Page 37 of Klutch's Kryptonite

“It’s not up for negotiation, Blue,” he says firmly. “You either let me put a man on you, or you don’t work at all.”

I want to argue, to tell him he has no right to dictate my life, but the truth is, after what happened to my apartment, I’m scared. Having someone watching my back might not be such a bad idea.

“Fine,” I concede. “But he stays out of my way.”

Klutch relaxes slightly. “Deal.”

The Underground is packedwhen I arrive. The prospect Klutch assigned to me, a young guy everyone calls Rookie with shaggy blonde hair and too many tattoos, shadows my every move, staying just far enough away to not be obvious but close enough to step in if needed.

I’ve been slinging drinks for about three hours when I spot a familiar figure hunched at the end of the bar. My heart does a flip.

Dad.

I make my way over to him, ignoring a customer trying to get my attention. “Dad!”

He looks up, his face breaking into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Dems?” His brow burrows as he glances around the arena. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m working here.” Looking him over, he looks terrible. Worse than how I found him a few days ago. The bruising has turned a sickly yellowy-green, and there are dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. He reeks of cheap whiskey.

“Where have you been?” I demand, keeping my voice low. “I’ve been worried sick.”

His body deflates. “Around. Laying low. Trying to figure things out.”

“Figure out what?” I growl. “You get yourself into all this shit with Frankie. You put it on me to bail you out and you just go and disappear?” The au-fucking-dacity. I shake my head in disbelief. “What’s really going on,Bobby? The apartment was trashed.”

He has the decency to look ashamed now. “I know. I’m sorry. But I promise I’m going to fix things.”

A chill runs down my spine at his words. “What does that mean? What are you planning?”

“Nothing for you to worry about,” he says, patting my hand. “I’ve got it all under control.”

That’s the last thing I want to hear from him. My father having“things under control”usually means disaster is right around the corner. As pissed off as I am at him, he’s still my dad and I don’t want anything to happen to him.

“Dad, please,” I beg, leaning closer. “Don’t do anything stupid. Let me help. I’m making good money here. Maybe we can work something out with Frankie?—”

“It’s too late for that,” he cuts me off, his eyes darting around nervously.

“You don’t know that!”

“I’ve got to go,” he says suddenly, sliding off the barstool.

“Dad, wait?—”

Before I can beg him not to leave, he’s gone, disappearing into the crowd. I move to follow him, but a hand on my arm stops me.

“Everything okay?” Rookie asks, his eyes trained on my father’s retreating back.

“No,” I admit, my stomach knotting with worry. “Things couldn’t be worse.”

Chapter Eleven

Klutch

I never take women to meet my parents. Ever. It’s a rule I’ve lived by since I started fucking around at sixteen. Why get their hopes up? Why make Ma think some chick is special when she’s just a warm body to get my rocks off with? But as I guide my bike onto the tree-lined street where I grew up, Blue’s arms wrapped tight around my waist, I’m breaking that rule for the first time in my life.

And it scares the living shit out of me.

Not that I’d ever admit it. But this thing with Demi is moving fast. Five days ago, she was just a sexy waitress at The Underground. Now she’s practically living in my suite at the clubhouse, wearing my shirts to bed, and leaving her girly shit all over my bathroom counter.

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