Page 20 of King's Barber
Luke laughed and his face lit up, lines forming around his eyes. While the rest of the Kings were mostly serious men with danger inked on their forehead, Barber had a more relaxed vibe. There was no doubt he was as deadly as the rest, but the ones he targeted were always surprised by an attack from him—like a cobra disguised as a puppy.
Josh brought our beers and gave me a suspicious once-over before disappearing down to the end of the bar again. I didn’t notice he’d added an orange slice in the neck of the bottle until he was gone, so I couldn’t thank him for the little extra effort. I peered around the room carefully while I grabbed the orange out, taking a bite.
Staring at the men, I put names to faces. Undertaker was still here with his boyfriend Lee, as were King and Dallas. Bishop, the half-Englishman of the club, and his fiancé, Destiny. Scar and Charley, both Kings and lovers. Deep in the corner were Reaper and Grant, King’s brother. Jester, the club’s VP, was on a couch along the wall deeply involved with his favorite professional from the Courtesan. There were other bikers, too, and I noted that a lot of the main players were here. Were they planning something?
“They won’t bite.”
Luke’s voice broke me from my surveillance, and I glanced at him with raised eyebrows. “I’m not afraid of your friends.”
One of the men sitting at a stool near us grunted out a laugh and turned to me. Paris Deiters, my quick mind provided. He was the tattoo artist of the club. “Friends? That would mean we like the fucker.”
Luke laughed. “Fuck you, PD.” He glanced at me. “Ignore him. He’s in a bad mood because he’s not getting any. He wants some from a certain someone, but Rook ain’t giving it up.”
PD glared at him and spun his stool away so that he had his back to us.
“Anyway, the boys won’t hurt you unless they’ve got a reason. You haven’t bought drugs from us and not paid back the money, have you?” He winked.
“No,” I said bluntly. “I am not like you and don’t smoke weed in the back alley.”
“Eh, that’s light shit. Not even drugs. You can go to a weed store now. That was a loss.” He shook his head.
“I tend to disagree.” I smiled anyway, and his expression lit up.
“Want a game?” He took a long sip of his beer and nodded at the pool table. “Eight ball, what do you say?”
“No.” I grabbed my bottle and took a sip, wincing. I wasn’t usually a beer guy, preferring a good old-fashioned vodka. The last time I had anything that strong to drink, though, was on a much-needed holiday in France.
“You said no to the beer, too, and you’re drinking it. You’re not scared of me beating you, are you?” He attempted to waggle his eyebrows, and the expression he made in the effort had me smiling again.
“Hardly.”
“Then play with me. Let’s make it interesting. I bet you a hundred bucks you can’t beat me.”
I purposely glanced toward the table with a nervous look, making a show of biting my lip worriedly. “I don’t know….”
“I’ll go easy on you,” Luke singsonged, taking another long sip of his beer. Some of the liquid missed his mouth and sloshed down the front of his black Led Zeppelin T-shirt, and I inwardly cringed.
“Promise?” I gave him the sweetest look I had in my arsenal.
He drew an imaginary cross over his heart and smirked. “Promise.”
“All right….” I stood and grabbed my bottle, heading over to the pool table, aware of the intrigued gazes that followed me. “Let’s play.”
