It Ain't Me, Babe (Hades Hangmen 1)

“Wh-wh-wh-wh…?” Argh! Breathe. Loosen up. “Wh-what are they, Mae?”

Her skittish eyes darted to everywhere but on me. “Nothing… they… they do not matter anymore.”

“Well, th-they m-matter to me!” I boomed out, watching as she flinched at my tone.

“Please… Styx…” she pleaded.

“F-F-FUCK!” I jumped off the bed, grabbing my shirt off the floor and pulled it on.

“Where are you going?” she asked frantically.

“O-out.”

“Are you angry at me?”

Swinging round to face her, I groaned. That nose was twitching again and her small hands were beginning to shake as she pulled the black sheet over her naked body.

“M-my cock’s hard as f**k, so y-yeah, I’m p-pissed, but I’m f-f-fucked off at myself by what we just d-did… Wh-wh-what I just d-did to you… F-f-fuck!”

“Did what? Showed me pleasure?” She swallowed and curled in on herself, shielding her body from… What? Me? My rejection? Christ, if I knew.

“You regret it?” she probed, her long hair falling forward to curtain and shield her face.

One glimpse of her hurt expression nearly killed me. It wasn’t her, but I couldn’t get the words out to tell her. Never been one for letting people know my feelings. Not being physically able to speak for most of your damn life kinda makes you close in. The signs were there for my stammer about to break through, loud and f**kin’ proud—the suffocating clogging, the strangling tightness of my throat as I tried to think of something to say. My blood was pumping, pulse thumping, head spinning, and I needed to get the hell out of the room and away from Mae’s f**kin’ lost face. I wanted to tell her I shouldn’t have touched someone who’d been abused her whole life, that she deserved better, someone who had a whole bunch of jagged scars on her inner thighs where some f**ked-up device had clearly wrenched them apart. CHRIST! But the goddamn words wouldn’t come. So I answered a clipped, thoughtless reply and instantly knew I’d completely f**ked up in doing so.

“I-I-It shouldn’t have h-happened.”

With that perfect f**kin explanation, I left the room, feeling like a creepy bastard, but no matter how much I condemned myself, I was unable to shake the vision of Mae as she came.

I was so f**kin’ hard but so f**kin’ mad.

Bursting into the bar, most of the guys were gone, hounding the cops for intel or f**k knows what else. And, hell no, f**kin’ Dyson was pouring drinks.

Storming straight over to her dyed-pink hair and fake tits, I slammed a fist on the bar top.

She stumbled back, sensing my fury. “I c-came to see Tiff and Jules.” She said, lowering her gaze in an act of pure submission. “I heard what happened today and we all came to help out. Thought the guys would need pu**y to take their mind off things. Thought they could use someone they were used to.”

That answered my question as to where everyone was, shacked up in their rooms. The pu**y cavalry had arrived and Christ knows a brother wanted nothing more than serving his dick after he’d just survived a shit storm of bullets flying at his vital organs.

Damn manipulative slut. Dyson, the bitch who took my virginity at thirteen. Hell, she must’ve only been about sixteen herself at the time, come to think of it. Some underage runaway who found herself a home in a den of outlaws. The pink-haired junkie used the brothers for ice until she fed that shit to a newbie whore with some real f**kin’ potential. The bitch OD’d on the compound floor. Dyson was cast out after that by my old man, warned never to return. Of course, her lounge room sex shows were missed by the brothers, but no one wanted her for more than a blow job. Hence her name, Dyson: excellent suction and ball control.

Reaching out and grabbing Dyson’s wrist, I pulled her forward, pointing at the exit door. Her bottom lip began to tremble and tears ran down her heavily made-up cheeks. The makeup hid years of acne scars.

“What the hell’re you doing here?”

I whipped around at the high-pitched shrill, only to see Beauty storming over to me and Dyson like a f**kin’ bull charging a rodeo clown. Dyson paled, as she should. Beauty may look like Goldilocks, but she is a f**kin’ Rottweiler in a terrier’s body. Dyson had made a move on Tank once and only once; Beauty didn’t appreciate the aggressive move on her turf. Dyson wore shades for two weeks, hiding the two black eyes Beauty had gifted her.

Dyson swept her eyes between me and Beauty, fidgeting with her hands, head twitching, waiting for a rescue. Ah. It then struck me the reason she was back made complete sense. She was desperate for her next fix, hoping some brother would slip her some cash for meth.

“I came to see Tiff and Jules,” Dyson answered unconvincingly, eyes shifty, trying to avoid our glares.

“Don’t give a shit! Get-the-fuck-out! No one wants to see your skanky sex show no more!” Beauty stood almost nose to nose with Dyson, the tension building too high for my liking.

Beauty— I signed, trying to calm her the f**k down. She thrust a palm in my face, the other hand gripping my fingers, silencing my voice.

“Don’t, Styx! Don’t let the temptation of f**kin’ her rancid pu**y again make you change your mind! Think of Mae. Get rid of the whoring bitch!”

You know what, Beauty? I signed. I’m getting beyond pissed at you trying to tell me how to live my f**kin’ life.

Beauty gasped. She was the only old lady I never had crossed words with. She was the only bitch I could tolerate for more than two minutes, and we were good. Hell, she even learned ASL for my sorry mute ass. But her letting her mouth go, to me, the Prez, needed to stop before she completely robbed me of my f**kin’ balls!