Page 65 of King

“Chicken diapers?” King repeated, wondering if he’d heard wrong.

“Chicken diapers?” Charger echoed, his tone filled with disbelief.

“Yes, chicken fucking diapers,” Ryker grumbled. He swung a leg over his bike and fired it up. “Whoever came up with that shit needs their ass kicked.”

As he took off down the road, King and Charger stared at each other briefly before bursting into laughter.

Even with all the darkness they faced, moments like this reminded King that their world wasn’t entirely fucked. No matter how bad things got, there was always something in their personal lives that made them forget, if only for a second, just how twisted everything else was.

Still chuckling, King mounted his bike and took off toward his house with Charger.

The ride was short, with no traffic, just the cool night air brushing against his skin. Before long, they pulled into the driveway, parked, and stepped inside.

King’s eyes immediately found Amara. She was sitting in front of a screen, completely engrossed in the game she was playing. Viktor, Steve, and Bishop stood around her, just as absorbed.

He scanned the room, his gaze landing on Joey sitting in one of King’s large, overstuffed chairs with his leg on pillows propped up, locked into his own game. The kid looked relaxed, comfortable, and normal. That alone was a relief.

“In the window, Amara,” Joey called out, his voice full of excitement. “The jerk killed me three times already. Snipe his ass.”

King stepped closer, curious. His gaze shifted to Amara’s screen just as her character moved into position. The character on the screen slid into cover and aimed a sniper rifle at the enemy. One shot. Clean. The guy dropped instantly. Without missing a beat, she switched weapons and took down two more opponents who had been closing in on her.

“Got him!” Amara shouted, her excitement mirroring Joey’s. “Watch out! One’s coming up behind you.”

“It’s crazy how the weapons on this fucking game sound real as hell. You can even distinguish what kind of weapon it is if you know your shit.” Viktor said, watching the screen.

King crossed his arms, watching Amara with an amused smirk. He’d seen plenty of people play video games, but the way she moved...quick, precise, and damn ruthless had him fucking impressed. She slid, jumped, shot, and sniped her opponents like she’d been born with a controller in her hand.

Beside him, Steve let out a low whistle. “And I thought I was pretty good.” He raised his eyebrows, shaking his head. “She’s a beast at quick scoping.”

King continued watching as Amara executed another flawless kill, her reactions lightning fast. She was completely locked in, her focus razor-sharp until her character got taken out. She cursed under her breath but jumped right back into the fight, undeterred. Moments later, the match ended, and Joey got the play of the game, letting out a victorious shout.

King’s gaze flickered to Amara. She turned toward Joey, her profile softening as she gave him a proud smile. “Good job, dude,” she called out before setting her controller down. “Who’s next?”

“I’ll go.” Steve cracked his knuckles, rolling his shoulders. “I’m a little rusty, though.”

King glanced at the scoreboard. Amara had finished in first place. Joey took second. His eyes flicked back to her as she stood and stretched, the movement drawing his attention like a magnet. He took in the way her shirt lifted slightly, giving hima glimpse of her pale stomach. Heat coiled low in his gut. But before his thoughts could go too far, he caught Viktor grinning at him.

“What?” King growled, already knowing that look.

“Nothing.” Viktor threw up his hands with a chuckle.

“That girl can shoot,” Bishop remarked, crossing his arms. Then he frowned. “Wish she had a real gun to fire at some of those assholes.”

King’s eyes narrowed. “What assholes?”

“The shit talkers,” Steve muttered, waiting for the next game to load. “Some douchebags playingCall of Dutycan’t handle losing to a girl. And she fucking destroyed them. Who’s the bitch now, dickheads?”

King’s amusement faded instantly. His jaw clenched as his hands curled into fists at his sides. “They called you a bitch?” he asked Amara, his voice dangerously low.

She hesitated, her brows pulling together like she wasn’t sure why he was pissed.

“They also told her to get in the kitchen and make them a sandwich,” Joey added, rolling his eyes. “They do it all the time, but she doesn’t care. She just kicks their asses and shuts them up. Most of them rage quit like the crybabies they are.”

King’s temper simmered. He knew it was just an online game, but the idea of some faceless assholes disrespecting Amara, his Amara, didn’t sit well with him.

Amara shrugged, flashing a grin. “I really don’t care,” she said. “I’m used to it. Plus, it just makes me want to get better. You know… make grown men cry. It kind of makes my day.”

King smirked, pride settling in his chest. That was his girl.

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