Page 46 of Royally Bad

Shoved back by a well-worn pool table, our hosts waited for us.

The table was just big enough to fit three men on one side. In the middle, more nose than much else, was Frock Monroe. He was topped with a mop of curly, red hair that he often shoved beneath a pale brown cabby hat. His thick beard climbed up his jaw like jungle vines. It was the same hair that made him and his son Brick look so similar.

Both of them were lean; I’d heard that in his twenties Frock had been an underground boxer. While the Deep Shots’ leader was bent forward into the light, his son was reclining into whatever shadows he could find.

But even that couldn’t hide Brick’s bare chin. I almost didn’t recognize him.

“Shit,” Hawthorne hissed near my shoulder. “He lose a bet?”

Ignoring my brother, I scanned the last member of the trio in front of us. The guy on the left, I’d never seen him before. He was wearing a thin, green tank top, his white jacket spread open to show off his hard body. I was sure it was an intentional move.

The stranger was decked out in corded muscles that matched mine. Sitting like he was—one arm thrown over the back of his chair—he had a casual air to him. Either he was relaxed because he wasn’t scared, or he was too stupid to think about who he was facing.

He gazed at me without a hint of emotion. As intense as his physique was, the guy had eyes that reminded me of a deer’s. Soft, gentle—aware. It didn’t matter if he was sweet or not, he hadn’t stopped watching my brothers and me since we’d opened the door.

Guys like that arealwaysdeadly.

Frock spread his hands on the table. “Get them some chairs.”

From the back wall, two heavily armed men approached with seats for us.Reinforcements.It made sense that the Deep Shots wouldn’t let their guard down, but I was surprised to see so many bodyguards blending into the smoky corners.

“I’ll stand,” I said, “if it’s all the same to you.”

Hawthorne shrugged, dropping onto one of the cushions. “I’ll park my ass, thanks.”

All eyes turned to Costello. He just folded his arms. “We won’t be here long enough for me to settle in. Standing is fine.”

Brick rocked his chair forward, the feet clacking down. “Oh, shit. Big man on campus over here.”

His father gave him a warning look. Linking his fingers, he stared not at me, but at Costello. “You said you wanted to talk about a little police action the other day.”

“Some prick working for you cased our joint,” I said. Brick grunted, drawing my eyes back to him. Squinting, I looked him over with a slow burn of suspicion. “Actually, the guy kind of looked like you, Brick. I didn’t even think about it before because of that giant-ass beard you normally sport.”

“Yeah,” Hawthorne said, stretching over the table. “Kain’s right. Where’s your beard at, hm? Did you seriously fucking shave it just to pretend to be a waiter at our little party?”

“I don’t have to answer you,” Brick said, “but no. I wasn’t there.”

Clenching my fingers, I stared the man down. “I think you’re a liar.”

“You’re calling me aliar?”

“He literally just fucking said you were.” Thorne laughed. “Hey, Frock.” My brother jerked a thumb at the leader’s scowling son. “Your kid here caused a lot of trouble for us.”

“He says he didn’t. Besides, from what I heard, you guys didn’t suffer much in that police raid. You were back on the street in a few hours, and you didn’t lose any hardware.”

“Bet that makes yourealsad—”

Cutting off Hawthorne, I said, “We almost lost a friend.”

Everyone went quiet. Next to me, Costello breathed through his tightened jaw. I knew I was about to say too much, but the longer I stared at Brick—the more I realized itwashim in the photo—the angrier I got.

This is the guy that attacked Sammy.

Frock lifted his hands, his voice eerily calm. “What are you talking about?”

“This asshole son of yours went after a girl the other night,” I growled.

Frock shot a look at Brick. “What’s he talking about?”

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