Page 75 of Kylo
“You remember Huck,” Kylo said, moving past the hulking man who was eyeing me.
“Hey, babe,” Huck said, tone friendly, if maybe a bit guarded. “Come on in.”
I probably wouldn’t have felt a weird prickle up my spine at it if it weren’t for how strangely Kylo was acting.
I moved into the house, following the path made by Kylo into the kitchen.
“Hey, Mackie,” I greeted the bird who was hanging off the side of his cage to try to steal a beakful of potatoes off a plate on the table.
It wasn’t just Huck and Kylo who moved into the kitchen. Oh, no. Several of the guys I’d already met came as well as a few men I didn’t recognize who looked closer to Huck’s age.
“Is… is everything okay?” I asked, swallowing hard, fighting back the urge to rush to the back door and make a break for it.
Something about the air in the room felt wrong.
“Can you take a seat?” Huck asked.
I glanced over toward Kylo, who was slumped against the wall, his head lowered, refusing to make eye contact with me.
What the hell was going on?
“Everything’s okay,” the guy I’d met briefly named Velle said. He was tall with a swimmer’s build, black hair, a beard, dark eyes, gauged ears, and a hoop in his nose.
His tone was soothing, reassuring.
But shouldn’t it have been Kylo trying to assure me that everything was okay?
Still, I was kind of trapped. Big, hulking men were blocking all the exits.
I stepped backward and sat down at the table, wondering if the knife still sitting on the plate was something I should try to reach for.
“We just need to talk to you about some things,” Velle said, moving to sit on the other side of the table, getting on my level, everything about him relaxed.
But Kylo seemed to only be growing tenser by the second.
“Okay,” I croaked, finding my mouth too dry to even swallow past the fist lodged in my throat. “Talk about what?”
I asked Velle.
But it was Huck who answered.
“Marco,” he said.
The whole world felt like it lurched.
My hand slapped down on the table, feeling like I was falling, and desperately trying to hold on.
“Marco?” I asked, looking over at Kylo.
But he was still studying his shoes.
“Yeah, about this tall,” Huck said, gesturing. “Stupid swagger. Cocky attitude. You know him from smuggling guns in through your delivery trucks.”
Oh, God.
How did he know that?
Why was he bringing it up even if he did?
