Page 36 of King's Barber
“You know someone who’s messing with our business. If you’re a businessman, as you said, you’d understand.” He raised his gun, and I was on limited time.
Adrenaline had me surging forward, knocking the Glock out of his hand as I raced toward the bat. I grabbed the weapon just in time and turned to smash it against his hand as he raised the gun he’d grabbed from the floor. He screamed in pain and dropped the Glock again, and I kicked it because I knew if I went for it, he’d knock me on my ass. I swung the bat at him again, but he dodged and smashed his shoulder into my gut, sending me flying backward. I hit the chair at my station and tumbled over it, landing on the floor with a hard thump.
The world spun and I groaned as I stood up on unsteady feet. Another knock to the cheek had me pitching forward to the floor again, landing on my stomach. Pain reverberated through my skull and body and I felt like I was on fire. My head hurt and so did my face where I’d been punched by more than one person today.
I rolled over to my back to find him standing above me, the gun clutched tightly in his fingers. His chest heaved in exertion and he glared at me.
“Say your final words,hijo de puta.”
“Goodbye.” The familiar voice had me slumping in relief, and the suppressed sounds of bullets ripping through a silencer echoed through the room.
The man’s eyes widened, and a drop of blood slid from the exit wound at his forehead. He crashed forward, and I had just enough time to roll out of the way before he landed on the floor beside me.
I groaned, blinking up at Quain, who held a gun. He stared down at the mess of the stranger and let out a breath. Something sparked in his gaze, a strange zap of… excitement that had me frowning at him.
“Are you okay?” I whispered, the world spinning for a moment. This was Quain, a hairstylist who I was sure hadn’t ever shot anyone before. But he’d done that today, for me.
Quain blinked slowly and then fell to his knees in front of me. “Areyou?” He touched my face, and I winced at the familiar thumping of pain. “Do you need a doctor?”
“No,” I said quickly. “Fuck no. The club has a doctor. Shit. I need to call King, tell him what happened.”
Standing was a helluva lot harder than I expected, but Quain helped. He pressed his fingers to the wound on my head, and I cringed away from him.
“Bastard used the butt of his gun.”
“Who was he?” Quain asked, but I shook my head. I wasn’t getting him involved.
“Listen, you should leave. I need to call my brothers to come clean this place up.”
“No,” he said sharply. “I’m not going anywhere.Ishot him, so I’m staying here. At least let me help you clean up those injuries while we wait for them to come.”
I sighed and hobbled over to my station’s seat. Falling into it, I winced through another bout of pain. “Fine. Can you grab my phone? It’s over near the register.”
When he passed me the cell, I nodded in thanks.
“Where’s your first aid kit?” he asked, his face set in determination.
“In the staff room. Under the sink.”
And then he was gone. Calling King wasn’t fun. He knew not to ask a lot of questions over the phone, but after I gave him a short, simple explanation of what was happening without giving too much away, he hissed and said he’d be there soon with the boys. In the meantime, I let Quain clean up the cut on the back of my head and ice my face, too. At least it seemed like he knew what he was doing.
I stared at Quain through the mirror, watching as he worked with alcohol wipes to clean up the wound, which stung like a bitch, but needed to be done. “Have you ever shot anyone before, Quain?”
He froze and raised his gaze to return my stare. Licking his lips, he shook his head. “Not human. I’ve been hunting with my dad, though.”
“Really?” I frowned at him suspiciously. “You certainly handled killing a man well.”
He shrugged and pursed his lips. “He attacked you, Luke, and was going to kill you. I did what I needed to do. The words you’re looking for arethank you.”
I laughed, though it hurt my ribs. “Thank you.”
He smiled, and the sight had me relaxing. “You’re welcome.” He paused for a second, turning to glance at the dead body. “He spoke Spanish and looks Latino. Have the Kings pissed off anyone like that?”
I snorted in amusement. “We piss off a lot of people. But I can’t talk to you about it. Club business.”
“I won’t say a word,” he murmured, but there was something in his gaze. Anger…? No, that was an understatement. Fury. He hit a particularly sensitive spot with the alcohol wipe, and I hissed as pain shot through me. Leaving me where I was sitting, he exited the room and came back a few seconds later, the secret whiskey held in his hand as he passed it over. “Drink this. It’ll help.”
I laughed. “I didn’t expect I’d need my stash for this.”
