prologue: a wounded bird
Silas
It’s been a quiet couple of months. The compound beneath Club Sin is a hell of a lot louder and more active than ever, with the addition of Annika to our group. The three women are thick as thieves, always huddling together and cackling and talking, glancing at their men with those secret, sweet smiles. Chance is pretty much the same after his little trip with Annika, except he smiles more, laughs more…and he and Annika actually leave the compound together for dates and adventures.
Bully for him.
And Rev.
And Kane.
I always assumed “happily ever after” was fairy tale bullshit, but I guess for some lucky motherfuckers, it can be real.
Just not me.
I see Sax and Sol watching the three couples, and I see the jealousy. I see it. They want that shit, too.
Not me.
No fuckin’ way. Some needy bitch clinging to me, needing me, riding my jock about leaving the toilet seat up and all that shit.
No.
I visit the girls in Hel when my physical needs get to the point where I can’t ignore it any longer and my own stupid hand isn’t doing the job anymore. Mostly, Lydia. She’s hot as fuck, with that bottle-red hair and those big pale tits, and that mouth like a fucking vacuum. She doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t try to sweet talk me, doesn’t share her own shit, and doesn’t pretend like it’s anything other than what it is between us—me paying her to scratch the itch.
Speaking of whom, I haven’t been to see her in a few weeks—since Chance and Annika got back. The Club’s been busier than ever, and I don’t like to make a regular habit of it. I pay her, of course—top dollar, even though she offered me a lower rate due to my status as a Broken Arrow. Nah, I’m not taking advantage like that. But, I’m feeling the need.
After the Club closes, Sol and Sax head to their rooms, as usual. I think they both visit Hel, just like I do, but we don’t talk about that. Lash, ever the lone wolf, vanishes into his room as well. Rev, Chance, and Kane all hang with the girls in the common room, and I take the opportunity to slip away unnoticed. Not that I’m ashamed or anything, I just keep my shit private. Toro and Taj are locking up the gate between Hel and Fisticuffs, and waiting to escort the girls to their cars. Chance usually does that, but now that he’s with Annika, he’s passed the job to others and has pushed the role of lead enforcer in Hel to Lash. He wants to stay away from the ladies, I guess. I get it. His woman probably doesn’t much like the idea of him hanging around a bunch of half-naked bartenders and hookers all night.
The girls don’t live in the rooms they lease from the Club—those rooms are working quarters only. They all have their own private apartments throughout the city and are provided escort from their cars into the club and back out to the parking lot at the end of the night. They work set hours, too—for the Club, at least. What they do in their own time is up to them, obviously, but they only work at Sin from 8 p.m. to 4 a.m.—an eight-hour shift.
It’s after 4, by now; most of them, once the club is closed and the patrons are gone and the doors are locked, spend some time at the bar in Hel, having a few drinks, talking, and relaxing before going home.
That’s where I find Lydia, clad in her loose, gauzy, sheer, black robe that obscures precisely nothing, lounging at the bar, sipping a martini and laughing with Sindy and Karma about who knows what. Toro and Taj each have a bottle of beer and a cigarette, but they’re off in a corner together, providing presence and security and waiting for the girls to be ready to leave.
I prowl up the bar between Sindy and Lydia, tap the bar top with a knuckle. “Yamazaki, neat—two fingers.”
Danni gives me a chin lift of acknowledgment and pours my drink—more than two fingers, because she’s nice like that. I toss her a fifty and wave off change, and she goes back to sipping her own drink and chatting with Candi and Brie at the other end of the bar. I never get tired of the sight of Danni--what straight dude could? But I pull my gaze from Danni’s bare, glitter-dusted rack to Lydia.
“Hey.” I lean my elbow on the bar, sip the whiskey, and give her a look.
She smiles at me, takes a slow sip. “Silas. It’s been a while.”
“Busy. The usual.”
She nods. Her expression is knowing. “Things okay?”
I shrug. “Sure. Same as ever. You?”
She twirls a crimson lock of hair around a finger and takes another drink. “Oh, fine. A busy night. I’m kind of tired.”
I push away what that really means with practiced ease. “Another night, then.” I take a pull from the Yamazaki, and it burns like gold and sunshine going down.
She shakes her head, touches my chin. “I’ve always got time for you, Silas, you know that.”
She finishes her drink, stands up, and takes me by the hand. “Come on. Bring your drink. I’ll take care of you.”
She leads me down the hallway to her room and locks it behind us. It’s a small, simple room. Black vinyl floors that look like wood planks. White walls and ceiling. A small en-suite bathroom. A queen size bed, with a small chest at the foot end. Lydia has a few abstract art prints on the walls, a small red leather loveseat opposite the bed, and a bedside table with two drawers.
