“I don’t see your dad calling the cops.”
“He doesn’t like them.” As if he realized he’d given me a piece of information I shouldn’t have known, KC cleared his throat and glanced out his window for a moment.
“Yeah, well, I don’t like them either.” I crossed my ankles on the dashboard. “They’re a bunch of corrupt bastards.”
“You’re also a biker. It’s a guarantee you don’t like them because if they catch you committing crimes, they’ll throw you in prison.” He rolled his eyes. “Listen, I’m not going to give you anything on Pa. If you have a question about him, you can ask him yourself.”
“He’s trained you well.”
KC grinned at me and quickly looked back to the road to guide the truck onto an exit ramp. I realized we weren’t headed back to Vert Island when he went in the complete opposite direction.
“Are we going somewhere else, kid?”
He gave me a smug smirk, and the alarm bells in my head fired up. If KC was anything like his dad, I had a feeling I wouldn’t like what he had planned. It didn’t take me long to figure it out, though, because I’d come down these streets more often than not.
“Why are we going to the Kings’ clubhouse?”
“I’m dropping you off. You get to explain to your brothers why you don’t have a bike while I fix it.”
I snorted. Smart. “Is this my punishment?”
“It wouldn’t have been, if you hadn’t gone into Pa’s room while he was sleeping. I told you not to, and now he specifically told me to drop you off here. We’ll bring you the bike when it’s done.” He said.
“Your dad is an asshole.”
KC laughed. “Well, yeah.”
We passed the gates that were always open, the sign that says Closed On Mondays hanging lopsided on the tall fence. We could see the famous New Gothenburg water tower from here and it was old as shit. The name of the city had once been painted in yellow on the rusted metal, but it was discolored from age now.
The road that led up to the clubhouse was dirt, and while we’d mostly filled what holes we could with gravel, more kept turning up whenever we had rain, and we bounced in our seats every time we hit one. The path wound through scrap metal, piled on top of each other. There were old fridges, cars, and all kinds of junk people dumped here for a small fee to be recycled—whenever King got around to it, which was rarely.
Being a Saturday, a lot of brothers who weren’t usually at the clubhouse had their bikes parked out front, and they were crowded around a firepit in camping chairs having conversations, most with a can of beer in their hand. There wasn’t much lawn left at the front of the clubhouse, I thought of it more as scrub than anything else, but King made no effort to get it fixed. There was no point adding more grass, not when bikes drove over it day and night.
I immediately noticed Scar and Charley leaning against the outside wall of the house, Scar’s arm wrapped around Charley’s shoulders as they laughed at something Travis, Charley’s brother, said. Travis, or Eyes as we called him, had brought his partner, too.
Fuck, everyone and their dog was here—literally. Destiny and Bishop had brought that damn mutt King had loaned to them for Destiny’s protection, but they’d ended up keeping him, leaving our other guard dog on his own.
King and his new boyfriend, Dallas, were sitting on a couple of chairs they’d obviously dragged out from the bar area, and they had their sunglasses on, peering up at Jester. As soon as KC drove the truck in, though, their attention diverted straight to us.
“Oh, fucking hell.” I glared at KC, but the bastard just laughed and waved at the door.
“Give me a day or so to fix it. I’ll check everything over again to make sure that’s the only problem you have. Free labor and everything.”
“Your dad’s taught you well.” I shook my head, grabbing my boots, and put them back on. With a shove, I opened the door, nearly falling out of the truck and then slammed it shut harder than I needed to. The window rattled. As KC reversed, I gave him the finger, which he laughed at as he drove back the way he’d come.
Parts of the clubhouse were still fucked up from a shootout that happened between the Warriors and Kings a few weeks ago, but we were in the process of cleaning it up. Some of the walls still had bullet holes, which was probably why so many of the brothers were here together. A lot of work still needed to be done. One side of the house had been rammed by a burning car and that was the first thing we’d focused on when we started fixing her up. More windows were boarded than usual, including one on the second floor that Rogue had smashed to shoot his rifle at the bastards. We still had a lot of work to do.
“Who the fuck was that, and where’s your bike?” Scar asked, straightening his back and releasing his hold on Charley. He’d recently come to my shop for a cut, and I’d tidied up his beard, which meant he didn’t resemble a sewer rat anymore, like he sometimes did. The white T-shirt he wore was drenched in sweat, as was some of the other guys, so I suspected they’d done some hard labor on the clubhouse already. It was hotter than usual today, with the sun beating down on us, making it the perfect time to work.
I heaved a sigh and then grinned at him. “My new boy toy. That’s the good thing about being single, Scar, I don’t have to stick to the same ass every day.”
Charley rolled his eyes at me and crossed his arms. Unlike Scar, he was softer in a lot of ways. Prettier. The one time I’d called him that ended up with me getting socked in the gut, though. “Or they have you once and decide they don’t want your shrinky-dink cock again.”
“You’re just jealous you have the same old dick to suck day and night. All you have to do is ask.” I grabbed my package and thrust my hips in his direction, laughing.
Scar growled, his jaw tight, but he didn’t get more than a step in my direction before Charley grabbed his arm and yanked him back.
“Don’t be a dickhead, Barber,” Charley said, shaking his head. “You know Scar could break your teeth.”
“Where’s your bike anyway, mate?” This came from Bishop. He sat on the ground near Scar, Deogie, the stolen dog, lying at his side and Destiny sitting on his lap.
Inwardly I cursed to myself. There was no way of getting out of this, and that prick Quain had known it. I could lie, but if my brothers found out the truth, they’d kick my ass. “She wouldn’t start last night. Got caught in that storm.”
Scar stiffened, his bulging muscles tightening in his arms. “Why wouldn’t she start? I thought I told you to get her checked over.”
“Here’s the thing….”
“For fuck’s sake, Barber, you didn’t get her checked over when I told you to do it?” Scar shook his head and glanced at Charley in disbelief, as though his boyfriend would have the answers.
Charley grinned at him and then me.
“Enough,” King’s gruff voice interrupted, and we all turned our attention on him. “Who was the kid that dropped you off?”
“He’s the one fixing my bike.” I shrugged. “He got me a great deal on a starter. That’s the problem.”
“Couldn’t you have had Scar or Bishop fix it?” Dallas asked, as if I hadn’t thought about that before.
“I got my friend to fix it, Fort Worth.” I winked at him. “This way I might be able to get really close to his dad, if you know what I mean.”
“It’s Dallas,” he muttered, turning his attention away from me as though I wasn’t worth the effort. I didn’t blame him. After what we’d done to him, with Undertaker carving the word snake into his chest, I wouldn’t have thought we were worth my time, if I was him, either.
“Sure thing, Lubbock.”
“You’re going to run out of Texas city names soon,” Charley said with a laugh.
I chuckled with him. “I’ll never run out. I just need to google new ones every night.”
King sighed and pressed his fingers into his forehead. “Do you have nothing better to do with your time, Barber? You know, like making rotgut that’ll knock someon
e head over ass.”
“Nah, the uncle’s out of town with Sophie. They went on a small road trip.”
“How is your pretty cousin? I swear she got her looks from her mama, not your ugly side,” Scar said, grinning.
“Hey now, I think I’m pretty.” I slapped my hands over my heart, pouting in his direction.
“As pretty as my asshole.” He snorted at his joke and nudged his boyfriend, but Charley rolled his eyes.
“Is that before or after Charley fucks you? Oh wait, rumors are you don’t let Charley fuck you. You’re not man enough to take one for the team.” I braced myself when his face fell into twisted rage. I knew what he’d do before he did it.
Scar ignored his boyfriend’s frantic tugging on his wrist and charged at me. His shoulder got my gut, and even though I’d braced for him, that didn’t stop the stabbing pain from vibrating through my body by the force of his hit. I crashed to the ground, my back striking something sharp and hard, sending more agony through me. I threw a punch and managed to get him in the cheek, but Scar had a head of stone and it barely fazed him.
“Colton!” Charley’s voice cut through the air, but Scar was intent on slamming his fist into my jaw. A wave of dizziness washed through me, but I reacted instinctively and kept punching until one of my attempts managed to make a noticeable impact, right into his nose. He groaned, falling back onto his ass as blood gushed from his nostrils. Even though my cheeks and jaw throbbed, I shoved myself to my feet and went to jump on top of him to deliver a few more blows.
Some of the blood went flying and landed on a couple of the guys near us. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dash go pale and knew his reaction was coming before it even happened. He collapsed on the ground immediately, not an uncommon reaction from the big guy, who had an aversion to blood.
Somewhere from my left, I heard one of my brothers—probably Hound—say, “There goes Dash again. Fuck.”
My focus returned to Scar as I continued to punch. He managed to get more strikes in, one landing on my ribs in a way that made a burst of agony rip through me. He got me in the right eye, too, and bursts of lights flashed in my vision, along with more pain, but I still ducked when he came at me again.
Some of the brothers had finally had enough and grabbed my arms to yank me away. I fought against whoever was holding me back, but I didn’t have a chance against three of them as they dragged me far enough away that we couldn’t reach each other anymore.
“What the fuck?” I snarled as I settled. My right eye pulsed from where he’d landed a hit, and the left side of my jaw and cheek hurt like a motherfucking bitch.
Scar struggled against his captors, glaring. His face was covered in blood and was a plain ol’ mess. I probably looked as bad as he did. “You little cunt.”
“Fuck you,” I snapped back.
“Enough!” King stepped into the space between us, rage crossing his face. His hair looked more silver than ever in the sunlight, but his eyes were bright and deadly as he flicked his gaze between me and Scar. “You’re both on shithouse duty for pulling this stunt.”
“He came at me first, King,” I argued, but quickly shut my mouth when King turned a furious stare on me.
“And you stir him up. You should have expected someone to come at you with their fists, Barber.” He shook his head at me and pointed at Scar. “You fucking know better. Barber was trying to fuck with you, and you reacted. Be smarter. Go clean the shithouse now.”
“Are you fucking kidding me, King?” Scar snarled and then winced at whatever look King was giving him.
“Go.”
Charley tugged on Scar’s arm, and Scar grunted, letting his boyfriend pull him in the direction of the clubhouse door and probably toward the bathroom. At least he’d have someone helping him. I didn’t have a piece of ass to offer his help.
King’s furious eyes turned back to me and he shook his head. “Why you gotta start shit, huh?”
I shrugged with a grin, my face throbbing in pain as whoever was behind me finally released their hold on my arms. “Because it’s fun to mess with him.”
“Then you deserve everything you get.” King shook his head. “And don’t think you’re getting out of your punishment. You’re cleaning the toilets this afternoon. Plus, I expect you to pay his fine as well as yours. You knew what you were fucking doing.”
Bishop flashed a grin at me. “Don’t worry, Barber, I’m sure Barnes’ll drop one of his noon shits for you.”
I flipped him the bird while the British bastard laughed.
4
Quain
KC brandished one of his adorable smiles—the kind that disarmed people into believing he hadn’t once been a pickpocket who stole so easily it became an unconscious habit. I’d managed to get him out of the routine, but it had taken time and patience, the same values I needed to be an assassin.
“Did you do it?” I asked from where I sat at the kitchen island on a tall chair, a gun magazine clutched in my hands as I stared down at the new sniper rifles available. Mine was getting old and I’d need to upgrade soon.
“Of course I did. Do you need to ask?” He settled onto the chair opposite me and snatched the magazine from my hands. Whistling, he said, “Is that the new Barrett M82? She’s sick.”
I nodded and stood, walking over to the fridge to pull out a Coke for KC. Studying him, I settled the can on the island in front of him. “How did he react?”
He cracked open the pop and laughed, his eyes lighting up in amusement, which made me wish I’d been there to see Luke’s face. “It was fucking amazing. He was shocked, but he actually looked impressed, too, after he realized what was happening.”
I grinned when I retook my seat. “Good, he deserved it.”
“There were a lot of Kings at the clubhouse when I dropped him off.” He raised his eyebrows as he took a big sip, slurping in a way he knew I hated. “He probably has a lot of explaining to do.”
I chuckled. “Wish I’d been there.”
“Me too. Did he actually come into your room while you were sleeping?”
“Yes.” I snorted. He’d said something about sleep talking, as though I wasn’t aware of my nighttime proclivities. It only happened when I wasn’t on a risky job and was comfortable enough to fall into a deep slumber, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t prepared for an attack, either. Coming into my room had been the stupidest thing he could’ve done, and he’d been lucky I’d stopped myself before slicing his throat wide open.
“I’m surprised you didn’t kill him.” KC tapped his finger against the can, a smirk similar to mine spreading across his mouth. He didn’t look like me because we weren’t biologically related, but he’d absorbed some of my personality traits as though I was truly the person he wanted to be when he grew up. I needed KC to be ready for life, but I didn’t want him to be an assassin. While he was big and wide, sturdy enough to have strength behind him, he wasn’t the type of person who’d handle taking another’s life. He was too gentle.
“It came close. I had a knife to his neck.”
“Did he shit himself?” He cackled loudly.
I shook my head. “I think he enjoyed it.”
“Ah, a perfect match for you, Pa. He’s into knife play.”
Rolling my eyes, I forced myself to stand and stretch my arms above my head, straightening out the kinks in my back. “Go fix that motorcycle. I have a work call to make and then I’ll bring you out lunch.”
KC laughed harder as he stood and strode out of the house, the can of Coke still clutched in his hand. The garage outside was more KC’s than mine, even though I stored a couple of cars and gear in there. He found old motorcycles and restored them until they were shiny and new and then sold them off again. He was good at it, too, and I helped how I could. Any money he made, he kept for himself, and I hadn’t needed to support any of his hobbies in years.
Grabbing my phone, which sat on the island, I turned on the specially made app I used to keep my work calls private from spyi
ng ears. The technology was thanks to Franco, a genius who worked for the Society. While we were a collection of assassins and hitmen—and women—we weren’t always on friendly terms with one another. Killing another assassin wasn’t frowned upon, but there was an unspoken rule: never touch Franco. He was cared for by everyone and hurting him easily meant death. That’s if you could find him in the first place. He was always off the radar through his own special brand of apps that kept him hidden, and the only way to contact him was through a phone call. I’d never even seen what he looked like.
“Hello.” The man on the other end of the line spoke curtly, his voice smooth but uptight, exactly as I’d expect a district attorney from LA to sound.
“What’s my name?” I asked sharply. He knew the drill by now. If he was around other people, he’d need to go somewhere private. I wasn’t the type to call back later, and if he wanted the news, he’d only get it now.
“Your name is nothing but a figment of my imagination, a ghost.” That was the code I’d made him use so I knew he was somewhere secluded. “Mr. Ghost.”
I smiled at my codename and leaned into the back of my chair. “Mr. Booth. Pleasure as always. Are you ready for an update?”
“Yes, I am.”
“As you know, we had the event six months prior where someone came into New Gothenburg and I believed they were after Luke.” I’d never forgive Ardan fucking Murphy for that. I’d thought he’d come to take Luke’s life, and we’d fought in the alley near the barber shop. Ardan got in some good shots to the stomach, and I had bruises for a week. We’d quickly figured out he hadn’t been after the same target I was protecting.
“And he wasn’t,” Luke’s father said bluntly. He was the opposite of Luke. They were, in every sense, two vastly different men. My research on Jeremy Booth exposed he’d had a rough relationship with his son, and Luke had packed up his belongings and moved to his uncle’s house in New Gothenburg when he was only sixteen.
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