King's Barber

by M. D. Gregory

  Eyes widening at each other, we both moved. It was hard to function when the bliss of my orgasm hadn’t fully subsided, but it was better than being murdered by the club president. I tripped over my underwear as I tried to put them on again, and Luke was struggling as well.

  “There’s only one way to come out, and I’m going to kill you. Are you fucking kidding me? That’s my room.” King slammed his fist against the door, shaking the whole thing. I paused, expecting it to come off its hinges, but it didn’t. By the time we both had our clothes on, he was more furious than ever.

  “Now what?” I whispered, hoping King didn’t hear my voice.

  Luke grabbed his gun holster and glanced at the window to the side of the room. My jaw dropped.

  “No, Luke. Not out the window.”

  He grinned as he slid on the holster. The bastard was enjoying this. “It’s either that or facing King. You choose.”

  It wasn’t much of a choice. Taking a deep breath to stop myself from decking Luke and adding to the bruises already on his face, I glared and stormed toward the window, jerking it open. I glanced out, taking in the dead patch of grass beneath the second-floor bedroom. It was a sizable fall and it’d hurt.

  “I can go first and catch you,” Luke murmured as the pounding grew even louder.

  “Get lost,” I mumbled, slipping one leg through the window frame and then the other. I was trained for these kinds of escapes, but I had to balance between showing my skill while also hiding it so Luke didn’t grow suspicious. King’s bedroom had been a dumb idea.

  I dropped to the ground and made a show of falling onto my ass, huffing in fake pain. Glaring up at Luke, I said, “Come on.”

  He peeked out the window, grinning, and he wasn’t far behind me. He landed with far less grace and stumbled, crashing to his knees.

  “Good spot for you to be,” I grumbled, helping him to his feet just as I heard a crash from the room above. “Shit. Move!” Dragging him with me, we ran around the clubhouse to avoid the loud, cursing King.

  Luke laughed so much he nearly tripped, but I yanked him up and around to the front.

  Shoving him when we got there, I pointed at him. “You nearly got us caught.”

  He shrugged, his grin bordering on mischievous, and I wouldn’t put it past him wanting to do that again. “You’re the one who said to take you to a room.”

  I stared up at the sky, praying for strength.

  Bullet or kiss: I wasn’t sure which one it was going to be tonight.

  11

  Barber

  I groaned, stretching out on the couch and wincing at the crick that had formed in my neck from the awkward position I’d been lying in. The familiar weight of Quain’s body half on top of mine made me smile. I ran my hand over his head, smoothing down pieces of hair that stuck up in different directions from sleeping. He was beautiful like this, soft wisps of air escaping his mouth as he gently snored. I’d woken up with different people in my lifetime, but never someone as attractive as the man sleeping here with me now.

  “Are the ants stealing your coffee?” I murmured to him, but the only response I got was a soft sigh as he buried his face into my neck.

  Laughing as quietly as I could, I glanced around the room. Jester was lying on the floor near us, his favorite whore—Bliss—curled up in his arms like Jester was his teddy bear. My club brother was big enough to hide Bliss from the world. They made a cute couple, and I never understood why Jester didn’t make it permanent. He only fucked the Courtesan these days. Once upon a time he made his rounds with different people, until he met Bliss.

  The thought made me shake my head. My happiness with Quain was affecting how I saw things, and I couldn’t decide if it was a good thing or not. As far as I knew, we were only fucking, even though we’d had dinner and shit. I didn’t go into this looking for something, either. We’d fucked twice, yet the need for him grew every passing day I spent with him. While I’d mentioned adopting kids last night, it barely had any reaction out of him, and it saddened me more than it should. We’d only started whatever the hell this was.

  The shrill sound of my phone had me nearly jumping out of my skin. Quain groaned, and I smoothed my hand down his head.

  “Sorry, go back to sleep.” I tilted backward, careful not to crash off the small couch as I reached for my phone on the floor. After the fiasco with King, we’d ended up here instead. It was safer than poking a lion with a stick, which was exactly what we’d been doing by having sex in King’s bedroom.

  Unknown flashed on my phone and I frowned, considering leaving it. If it was important they’d leave a message, but something in my gut told me to answer, so I did. “This better be good. It’s too fucking early on a Sunday morning,” I growled in greeting.

  “I’d think this is a good reason for you to listen, hermano.” The unfamiliar voice on the other end had me tensing.

  Quain groaned against me and blinked his eyes open, giving me a tired but satisfied smile.

  I ignored him, though, as warning bells sounded in my head. Carefully pushing my way into a seated position while trying not to knock Quain off the couch, I frowned. “I don’t know who this is, but I’m not your brother. Do you know who you’ve called?”

  Laughter had my muscles clenching tight. “Let me guess. Lucas Jeremy Booth, also known as Barber. Stupid nickname, hermano. Don’t bikers have better ones?”

  “Who are you?” I growled out. The warm air of the heater in the barroom washed over me, and I was thankful someone was smart enough to turn it on before the party got started. Sometimes they completely forgot and I ended up half frozen. I slipped off the couch and stood, tugging at my unfastened jeans so I didn’t expose myself to anyone. Everyone had seen my cock before, but Quain had made it clear—he didn’t want to be anyone’s show.

  “Doesn’t matter who I am, what matters is who you are, and who you’re related to. I’ve got a couple of friends of yours. Would you like to say hello?”

  The sound of frightened screams had my hold on the phone tightening. Begging filled the other end of the line, and then a scared, tiny voice said, “Luke? It’s me.”

  “I know, Sophie. What happened? Where have they got you?” I ground out, but before she could answer she screamed again, and a crash sounded through the phone. Rage consumed me, and it took all my power not to yell at these motherfuckers, because I needed to negotiate, figure out what they wanted.

  “Now, now, Barber, that’s cheating.” The stranger laughed, his accent growing stronger.

  “What do you fucking want?” I snapped, spinning on my heel and storming over to the shirt and holster I’d discarded last night when we decided to sleep on the couch. Bending, I held the phone between my ear and shoulder as I checked the magazine of the Ruger—full. I was going to shoot these motherfuckers in the head.

  “If you want your cousin and uncle back alive, you will meet us. Alone. If we see any of your biker friends coming anywhere near the location, we’ll slit their throats. Comprende?”

  Curling my fingers around the trigger of the gun, I breathed through my nose to stop myself from doing anything stupid like punching a hole in the wall. King would have my ass once this was all over. “I understand. Where do you want me to meet you?”

  “I’ll text you the address. Adios.” The phone went silent, and I gripped it hard, forcing myself not to throw it across the room. The cell buzzed and I checked the message. The location was just outside of the city, near the old train trestle we’d fought with the Demons at not long ago.

  “What’s wrong?” King’s gruff voice had me turning and freezing in surprise. A few of my brothers were up, King and Undertaker included, and were standing behind me with determined expressions on their faces. Jester was sliding on his shirt and checking his gun, while his whore got dressed, too.

  Quain sat on the couch, his elbows on his knees and a contemplative look on his face.

  The anger bubbled over. I grabbed the lamp on the little table in the corn
er of the room and threw it as hard as I could. It sailed past King’s head and collided with the wall behind him, smashing into pieces. King didn’t so much as flinch, staying stock-still, a dangerous glint in his eye. “Those fuckers took Errol and Sophie. They took my fucking family. I’m going after them.”

  “We’re coming with you, then,” Rogue said from my left, his arms crossed over his burly chest.

  “No. You can’t.” I ran my hand over my head, desire for blood pressing on my chest. “They said if they see any other bikers, they’ll kill them. Fuck!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, fury like I’ve never felt before making my heart pound against my ribs as I imagined all the things I was going to do to them. Blood would run in rivers by the time I was done.

  “You can’t go, Luke.” Quain stood, eyebrows dipping low on his forehead. “I won’t allow it.”

  I laughed at the absurdity. He had no idea about the club life. None. “You’re funny.” I touched his shoulder and forced myself to smile. Regardless of what was happening, I couldn’t alienate him. I cared for him too much and I wasn’t risking hurting him. “Leave, Quain. This is Kings’ business.”

  Quain raised his chin. “It’s my business, too.”

  King stepped forward and laid his hand on my chest, shoving me back and away from Quain. He stepped in between us, his back to me. “Who are you, really? You’re certainly not a hairstylist.”

  I went to step forward, but Jester seized my arm, yanking me backward. Rogue moved forward, raising a gun I hadn’t realized he had in his hand toward Quain.

  “Hey, put that the fuck down,” I hissed at him. “This has nothing to do with him.”

  “Actually, I am a certified hairstylist,” Quain said, unfazed by the gun pointed at him. He sighed and gave me an apologetic look that had my gut roiling. “I also… happen to be a contract killer.”

  Surprise had me rocking forward, then backward, and I didn’t know if I wanted to storm toward him or move away in betrayal. My fingers twitched around the gun I held at my side and my mouth parted. “Are you here to kill me or something?”

  Quain’s gaze drifted to Rogue and nodded at his Glock. “Put that thing down before I shove it up your ass sideways.” He said it so gently, but there was an underlying danger there that no man could ignore. When he faced me again, his eyes had turned cold, a look I was used to seeing on the few assassins and hitmen I’d met. “No, I’m here to protect you.”

  I shoved King out of my way and shifted directly in front of him, baring my teeth. “On whose orders?”

  He hesitated and tensed, and I saw the calculation in his stare. I’d been in similar situations, although it was safe to say I wasn’t as experienced as him. Measuring up surroundings and factors that could control the outcome of a kill was normal, and he was doing that right now in case he needed to defend himself. How had I not seen this before? King and Undertaker tried to warn me, but I didn’t want to believe it. “Your father hired me.”

  “You said your father was dead,” Scar said gruffly as he shuffled up behind King.

  I glanced at him quickly, but I didn’t want to get into this with them. Not now. They didn’t know who my father was, and I wanted to keep it that way. “No, I said he was dead to me.”

  “That’s the same fucking thing.” Scar stepped up beside King when my president raised his gun toward Quain’s forehead, like he wanted to do nothing more than put a bullet into it. I forced myself not to get in between them even though my brain and heart shouted at me to do exactly that. The whole thing with Quain had been a fucking lie. He’d been paid to get close, and by my father no less. I should have been more surprised than I was.

  Quain’s pupils dilated, his mouth pressing into a firm line. “King, get that gun out of my face. I can’t promise I won’t react badly. Guys who point guns at me usually end up six feet under.”

  King bared his teeth and lowered his handgun, letting it rest at his side. “Today’s your fucking lucky day. Get out.”

  “No.” Quain crossed his arms over the thin T-shirt I’d stolen from Jester’s drawers for him to wear. I thought it was Bliss’s. “It’s still my job to keep Barber safe. I’m not going anywhere, and neither is he.”

  I snorted, caught between a half laugh and a grunt of disgust. “Barber now, is it? Was calling me Luke all part of your seduction plan?” I hated how fucking bitter I sounded. I’d never cared about a relationship before, and I’d actually wanted something with Quain. Stupid.

  “It wasn’t my intention—” He sighed loudly. “The Reyes Cartel is after revenge on your father. He’s taking the drug dealers to town in California, and LA is part of their territory. He asked me to protect you because they threatened all of his children, and he knew you wouldn’t allow him to get you a bodyguard.”

  “What the fuck?” Scar grunted. “Who the fuck is your father, then?”

  I ran my hand over my head in frustration and glared at him. “It doesn’t matter. Uncle Errol and Sophie are being held at fucking gunpoint. I don’t have time for this.” I sliced my hand through the air in front of me and pointed at Quain. “This is your fault. You should have told me. If they have one scratch on them when I get there, I’m going to put your head in a grinder and listen to every second of it crushing your skull. Got it?”

  Quain shrugged. “You can’t go, Barber. That’s what they want. They need you to make it work. Your father doesn’t care about Errol or Sophie.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” I snapped, my insides turning to ice as I thought about what they’d do to my real family if I didn’t show up.

  Quain looked pained as he turned his attention back on King. “I think the board members, Barber, and I should go somewhere private. We need to have a discussion.”

  King didn’t argue. He nodded. “Board members that are here, get in the meeting room. You too, Barber. Let’s go. Now.”

  I didn’t want to. We were wasting time, but King had been around for longer than I had in this kind of business, and I trusted our president with my life, so I followed them. I glared at Quain’s stiff back as he marched in front of me, caught between King and Undertaker as they opened the door to the meeting room and we all walked in.

  Jester, King, Scar, and Undertaker were here, and they took their seats. I strode past Quain and took a seat next to Scar, not quite sure what else to do.

  Quain cleared his throat and stayed standing. Even now, he looked handsome, his hair still a mess and his eyes sharp, but also sleepy. I wanted to hug him against my chest and never let go. Yet, I also hated him. My father had fucking hired him.

  “Like I said, I’m a contracted killer.” He straightened, jaw tensing. “But I’m more than that. I’m an assassin for the Society.”

  “Fuck,” Scar muttered at my side, and I frowned at him.

  “What the fuck is the Society?” I asked, confused.

  King cleared his throat and leaned his elbows on the cherrywood table. “It’s an organization that hires out assassins and hitmen. Mostly secretive, except to criminals who hire their services. They’re… dangerous people.”

  Quain nodded. “Very lethal.”

  “Do you know how the Courtesan is a safe zone?” Scar asked me, and my frown deepened.

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, it’s mostly because of them. Powerful criminals, like Killough and Reyes, need places to stay safe, and the Society created locations across the states to make that happen. It keeps their men and women safe. They need to be out of harm’s way when they need a break, too,” Scar said, baring his teeth at Quain. “The Madam and Harlots enforce the safety there, but the Society’s just another force to scare lawbreakers into keeping to the rules.”

  “So you’re fucking telling me there’s an organization for this, and you fucking knew about it?” I stood, but Scar grabbed my arm, shaking his head.

  “No one in the Kings but the board members know. It’s for your protection, Barber,” King said, face softening. “The Society is vici
ous and the less of us that know about them, the better.”

  “How did my father know about you then?” I hissed in Quain’s direction.

  He stayed still, the only movement he made was to reach up and touch the ring on his chain, fiddling with it. “He didn’t know about the Society. One of his informants gave him a number to call for a contract killer. He thought someone who was used to murdering would be good at guessing what the cartel would do next. So he hired me. The informant was taken out for saying too much to the wrong person.”

  “This is fucked.” I raised my hands, jerking my arm out of Scar’s hold, and took a step back. “Fucked.”

  “I know,” Quain whispered, but I scowled at him.

  “I’m going to get my family back, so you can stay out of my way.”

  “Then I’m coming with you,” he said, making me freeze in surprise when he moved toward me. Scar was the one who got in his way this time, and I didn’t have to see Scar’s face to know they were having a stare-off. My brother was a big man, in height and mass, and he was about triple Quain’s size, but most assassins and hitmen weren’t big people. They needed to blend in.

  “I think he’s done with you, rat.” Scar’s tone dropped until it was deeper than the pits of hell, warning laced in every dangerous word. “You heard King before. Leave or we’ll make you.”

  “You need me.” Quain didn’t sound the least bit fazed by the monster of a man in front of him. “He said no other bikers. These men aren’t amateurs. They’ll hear you coming, and they’ll have scouts watching. It isn’t just a few guys for this kind of kidnapping.”

  “Worked for the Reyes Cartel before, have you?” Undertaker asked from his seat. I noticed him out of the corner of my eye, his fingers dancing around the knife he always kept on his body. Scar might have size, but it was Undertaker who was truly the killer out of all of us. He was a psychopath who took pleasure in pain, both when he was killing a man and having sex.