slowly floating to the surface of that still pool.
I rose to wakefulness in stages, lying warm and comfortable, limbs and body feeling heavy, in an unfamiliar bed. Thankfully, as I surfaced this time, it was with acute memory of what had happened the night before. I knew where I was. I was in Hangman’s room, in his bed, which was quite comfortable even if it was new and unfamiliar to me.
I sucked in a shuddering breath and stretched, my limbs matching the shudder as I chased back the cobwebs and opened my eyes to light streaming in between the wooden slats of the blinds.
My voice almost caught me by surprise as much as the strange man standing in the doorway, hands buried in his jeanspockets as he looked over me. I pushed myself up off the bed and turned, scooting back defensively.
“Relax,” he said. “I was just checking out what all the fuss was about.”
His muddy brown eyes traveled over me in a lingering look that felt… kind of gross. Oily. I didn’t know how else to describe it. I felt wholly judged and objectified with that one look and it made me curl in on myself, my knees automatically rising to my chest, arms going around them as though to protect myself from his unkind gaze.
He had light brown hair and a longer beard like Hangman, but where Hangman’s hair was long and pulled into a short tail, this man’s hair was shorn pretty close to his scalp. He ran a hand back and forth over the top of his head and heaved a sigh.
“I can see why Reaper got handsy,” he said and once again he raked me with that gaze that was unsettling, almost… I don’t know. Unhinged somehow.
I swallowed hard.
“That’s really inappropriate,” I said lamely and he scoffed.
“Depends.” He lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “I guess everyone has their own way to unwind at the end of a long day. Guess his version of cracking a cold one is just different from the average guy’s.”
I felt my stomach twist as he laughed at his own foul joke.
“Who are you?” I asked. “Where’s Hangman?”
“Some of us have day jobs, sweetheart. He’s working his. I was just called in to make sure you weren’t going nowhere. You’ve slept most of the day away, so thanks for that. Definitely made babysitting a hell of a lot easier.”
I swallowed hard and didn’t really know what to say. I mean, this guy wasn’t even pretending the situation was anything other than what it was. That I was some kind of captive.
At least Hangman made me feel, I don’t know, more like a guest… or something.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” I said softly, and the man in the bedroom doorway snorted and pushed off the doorframe.
“You know where it’s at,” he said, and he wandered away.
I breathed a sigh of relief now that I was outside his presence and threw back a triangle of mussed blankets.
