Page 60 of King's Barber
King stepped forward and laid his hand on my chest, shoving me back and away from Quain. He stepped in between us, his back to me. “Who are you, really? You’re certainly not a hairstylist.”
I went to step forward, but Jester seized my arm, yanking me backward. Rogue moved forward, raising a gun I hadn’t realized he had in his hand toward Quain.
“Hey, put that the fuck down,” I hissed at him. “This has nothing to do with him.”
“Actually, I am a certified hairstylist,” Quain said, unfazed by the gun pointed at him. He sighed and gave me an apologetic look that had my gut roiling. “I also… happen to be a contract killer.”
Surprise had me rocking forward, then backward, and I didn’t know if I wanted to storm toward him or move away in betrayal. My fingers twitched around the gun I held at my side and my mouth parted. “Are you here to kill me or something?”
Quain’s gaze drifted to Rogue and nodded at his Glock. “Put that thing down before I shove it up your ass sideways.” He said it so gently, but there was an underlying danger there that no man could ignore. When he faced me again, his eyes had turned cold, a look I was used to seeing on the few assassins and hitmen I’d met. “No, I’m here to protect you.”
I shoved King out of my way and shifted directly in front of him, baring my teeth. “On whose orders?”
He hesitated and tensed, and I saw the calculation in his stare. I’d been in similar situations, although it was safe to say I wasn’t as experienced as him. Measuring up surroundings and factors that could control the outcome of a kill was normal, and he was doing that right now in case he needed to defend himself. How had I not seen this before? King and Undertaker tried to warn me, but I didn’t want to believe it. “Your father hired me.”
“You said your father was dead,” Scar said gruffly as he shuffled up behind King.
I glanced at him quickly, but I didn’t want to get into this with them. Not now. They didn’t know who my father was, and I wanted to keep it that way. “No, I said he was dead to me.”
“That’s the same fucking thing.” Scar stepped up beside King when my president raised his gun toward Quain’s forehead, like he wanted to do nothing more than put a bullet into it. I forced myself not to get in between them even though my brain and heart shouted at me to do exactly that. The whole thing with Quain had been a fucking lie. He’d beenpaidto get close, and by my father no less. I should have been more surprised than I was.
Quain’s pupils dilated, his mouth pressing into a firm line. “King, get that gun out of my face. I can’t promise I won’t react badly. Guys who point guns at me usually end up six feet under.”
King bared his teeth and lowered his handgun, letting it rest at his side. “Today’s your fucking lucky day. Get out.”
“No.” Quain crossed his arms over the thin T-shirt I’d stolen from Jester’s drawers for him to wear. I thought it was Bliss’s. “It’s still my job to keep Barber safe. I’m not going anywhere, and neither is he.”
I snorted, caught between a half laugh and a grunt of disgust. “Barber now, is it? Was calling me Luke all part of your seduction plan?” I hated how fucking bitter I sounded. I’d never cared about a relationship before, and I’d actually wanted something with Quain.Stupid.
“It wasn’t my intention—” He sighed loudly. “The Reyes Cartel is after revenge on your father. He’s taking the drug dealers to town in California, and LA is part of their territory. He asked me to protect you because they threatened all of his children, and he knew you wouldn’t allow him to get you a bodyguard.”
“What the fuck?” Scar grunted. “Who the fuckisyour father, then?”
I ran my hand over my head in frustration and glared at him. “It doesn’t matter. Uncle Errol and Sophie are being held at fucking gunpoint. I don’t have time for this.” I sliced my hand through the air in front of me and pointed at Quain. “This is your fault. You should have told me. If they have one scratch on them when I get there, I’m going to put your head in a grinder and listen to every second of it crushing your skull. Got it?”
Quain shrugged. “You can’t go, Barber. That’s what they want. They needyouto make it work. Your father doesn’t care about Errol or Sophie.”
“You think I don’t know that?” I snapped, my insides turning to ice as I thought about what they’d do to my real family if I didn’t show up.
Quain looked pained as he turned his attention back on King. “I think the board members, Barber, and I should go somewhere private. We need to have a discussion.”
King didn’t argue. He nodded. “Board members that are here, get in the meeting room. You too, Barber. Let’s go. Now.”
I didn’t want to. We were wasting time, but King had been around for longer than I had in this kind of business, and I trusted our president with my life, so I followed them. I glared at Quain’s stiff back as he marched in front of me, caught between King and Undertaker as they opened the door to the meeting room and we all walked in.
Jester, King, Scar, and Undertaker were here, and they took their seats. I strode past Quain and took a seat next to Scar, not quite sure what else to do.
Quain cleared his throat and stayed standing. Even now, he looked handsome, his hair still a mess and his eyes sharp, but also sleepy. I wanted to hug him against my chest and never let go. Yet, I also hated him. My father had fucking hired him.
“Like I said, I’m a contracted killer.” He straightened, jaw tensing. “But I’m more than that. I’m an assassin for the Society.”
“Fuck,” Scar muttered at my side, and I frowned at him.
“What the fuck is the Society?” I asked, confused.
King cleared his throat and leaned his elbows on the cherrywood table. “It’s an organization that hires out assassins and hitmen. Mostly secretive, except to criminals who hire their services. They’re… dangerous people.”
Quain nodded. “Very lethal.”
