Page 78 of The Kings of Kearny

Chapter Nineteen

Daniel King lookedlike shit. We stood in his front hall, deep enough into it that the sunlight streaming through the open front door didn’t touch him. His eyes were bloodshot, skin ashen. Every time anyone moved too fast or spoke too loud, he winced. Jakob said there were no consequences for anyone’s actions last night. Too bad for Daniel that didn’t apply to hangovers.

“Good morning!” I yelled at him, because yes, I was vindictive enough that I liked seeing him flinch.

“What do you want?” he asked, voice rasping like sandpaper.

“We need to talk,” Jakob said. Just then, a young kid in a Kings vest hustled past, carrying a box of empty beer bottles. Jakob waited until he was gone before saying anything else. “Somewhere quiet.”

Daniel nodded, looking relieved at this respite from the busy hall. He turned and led us deeper into the house. As we passed the picture of him and Redding, Jakob reached out and snagged it off the wall, so quiet that all I heard was the soft sigh of leather. He shoved it inside his jacket before anyone else could see it, tucking his arm close to hold it there.

I thought Daniel and Eva would have to burn the house to the ground and start somewhere fresh after how trashed it was last night, but the new recruits took their cleaning duties seriously. They’d all been in the military, and if their first few years in service were anything like mine, they knew how to keep their heads down and get a difficult job done with minimal complaining.

Daniel weaved between bustling people and showed us up a back staircase. It deposited us into an upstairs hallway that looked as if it had escaped the worst of the party’s perversions.

“In here,” Daniel said, pushing open a door and striding inside. It was a large home office, painted a deep green. It looked like something more suited to an English country manor than a southern Texas ranch home, complete with a heavy wooden desk, bookshelves, and a trio of leather chairs. This must have been Eva’s doing. It didn’t fit Daniel. For starters, it was too nice. He looked more suited to holding court in a dingy clubhouse with Army and biker paraphernalia plastered all over the walls.

Daniel paced over to a vintage drink cart and poured himself a glass of whiskey. He didn’t ask us if we wanted one. If it were anyone else, I’d assume they weren’t trying to be an impolite host but were just too hungover to function. With Daniel, I knew this for the subtle power move it was.

Asshole.

Jakob sat without waiting for an invite, so I took the chair beside him. Daniel folded himself down across from us, whiskey balanced on his knee. He scrubbed a hand over his face, and some of the fog cleared from his expression.

“What’s this about?” he asked.

“Who the fuck is Redding?” Jakob demanded.

I gripped the arms of my chair, muscles bunching, ready to spring free if I had to. Jesus, Jakob. So much for easing into this.

It was a testament to Daniel’s nerves that he didn’t so much as blink in response. “No idea.”

Jakob pulled the picture from inside his jacket and shoved it at Daniel.

The man was a good actor. He frowned as he took it, looking it over for several seconds before the light of recognition dawned on his face. “Oh, this kid.” He set the picture aside. “He’s just some guy I used to serve with.”

He lifted his glass and took another slow sip of whiskey like nothing was wrong, like this was just any casual conversation. It reminded me of that first night in Jakob’s apartment. But his free hand slipped down the side of his chair, and his eyes gave him away. He must have had a weapon strapped beneath the seat.

I was just about to shout a warning when Jakob spoke.

“Don’t even think about pulling a gun on me,” he said. “I’m not in on anything with my dad.”

Daniel’s hand stopped. A dark smile spread over his handsome face. “I don’t believe you.”

Jakob let out a harsh breath. “I don’t want to lead the club. I’m happy right where I am. I’m not going to tell you that again.”

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