Page 47 of King's Barber
“Well we can’t touch them there,” King grumbled. “Even if we talked to Sapphira and she wanted to help, and I’d cut off my left nut if that happened, the Madam’s the boss of the hotel, and she won’t break the rules by giving out information. The Courtesan is hers, and people go there because it’s fucking safe. I’m surprised your pretty whore said anything to you about it. Madam Winters could throw him on the streets for that.”
“She wouldn’t,” Jester grunted out. “S-She loves him.”
“Love or not, the Courtesan is her pride and joy,” Reaper said. “But King’s right. Sapphira and the Madam won’t tell us jack shit.”
King’s gaze switched to me and he narrowed his eyes. “You piss off the cartel, Barber?”
I slapped my hand to my chest, my jaw dropping open. “Me? Look at this face. I don’t piss off anyone.”
Snorts and grunted chuckles filled the room and King glared harder. “Now’s not the time to jerk us off, Barber. I fucking mean it. Did you fucking do anything?”
I sighed and shook my head. The picture of the founding members of the Kings hung big on the wall behind pres’s head, a reminder of everything King had given up to get us where we were now. He’d bled for this club, and if I annoyed him enough he could easily kick me out on my ass. “I didn’t piss anyone off. I have nothing to do with the Reyes Cartel, or any fucking drug cartels. I don’t touch the shit, only the stuff you get me to hand out to customers.”
“You’ve got to have some idea,” King grumbled, anger flaring up on his face. He slammed his fist down on the table and it creaked under the hit. “Fuck. We can’t keep you safe if we don’t know what the problem is. You’re our brother. Your safety is our responsibility.”
I held up my hands to him. “I swear, King, I didn’t piss anyone off. Unless I fucked his guy at some point without knowing, I didn’t do anything.”
“Is that a possibility?” Reaper grunted out, leaning forward to get our attention. “Could one of the whores from the Courtesan have this drug fucker jizzing his pants? Maybe he didn’t like another man touching what he thinks is his?”
“Who, though?” I shook my head. “I haven’t fucked a whore since pretty little Bambi a few months ago. The last fuck I had in the clubhouse was one of those cute groupies who wanted a ride on the bad side.”
“Is that the only person you’ve fucked recently?” King clasped his hands together in front of him and threw his leg over his knee. There was something in his eyes, a knowing glint that had me shifting uncomfortably.
“If you must know, I fucked Quain last night, too, but he’s a hairstylist.” I snorted. “You think Benito was in love with his hairstylist or something? Anyway, Quain would have said something if he knew the guy.”
King stroked his chin. “Would he have, though?”
I frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He exhaled and ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at it and making the gray roots more visible. “For a hairstylist, Quain Beaumont knew how to use a gun well.”
I shrugged, not quite sure what he was getting at. “His dad is a hunter. He probably learned from him.”
“But you didn’t ask him?” King cocked his head.
“I’ve seen a lot of people kill,” Undertaker began, gaining our attention. “But that man didn’t seem the least bit concerned that he’d ended another person’s life.” He smirked, his black-lined lips stretching to the side. “I know a fellow human being who enjoys a bloodbath as much as I do, and thathairstylisthad a lot of fun.”
Laughter burst out of my mouth and I wrapped my hand around my stomach, rearing forward as amusement stole my breath. I laughed until I was in tears, and when I finally couldn’t anymore, I wiped at my eyes and turned to Undertaker. “We’re not talking about the same guy. Quain is the prissiest person I’ve ever met. He talks about morals and manners and shit like he fucking grew up in Canada or something. He didn’t enjoy killing a guy.”
Undertaker raised his black eyebrows, his stare burning a hole through my head. “I disagree. He’d sooner slit your throat to watch the blood drip from the wound than kiss you, Barber.”
“Yeah, well, he’s already kissed me,Undertaker. He’s kissed my cock, too, if you wanna know that as well.” I rolled my eyes.
“Enough of this,” King snapped, earning our attention again. He leaned back in his chair and sighed. “What I’m getting from this is that we have no fucking idea why the Reyes Cartel is after Barber.”
“What about Killough?” Reaper grunted out, tapping the table with his forefinger impatiently. “Those guys are no good, and they’ve been at war with Thiago Reyes since before we ever went into business with them. What if Reyes is taking his anger for Killough out on us?”
“Why would he do that?” King asked, frowning. “Killough has a lot of allies across the East Coast and Reyes could target any one of them. What makes us so fucking special? And attacking Barber? He’s a nobody.”
I snorted. “Wow. Thanks, King. Nice to know I’m wanted.”
“You know what I mean,” King said with a glare. “You don’t have a leadership position, and we don’t use your shop for club business. There’s no reason for them to attackyou. If they’re after us for our deal with Killough, it’d make more sense to hit Undertaker. Not you.”
Undertaker smirked. “No one, not even the Reyes Cartel, is that foolish.”
I had to agree. Undertaker was like a goth tiger—if you prodded him, he’d bite and fuck you up. Not even the guy with the biggest balls in the world would mess with him, unless he was all nuts and no brains.
“All right.” King massaged his temples. “I want everyone’s ears to the ground. I’ll give Killough a call and see what’s happening on his end. I hate talking to that cocky motherfucker, but he might know something.”
