Page 47 of Royally Bad

“I don’t have a damn clue.”

That was it; the denial was my breaking point. Bursting forward, I reached for Brick over the table. My hands coiled in the front of his shirt. The air rattled with surprised shouts and metallic clicks; every gun in the place was trained on me.

Wrenching him closer, I sent glasses tumbling to the floor. Someone had left an ashtray out; it spilled gray dust everywhere, making people cough as it rolled away. I didn’t care that the ashes burned my nose. I was too focused on Brick.

This close, there was no doubting the fragile, red stubble growing over his face. If I stuck a suit on him, he’d be a ringer for the photo in Fran’s phone.

Movement wobbled on either side of my view; I still didn’t look away from Brick. His fingers dug into the backs of my arms, his sneer as vicious as mine.

I jerked him closer to me. “Tell them what you did.”

“Nothing.” His calmness just infuriated me further. “I didn’t touch any damn girl.”

Hawthorne groaned. “Fucking hell, Kain. This isn’t the way to do this.”

“Listen to your brother,” Brick said, grinning so wide I saw his fillings.

My forearms tensed. “It’s the only way to get him to admit what he did.”

Frock barely moved, but he managed to lean into my view. “He says he didn’t touch her.”

“He’s a fuckingliar,”I hissed.

“Yeah?” Brick asked, his lips pulling back. “Where’s your proof? It’s your word against mine.”

“It’sherword against yours, and I’d believe her over you any day.”

Costello said, “This game is ridiculous. We know you were at the party, Brick. We have a photo of you there.”

“You make a really cute waiter.” Thorne chuckled.

Brick went deathly pale. He licked his lips, but his father spoke first. “You win. Fine. I sent my son to gather some intel on your family. Looking for illegal goods, you know the drill.” He shrugged like we were chatting about the weather and not criminal activity. “It’s obvious we’re not happy with the current arrangement.”

One of the Deep Shots, a guy with a big, red Mohawk, shouted, “Yeah! Fuck you guys! You’re trying to keep us from making any damn cash out here! So what if you got raided?”

Brick was still staring at me. I think my silence made him the most nervous. He said, “That’s the facts. You guys are screwing us while we’re trying to make a dime. Everyone else is suffering, why shouldn’t you?”

“I’m about to suffer from some busted knuckles when I slam them into your face,” I growled. I’d heard enough—did no one get how furious I was? A cold, hard piece of metal dug into my temple. The man at the table—the one I didn’t know by name—had stood up, his pistol pressing to my head.

“Slow and steady,” he said, leaving no room for argument. “Let him go and stand down.”

Instead, I shifted my hold so that I could wrap Brick’s shirt around his neck. My veins popped; his did, too, as I started strangling him. From the corner of my eye, I saw that Costello was staring at me in disbelief. Hawthorne was copying him. They didn’t fucking get it: this piece of shit in my hands was the man who’d gone after Sammy.

He tried to hurt her.If she hadn’t fought back, who knows what could have happened to her?

“Brother, let him go,” Costello said coolly. “Getting a bullet in your skull won’t help her.”

Brick was struggling, cutting into my skin, his face going a pretty shade of purple. The gun dug harder into my temple, and I knew ... if I kept going, more than one gun would fire on me.

Shoving Brick back into his chair, I watched him topple over in it backward. He was gasping for air, sweat making his red face shiny. People hurried to help him up; he shoved them away, scrambling to his feet.

The ashtray was stuck to his cheek—he slapped it away, leaving black smudges all over his skin. Hawthorne snorted, covering his smirk with the back of one hand.

Frock waved his hand. “Put your gun away, Rush.”

Flipping his pistol into his holster, the new guy faced me down. Rush—as he’d been called—gave me the barest hint of a smile. “Attacking the son of our gang’s leader, right in front of everyone? Now that’s ballsy.”

“People tell me mine are pretty big.” Flexing my fingers, I looked back at Frock. “Your son is bullshitting all of us, even you, but I guess it doesn’t matter. I’ll just say this: if he fucks around with the girl again—and he knows who I mean—he won’t just get a coffee cup to the head as a result.” I flicked my glare toward Brick. “Next time, I’ll kill you myself.”

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