King's Barber

by M. D. Gregory

  “Nothing,” I said with a polite smile. “I work tomorrow.”

  Luke grunted. “We’ll both have a blue moon.”

  “I’d rather not,” I argued, but Josh was already moving. Clearly when it came to me and Luke, his word was final. I glared at him and crossed my arms. “Do you have no work ethic? I’m sure you work tomorrow, too, and you’re going to cut people’s hair while hungover?”

  “Do you often have a hangover after one beer?” He chortled and nudged me hard enough that I nearly fell off my seat. “Untwist your panties, Quain. It’s one drink.”

  “I doubt it’ll be just one drink with you, Mr. Booth.”

  He leaned back with a smirk. “Oh, it’s back to Mr. Booth, is it? What happened to calling me Luke?”

  “You annoyed me. I shouldn’t be surprised, though, should I?” I held back a smirk. I wasn’t going to flirt with him. No. One thing about this role I was playing had some truth to it, and it was that I had morals. Sleeping with someone I was protecting wasn’t going to happen, no matter how annoyingly handsome he was. It also didn’t matter he was the first person I’d ever had to protect; I didn’t fuck men I was going to kill, either. Dean was the only exception because he’d been my fiancé.

  Luke laughed and his face lit up, lines forming around his eyes. While the rest of the Kings were mostly serious men with danger inked on their forehead, Barber had a more relaxed vibe. There was no doubt he was as deadly as the rest, but the ones he targeted were always surprised by an attack from him—like a cobra disguised as a puppy.

  Josh brought our beers and gave me a suspicious once-over before disappearing down to the end of the bar again. I didn’t notice he’d added an orange slice in the neck of the bottle until he was gone, so I couldn’t thank him for the little extra effort. I peered around the room carefully while I grabbed the orange out, taking a bite.

  Staring at the men, I put names to faces. Undertaker was still here with his boyfriend Lee, as were King and Dallas. Bishop, the half-Englishman of the club, and his fiancé, Destiny. Scar and Charley, both Kings and lovers. Deep in the corner were Reaper and Grant, King’s brother. Jester, the club’s VP, was on a couch along the wall deeply involved with his favorite professional from the Courtesan. There were other bikers, too, and I noted that a lot of the main players were here. Were they planning something?

  “They won’t bite.”

  Luke’s voice broke me from my surveillance, and I glanced at him with raised eyebrows. “I’m not afraid of your friends.”

  One of the men sitting at a stool near us grunted out a laugh and turned to me. Paris Deiters, my quick mind provided. He was the tattoo artist of the club. “Friends? That would mean we like the fucker.”

  Luke laughed. “Fuck you, PD.” He glanced at me. “Ignore him. He’s in a bad mood because he’s not getting any. He wants some from a certain someone, but Rook ain’t giving it up.”

  PD glared at him and spun his stool away so that he had his back to us.

  “Anyway, the boys won’t hurt you unless they’ve got a reason. You haven’t bought drugs from us and not paid back the money, have you?” He winked.

  “No,” I said bluntly. “I am not like you and don’t smoke weed in the back alley.”

  “Eh, that’s light shit. Not even drugs. You can go to a weed store now. That was a loss.” He shook his head.

  “I tend to disagree.” I smiled anyway, and his expression lit up.

  “Want a game?” He took a long sip of his beer and nodded at the pool table. “Eight ball, what do you say?”

  “No.” I grabbed my bottle and took a sip, wincing. I wasn’t usually a beer guy, preferring a good old-fashioned vodka. The last time I had anything that strong to drink, though, was on a much-needed holiday in France.

  “You said no to the beer, too, and you’re drinking it. You’re not scared of me beating you, are you?” He attempted to waggle his eyebrows, and the expression he made in the effort had me smiling again.

  “Hardly.”

  “Then play with me. Let’s make it interesting. I bet you a hundred bucks you can’t beat me.”

  I purposely glanced toward the table with a nervous look, making a show of biting my lip worriedly. “I don’t know….”

  “I’ll go easy on you,” Luke singsonged, taking another long sip of his beer. Some of the liquid missed his mouth and sloshed down the front of his black Led Zeppelin T-shirt, and I inwardly cringed.

  “Promise?” I gave him the sweetest look I had in my arsenal.

  He drew an imaginary cross over his heart and smirked. “Promise.”

  “All right….” I stood and grabbed my bottle, heading over to the pool table, aware of the intrigued gazes that followed me. “Let’s play.”

  5

  Barber

  I tilted my head to stretch out my neck and grinned, excitement making me bounce off my toes. Quain Beaumont had been giving me hell for months and months, and now I was going to take his money. He had no idea what he was in for, and I almost felt bad, but I wasn’t that type of guy. He’d called the building owner on me more times than I could count, so if I had the chance to steal that hundred bucks from him, I’d take it.

  “Do you know how to play?” I asked after we arrived at the table, and I took another long sip of my beer.

  He frowned at the pool sticks jammed into the stand beside a wall and shook his head. “No, can you explain?”

  Placing the beer bottle on the edge of the table, I walked over to the stand and grabbed two sticks, passing one to Quain when I got back. “It’s real simple. I’ll go first. See that white ball? It’s called the cue ball. You hit that ball and try to get any of the others, except the black eight ball, into the holes. When you get your first one in there, that’s your color, and for the rest of the game you try to get those colored balls into the holes. There’s either solid colors or the white-striped colors. I do the same for the opposite. When you put all your balls away, then you attempt to get the eight into a hole, and whoever does that first, wins.”

  “There are penalties, too, honey,” Destiny piped up. He’d dragged Bishop to his feet, and they took a seat closer to the pool table. He had his long blond hair tied up in a loose bun at the back of his head, and tonight he didn’t have any makeup on, which was unusual for him. Even natural, though, he was beautiful. Bishop was a lucky man. “Tell him about them.”

  “This isn’t hockey, they’re called fouls.” I snorted out a laugh. “Couple of different types. If you get a foul your turn stops, and I can put the cue ball wherever I want on the table. The fouls are”—I counted them off on my fingers—“if you hit a ball off the table, pocket the cue ball, you hit a ball with your stick before the balls stop moving, you touch any of the balls with your hand—”

  “I like touching balls,” Destiny whispered loud enough for the guys close to him to hear. Some of the boys erupted in laughter, me included, and Bishop grinned.

  “—or you don’t hit any of the balls with the cue ball. Does that make sense?”

  Quain peered at the triangle rack of balls in the center of the table and nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”

  I grinned. This was going to be easy. “Good. I’ll break.”

  Clutching my stick in one hand, I took the rack off and threw it in Bishop and Destiny’s direction with a careless toss. I shifted to the end of the table and leaned my elbow on the bumper, careful not to put too much weight on it. After a fucking session between who fucking knew, one of the legs had fallen off. Tinker, a club brother who’d died in the Warriors attack, and I had fixed it. I was surprised it hadn’t been destroyed in the shootout.

  I closed one of my eyes, lined the cue ball up, and hit it with the tip. The ball collided with the others and they split in different directions, spreading out across the bed of the table. None of them went into any of the holes, though.

  “Your turn,” I said with a grin to Quain.

  He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully as he stared at the mess
on the blue felt before he nodded and moved around the table to get into a good position. He lined the tip of his stick to the cue ball and shifted slightly. I grinned, my cock twitching at the thought of what I was about to do next. Moving, I got in close beside him.

  “Do you want me to give you a pointer on how to shoot?”

  Bishop made a noise behind us. “It’s not obvious at all what he’s trying to do. I bet that’s not the only type of shooting he wants to teach the hairstylist.”

  The guys around him chuckled, although Destiny’s was more of a giggle, and he slapped Bishop on the chest.

  Quain either didn’t hear him or pretended not to. He nodded at me with pursed lips. Grabbing his hips, I moved them into the right position and gently pushed his upper body over the table. I got in close behind him, my hardening cock brushing against his asscheek as I slid my hand down his arm to grip the back of his.

  “Nice and gently,” I whispered into his ear. Together we moved and the tip of the stick hit the cue ball, which then smacked into the maroon seven, knocking it into the left corner. “There we are. Lucky shot. If you hit a ball in, you get another turn.” I didn’t move until he gave me an expectant look. Laughing, I stepped away and winked at Bishop, who shook his head at my antics. Destiny clapped his hands and gave me a winning smile.

  Quain moved again, and this time he sunk a ball all on his own. And another. And another. I watched, spine stiffening, the feeling I’d been duped sinking into my belly. He smiled at me and shrugged aloofly. “Beginner’s luck?”

  I doubted that, and my brothers were laughing behind me, raucous and wild. I had a feeling I was about to lose that hundred bucks I’d been positive I’d win. Eyes narrowed on Quain, I crossed my arms. “Have you done this before?”

  “No.” He grinned, and I knew in that moment I was fucked. The balls were pocketed one after another, as easy to him as walking, and the eight ball went down straight after he sunk his six. Smirking when he was done, he turned to me and held out his hand. “Pay up, please.”

  “You played me,” I grumbled as I shoved my hand in my pocket and pulled out my wallet. I yanked out two fifties and passed them to him.

  “Do I look like the sort of person to do that? I have morals, Luke.”

  “You keep saying,” I muttered as I shoved my wallet back into my jeans. The guys around me hadn’t stopped laughing, and I glared at them. “Shut the fuck up.”

  Quain’s face softened, and there was something ethereal about him when he wasn’t strung tight. He looked younger. Happiness suited him. “I should leave. I have work in the morning. Do you want to come and get your bike?”

  I nodded and gave Bishop, who was laughing the loudest, a finger point as I followed Quain out the front door of the clubhouse. We headed to KC’s truck and he unlatched the tailgate and let it down. He yanked out a thin ramp, which he laid against the truck’s bed and the ground.

  “Thanks for this. Tell the kid I owe him.”

  He nodded and handed me the key. “He enjoys working on motorcycles. If your… friends need any help, let me know, and I’ll see if KC has time.”

  “A couple of them are mechanics, but sure.” I winked at him as I walked up the ramp and into the back of the truck. I slid onto my Ducati and shoved the key in my pocket as I hit the ignition. She rumbled to life, the sweet sound turning my belly warm. I’d missed her. When I had her on the ground, I slid off her again, kicking the stand to keep her upright. I replaced the ramp into the bed before I held out my hand to Quain. “Thanks again.”

  He took my hand and we shook. “You’re welcome. Don’t break down where I can see you again. I have better things to do than save your ass.” Unlike what I was used to from him, this comment came with a teasing lilt and a small smile.

  “You like my ass,” I said slyly.

  He rolled his eyes. “Really, Luke, you never stop, do you? Do those lines actually work?” Dropping my hand, he gave me a pinched look.

  “I’m a pro at it.” Leaning closer to him, I smiled. “I’ll wear you down eventually.”

  “You can keep fantasizing about that.” The quirk of his lips told me I was right. He swiped his fingers through his hair and sighed. “I need to go. Have a good night.”

  He went to sidestep me, but I grabbed him, yanking him back toward me. He came without a fight, and when I leaned down to kiss him, he didn’t push me away. His taste was as sweet as I’d imagined, and his mouth was pliable under mine. He rocked forward, and for a few short minutes our lips moved against each other in a slow, lazy pace, until he finally stiffened and shoved backward.

  He sniffed and raised his chin. “Good night, Luke.” Spinning on his heel, he stalked to the front of the truck and hopped in, shutting the door firmly behind himself. I couldn’t tear my gaze off him, the feel of his kiss still lingering on my mouth. I grinned and raised my hand in a wave, but either he didn’t see it, or didn’t want to acknowledge it as he drove across dirt road that led out of the junkyard.

  When he was firmly out of my vision, I pumped my fist. “Fuck yeah!”

  There was laughter at the door, and I grinned at Destiny. He clapped his hands. “Destiny has always wanted a hairstylist friend. Make sure he’s happy, darling, or I won’t be happy.”

  I gave him a salute. “Yes, sir.”

  The next day I walked into the barber shop with an extra hop in my step. Oli frowned at me from where he sat behind the cash register, his dark brows dipping low in suspicion when I dumped my bag on the floor next to him.

  “Did you get laid by someone hot?”

  I chuckled and sent him a wink as I went to set up my chair. I had a few other part-time employees, and today was one of the days when they worked. Or at least Watson did. Florence came in tomorrow. That meant I could step out whenever I needed to, and I had plans on visiting Quain to see what he was doing. Maybe tease him a little to see that cute annoyed expression he always gave me.

  My cock jumped at the thought of the kiss we’d shared last night. It wasn’t rough or needy, but it had enough passion to give me jerking material. I spent the entire time I showered this morning thinking about it as I pulled my cock until I came so hard I nearly blacked out. If that’s what a kiss did, I was excited about getting him into bed. He’d deny anything happened, because I’d worked beside him long enough to not expect anything less, but I’d been called an obsessive bastard more than once. I was going to get him into my bed if it was the last thing I did. Quain Beaumont’s ass was mine.

  “Helloooo.” Oli waved his hand in front of my face, and I startled. I hadn’t realized he’d stepped in close to me, head cocked in confusion. “Jesus, he must have been good for you to go to la-la land. Are you at least going to tell me who he is?”

  I grinned and slapped his arm hard enough to knock him forward slightly. He glared when I laughed.

  The door opened, the bell at the top of it tinkling to signal someone entering. My gaze slid to the new arrival and my smile nearly broke my face. I licked my lips, stare sliding down the slim, hard lines of Quain’s body. The clothes he wore today didn’t leave much to the imagination. Even his fluffy light coat was tight against his chest, but it was the jeans that had my mouth dry. Skintight, they showed off his strong thighs and muscular legs that I’d bet my bike were bendy as fuck.

  Quain cleared his throat, a quick, small smile flickering across his mouth before it was gone again, leaving behind a furrow in his brow as he moved in farther.

  “Can we help you?” Oli asked defensively.

  Quain’s eyes darted to him for only a short, passing moment before they were back on me, like I was the center of his world and he couldn’t look away for long. He stalked forward and stopped right in front of me, crossing his arms and clenching his jaw. “Mr. Booth, your garbage is overflowing. I warned you about this last week.”

  “Are you serious right now?” Oli grumbled, but he was promptly ignored by both of us.

  “Is it?” I stepped in closer to Quain, tilti
ng my body forward as though I was going to kiss him. I didn’t, though. “I’m so sorry. How rude of me.”

  “I can smell it in my salon.” His gaze flicked to my mouth and then back up to my eyes. “Fix it.”

  “What if I don’t? Will you come here again? Maybe when I’m all by myself.” I smirked and made a show of licking my lips in a slow slide of my tongue. “I’d really like to see you again.”

  “I’m busy,” he snapped. Glancing at Oli with a glare, he lowered his voice. “Last night is not going to happen again, Mr. Booth. It was a mistake.”

  I chuckled. “If you say so, Mr. Beaumont. I’ll see you later.”

  He grunted, but I didn’t miss another short-lived amused grin before he straightened and stormed out of my shop again. The cute little sway of his hips made his asscheeks bounce in those tight pants, and I needed to subtly squeeze my cock when Oli wasn’t looking.

  “What an asshole.” He sighed and fell into the seat behind the register again. “Do you think we’ll ever get rid of him from next door? I thought he would have left by now with all his whining.”

  “I hope he never leaves,” I said quietly enough that Oli couldn’t hear. Chuckling again, I moved to my chair and grabbed my cart, opening the drawers to make sure I had everything I needed for my clients. I usually used a toolbox for my equipment, but I’d recently bought the carts because they were easier. The door opened again, the bell jingling, and I peered over my shoulder, hoping Quain was back for another round. I grinned anyway when Uncle Errol gave me a cheerful wave as he strode into the shop. I’d forgotten he was getting back into town this morning from his road trip.