Page 58 of The Kings of Kearny

He tore his gaze from mine. “Fuck,” he spat out. Someone called his name from the crowd. He ignored them and turned back to me. “We’re not here to party. You’re not ready for that yet.”

“Don’t tell me what I’m ready for,” I said.

He scowled. “Fine. I’m not ready for that.”

“You won’t scare me off.”

His answering laugh was mirthless. “Don’t tell me what I won’t do.”

Okay, I deserved that.

“Jakob!” someone roared.

We both turned. Shit, it was Daniel King. He’d risen from his chair by one of the firepits and was gesturing us over.

Jakob lifted a hand in answer and then stepped close to me, his blue eyes flashing in the torchlight. “We get this over with and get out of here.”

I took a deep breath and nodded, reeling my recklessness back in.

We descended from the porch into the fray and wound our way toward the small crowd gathered around their king. Daniel slapped the guy sitting next to him on the back of the head and gestured for him to get up. The man rubbed at his noggin, grumbling under his breath as he wandered off.

“Stay close,” Jakob said. He veered away from me and took the vacated seat.

I turned from him and headed toward a bench full of women on the other side of the fire. “Mind if I sit?” I asked.

The woman closest to me was a biker in her early twenties. I’d served her once or twice at the bar but couldn’t put a name to her face. She was pretty, with olive skin, auburn curls, and a deceptively innocent face. If not for the leather vest she wore with the Kings emblem on it, you might think she was a beloved kindergarten teacher instead of a gang member.

“Sure,” she said, scooting over a little.

The woman beside her turned toward me as I sat. I stared back at her. I couldn’t help it; she was stunning with skin so pale it shone like burnished alabaster in the firelight. Her thick blond hair fanned out a little in the breeze. Blue eyes latched onto mine, slightly bloodshot around the edges, and she swayed even while sitting down. If we were at the bar, now would be about the time I thought about cutting her off.

“You fucking Jakob?” she slurred.

Hoo boy. This should be fun.

“Who said that?” I asked.

She glanced around us and then looked back at me like I was an idiot. “Everyone.”

“Okay,” I said. I’d learned over the past three months that it was best to remain as neutral as possible when confronted with a drunk person.

Her eyes narrowed. “So you are?”

I shrugged. “Sure.”

She leaned in front of the woman between us. “I used to fuck him.”

The woman tried to push her back. “Don’t be a bitch, Amanda.”

Amanda glared at her. “Don’t tell me what to do, Emily.”

Emily turned to me. “Ignore her. She had a bad day.”

I glanced between the two of them. “It happens.”

Amanda leaned forward again, turning to look across the fire at where Jakob and Daniel were deep in conversation. “He couldn’t keep his hands off me when we were together. If I were still with him, he would have dragged me down onto his lap, not sent me to sit somewhere else.”

“Okay,” I said again, because what the hell else was I going to say to that? She obviously wanted to argue with someone, and another lesson I’d learned while working at Charley’s was that there was no winning arguments with drunk people.

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