Page 35 of King's Barber
I sighed. “Fine.” I tapped the register counter. “But no more skipping school, Oli. You need to get your high school diploma if PD will ever look at you for a tattoo apprenticeship. Got it?”
He saluted me. “Yes, sir.”
* * *
By the endof the day I was fucked. Customers entered in droves and we had more than we could handle with Florence taking the day off. We had to turn some away and ask them to come in tomorrow. They would, of course, because we were one of the best barbers in New Gothenburg. Between me, Florence, and Watson, we had the talent to give our customers a gentlemen’s appeal.
When six thirty came I sent Watson home and grabbed Oli before he could leave, too.
“You wanna tell me what’s going on?” I asked seriously, crossing my arms.
Oli shrugged, giving me a guilty stare. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know you, kid. You’ve worked here since you were fifteen, and I know your mom, too. Why are you skipping school?” I gritted my teeth. “You being bullied? You tell me who they are and I’ll kick their asses.”
He shook his head. Running his hand through his mess of curls, he shrugged again. “I’m not being bullied. I told you, I thought you could use the help.”
“I don’t believe a word you say.” But I also knew when the little shit wasn’t going to give me answers. He always talked when he was ready. Fucking teenagers. They were all the same. Moody and secretive. Was I ever like that? I snorted. Yep, sure was. “Get going. You can help out tomorrow morning before school, but you are not skipping again, got it? Your mom will have my balls.”
He laughed and nodded. “Sure thing, Barber. See you tomorrow.” He waved his goodbye and left through the front door. I turned the lock behind him and sighed, running a hand down my face. I needed a fucking drink. Chuckling, I headed to the staff room, turning the metal music off on the way past, and opened the cupboard beneath the sink, reaching behind dish detergent to find my special stash of whiskey. Irish. The best kind.
I unscrewed the lid and grabbed a glass from the drying rack on the sink, filling it halfway before I downed it. “Ah, that hit the spot.”
Pouring another, I drank that fast, too. I thought about a third but shoved aside the idea. If I was going to Quain’s tonight, I didn’t want to be smashed. I wanted to fuck him. The thought had my cock twitching as I replaced the whiskey in the secret spot. I’d already imagined all the ways I wanted to have him, from on his back to on his hands and knees. I wanted to shove him to the floor in front of me and drive my dick between those pretty lips while I told him to take it like a good little slut. He couldn’t bitch about anything if he had my meat in his mouth.
I bit my lip and gave myself a hard squeeze. “Fuck.”
Shaking my head, I moved out of the staff kitchen and back into the main room of the shop. I cleaned up as quickly as I could, dumping the garbage into the can in the back alley and sweeping the floor. Closing the store sucked, and most of the time I got one of the part-timers or Oli to do it, but I’d started later than usual and thought it only fair to close for them.
I sanitized the stations and set the equipment out for tomorrow morning, when something knocked me from behind, making me stumble forward. The back of my head throbbed in agony, and I turned in time to duck and avoid another attack, dodging the fist that came at my face. I rolled across the floor and got to my feet, but my assailant came at me again. Dizziness washed over me as I bobbed away from another punch and stumbled, crashing to the floor.
“Fuck….” I touched my head where he’d hit me the first time and my fingers came back with blood.Motherfucker.I turned to get a good look at him. If I was going to die, I wanted to see who had come to do it.
I didn’t know who he was, though. He wore all black, but his head was bare, giving me the perfect view of his face—which told me I wasn’t leaving here alive. The motherfucker was going to put a bullet in my head with the Glock he held in his right hand. He was young, with bronze skin and short black hair. He squinted at me with his brown eyes and smirked.
“If you were gonna kill me, why hit me with the butt of your gun first?” I hissed.
The man’s smirk widened. “I was told to make it hurt.”
“By who?” I laughed, shaking my head, but that only made the dizziness worse. “Was it that weasel Holter? He works quick. How much did he give you? I hope you got the money first.”
He shrugged. “Don’t know a Holter. I’m not here for him.”
The bastard was taunting me, wanted me to talk some more before he ended this game. I knew how guys like him worked. I was him in some ways. I enjoyed playing with my prey before I destroyed it, too.
I glanced behind him at the door, but it was too far away, and I’d stupidly hung the Ruger up in its holster behind the register. There was no way in hell I was getting to it before he shot me in the back. I’d been hit there before and it wasn’t fun.
“At least give me a clue.” I rolled my eyes and reached up to touch my head again. The pounding agony spread through my body and there wasn’t a doubt in my mind I had a concussion. He’d hit me hard.
“A cartel.” He grinned at me, flashing me a gold tooth.
“Which one? We don’t mess with the cartels. We have our own business lines here in New Gothenburg because this is our territory. We get our stuff through someone else. If you got a problem with the drugs, take it up with our business partner.”
He laughed and the sound echoed throughout the empty room. “This isn’t about drugs. Not in the typical sense, anyway.”
“Really?” I sighed. “Come on, buddy, we’re both businessmen here. You kill, I kill. Just tell me what the fuck you want and get it over with.”
I eyed a bat I kept for protection near my station. After the last attack on my shop from the Demons, I wanted to be ready for anything, and I had weapons stored everywhere. I’d have a better chance getting to it than any of the others.
