The walls of the large room were mostly black, though adorned with picture after picture of Satan in hell—infernos, blood, demons, evil beasts, and dark rivers swarming with lost souls. My hand muffled a scream as I realized Prophet David had been right; outside of The Order was evil. I had been protected yet escaped.
I surveyed the immediate area, my dizziness ebbing a fraction. Loose women wearing scant clothes dominated the room. Rough, unkempt long-haired men wearing leather touched them in very intimate places and the women clearly invited such provocative actions. Even as they looked at me, amusement flickered in their eyes as they cowed me with their stares. Men and women alike were smirking at me, some seemingly in kindness, others in blatant lust.
A deadly sin.
The door behind me crashed into the wall and I froze—the passive deer surrounded by a pack of lions. Chills ran through me as I felt the man from the bedroom approach.
I flinched at a loud screech. A chair scraped slowly on the wooden floor, the noise flowing around and through the crowd. Many heads turned toward the source.
“Baby, where are you going?” I heard a soft female voice ask from across the room. The crowd parted but no answer greeted her question.
Tightly holding my breath, I waited for who would be revealed. Then a tall, hugely built man broke through the wall of people, walking straight toward me. His hard gaze locked on mine and I could not divert my attention away from his large, hazel eyes, rough, unshaven cheeks, and dark messy hair as he towered over my slumped form. I dared not even breathe.
Though he looked like Satan himself, he was quite simply the most beautiful man I had ever seen: ruggedly handsome and the most commanding man I had ever encountered.
Shuffling back a few steps, I hit the legs of the man from the bedroom. Kneeling down, he steadied me by placing his hands on my arms. But the man with hazel eyes kept closing in, only stopping when he was two feet away.
Crouching down, he gazed at every part of my face, his nostrils flaring as he drew in long breaths. His lips parted slightly as he exhaled and behind him, someone coughed. Distracted, his eyes darted to the side and away from my stare. I placed a palm over my pounding head. It was all too much and I could not focus. My heart slammed in my chest and pure fear seized control of my body. I willed myself to stop trembling; this only seemed to fuel my anxiety further.
At the snap of his fingers, someone moved closer and I started. The man with the large hazel eyes began waving his hands around in controlled yet unfamiliar movements. Then someone ordered, “Go to him.”
What? What was happening?
Stretching my head up to follow the voice, I saw a man with long blond hair to his shoulders stepping forward. “Calm yourself. You’re safe,” he assured me gently. He had kind eyes and was very handsome. But so is the devil, I reminded myself.
The dark-haired man edged closer still, now only mere inches from my chest. Even in my weakened state, his scent stirred something in my stomach; he was intoxicating, dangerous but intoxicating.
I lifted my wary eyes to meet his and his hands began to move once more.
“You have nothing to be afraid of. No one will hurt you. You have my word,” the blond man said, continuing to watch his friend’s busy hands.
He seemed to be translating.
I wanted to scream out in confusion. I did not understand anything that was happening, did not understand where I was, who I was with, and why the man before me did not speak. In a flash, I suddenly remembered the boy I met at the fence when I was eight. He too spoke with his hands. Maybe some people talked with their hands on the outside? I rubbed my hand down my face and squeezed my eyes shut. I was delirious, my mind wandering to silly, idle thoughts.
“Styx, man. What the hell? Who the fuck’s this bitch? Why’s she freaking out?”
My gaze was drawn to a man with straight, long black hair that dropped to the middle of his back. His features were so different from mine, his width so, so… big. He was almost as wide as he was tall. His skin was a caramel brown, eyes almost black, mouth fuller. Strange dark patterns were etched into his entire face… a large tattoo of swirling black lines and symbols.
“Bull, not fuckin’ now,” the blond man snapped, but Bull had addressed the dark-haired man. The man before me with hazel eyes was named Styx?
Styx leaned even closer and I let him. What other choice was there? I was no stranger to men taking from me what they wanted. I learned at a very early stage in life that a person can do just about anything to survive.
Placing a hand over his chest, he moved it over his heart, and the blond man stood beside him. “My name’s Ky. His name’s Styx. He found you behind the dumpster a few days ago, bleeding out. You were dying. You remember?”
A few days ago! I looked down to my leg, now covered in bandages, feeling the tightness of my damaged skin and the nauseating pain when I moved.
Guard dogs. Of course, a guard dog bit me. Gabriel’s dog mauled my left leg when I was trying to escape. I had been unconscious for a few days?
“This is a clubhouse, for bikers. The Hangmen.” Ky gestured around the room.
I frowned. His face reflected my own expression. “You do know what a bike is, yeah? A motorbike?”
M-o-t-o-r-b-i-k-e. I sounded the word in my head, but it was not familiar. Someone laughed loudly in the background, mocking me. Styx turned his head slowly and he glared at the mocking man, whose laugher immediately stopped. At that moment, I feared him. His expression was intense, severe, his dark, sharp features hard and steely. As I shifted on the spot in obvious discomfort, his gaze met mine once again.
His hands moved. “No one laughs at you, right,” Ky verbalized the message with appropriate emphasis.
For some reason, I relaxed on hearing Styx’s vow of protection. Ky cleared his throat and continued. “A bike is something you ride, travel on. You know what a car is?”
I nodded my head once. Styx’s nostrils flared and his lips twitched.