Page 11 of King's Barber
“Get out!”
I boomed out a laugh and rolled off the bed. Giving him a flirtatious wink, I sauntered out of the room. When I turned to say good night, the door was slammed in my face. Feisty. At least I could bring up the sleep talking thing now. I could already imagine how much he’d blush over it.
Laughing to myself, I went back to my room. I could go to sleep with a huge smile on my face.
* * *
“What didyou do to my pa?” KC narrowed his eyes on me from behind the wheel of the truck he drove. He switched between glaring at me to watching the road in front of him.
The morning had been interesting. I’d woken up to a breakfast that left my gut satisfied in ways it hadn’t been in a long time. I’d never expected Quain could cook, thought maybe he’d have a few chefs on hand with the looks of the house, but I’d found him in front of the stovetop making the best meal I’d ever tasted. Not without sending me scowls every few minutes, of course. I’d sat at the island with a smug smile.
Quain didn’t say much during breakfast, but I felt every dagger he threw at me with his eyes. He wanted to kill me. KC had obviously picked up on it as well.
I grinned at him and shrugged my shoulders. “I heard him sleep talking last night.”
KC’s cheeks turned red and he narrowed his eyes on the road. “Please tell me you didn’t go into his room. I specifically told you not to.”
“He was sleep talking,” I repeated.
“You’re lucky he didn’t sleepkillyou,” KC muttered loud enough for me to hear—barely.
“Has he always talked like that?” I leaned back in the seat and stared out the window. The truck wasn’t as nice as the BMW, but it wasn’t anywhere near the piece of junk Uncle Errol had, either. Nice enough for a seventeen-year-old, and definitely better than anything I’d had at his age. Actually, I didn’t have a vehicle at all.
“In his sleep?” KC’s knuckles turned white and he sighed. “Yeah, I guess so. Ever since I moved in with him.”
“Yeah, he said you were pickpocketing him. How the fuck does that happen?”
He squinted at me. “What makes you think it’s any of your business?”
I snorted. “It’s not, but I’m interested anyway.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t want to share my story with a stranger.”
“But I’m not a stranger. I work next to your dad.”
KC shook his head and took the exit that led into the southern parts of New Gothenburg. He took a few more lefts and rights and then we were on an asphalt road with bigger holes than the Courtesan had. At least the ones at the hotel were tight.
“He hates you,” KC said deadpan, not taking his eyes off the road.
I chuckled. “Hate is such a strong word.”
“If you say so.” He stopped in front of a house and put the truck into Park.
Leaning forward, I checked out our surroundings. We’d stopped in front of a small pastel green bungalow, but it wasn’t one of those pretty kinds from brochures that made you wish you lived by a beach. The paint was peeling, some of the windows were cracked—spiraling out like spiderwebs—and the front yard was overgrown with grass and weeds, making the house barely visible. I was surprised someone hadn’t been called about it. It looked worse than Uncle Errol’s house.
“This is the place?” I raised my eyebrows at KC and reached into my jacket, checking my trusty Ruger was there.
KC sent me a smug grin. “Is the King scared?”
Snorting, I threw open the door and jumped out. “Fuck off, kid. I’m just wondering if I’ll have to protect your ass. I don’t wantPapa Beartrying to throw me in prison if you get your face blown off.”
“Fuck, Pa is right. You’re dramatic.”
“Medramatic?” I laughed. “You haven’t seen your dad at work. Always bitching about something.”
KC shook his head and hopped out his door, coming around the truck. He really was a big guy, and the white Henley stretched across his chest and thick arms showed off just how wide he was. The hat he wore backward hid his red hair, but I guess it gave him a gangster appearance. I wondered if he’d done it on purpose or if he actually liked wearing those kinds of clothes. He trudged along the stone path toward the front door, the only part of the yard that wasn’t covered in waist-high grass and weeds. I followed him, frowning at one of the windows when someone peeped out between the curtains. KC was big enough to take care of himself, but he was still a kid as far as I was concerned, so when he knocked on the door, I shoved him aside and stood in front.
He frowned, but didn’t say a word, until someone yanked open the door and a young man stuck his head out, glaring. Acne scars covered his face and his russet hair was a rat’s nest, as though he hadn’t brushed it in months. A skull tattoo covered his neck, filled in with black ink, and the bad design had me wincing. PD definitely hadn’t done this one. “Who da fuck are you?”
