Sitting at a corner booth in the back of a little diner, I watch King watch me. Watch his ocean blue eyes. Watch the way he rubs at his beard thoughtfully with his tattooed hand, listening. Watch the way he licks his bottom lip before he speaks. The way he looks into my eyes and then at my mouth when I talk, listening to me intently.
“Why’d you buy me a gun and want to me to learn to shoot?” It’s a normal, basic question. But there’s more to it and I know King gets it.
“So when I’m gone, you can take care of yourself.”
That right there is what I knew he’d say but didn’t want to hear. So instead of acknowledging it, I say, “Maybe we’ll never catch my stalker.” Which is a scary fucking thought, and one I know won’t happen. King will catch him. King will die trying.
He chuckles. “That’s not gonna happen.”
“But it might.” What I’m saying, without saying it, is that I don’t want King to leave. Even though I know he will, I don’t want him to, and it scares me.
“Then you shoot him in the ass and then the head.”
I laugh, not knowing what else to do. “You didn’t teach me to shoot someone in the ass.”
King smirks, crooked and cocky. “Next lesson.”
I agree. “Next lesson.”
A sixty-something waitress brings us our food—piles and piles of food. “I think you ordered everything on the menu.”
King lifts a shoulder. “That’s what you get when you go to the bathroom and tell me to order you ‘whatever.’”
Smiling, I steal a fry and tell him, “Burgers. Salad of any kind. Breakfast. My favorite diner foods.” In case we ever do this again.
He nods, taking in my words. “Noted.”
“Your favorites? Ya know, in case you’re ever in the bathroom when it’s time to order.”
“Meat.”
“Meat. Should’ve guessed.”
He takes a giant bite of his burger and nods. “Meat.”
But like always, his phone rings, ruining it.
King climbs out of the booth and walks away, his phone to his ear. Back straight and jaw set, I watch him nod and bark something into the phone before hanging up and stuffing it into the inside pocket of his cut.
“We gotta go.”
“Yeah?”
“Takin’ you to Buck’s place. Buck’s old lady’s there with Poncho and two prospects.”
“I’d rather go home.”
King rubs at his beard, his jaw ticking. “And I’d rather be balls deep inside of you, but we don’t always get what we want.”
I blink a couple times, shocked and not shocked by his words at the same time. Jesus. “You’re crude.”
“And you’re tellin’ me shit I already know.” He tosses a couple twenties on the table. “We’ve gotta go. We can talk about my bad mouth later.”
“Fine.” I follow him, knowing I can stand here and fight with him, or go and get this over with.
King drops me off at Buck’s place. We walk in and he kisses me roughly before he tells me, “Be good. I’ll be back in a while.” And then he leaves.
Lennon chuckles, walking in from the little kitchen off to the left, a bottle of wine and two glasses in her hands. “That was hasty.”
“He’s always like that.”
“We can drink to that. Hasty, rough men.”
“Amen.”
Sitting on Lennon’s couch, we drink and eat, catching up and laughing over stupid shit.
“We should go the bar tonight,” Lennon muses, refilling my glass.
A night out. A good excuse to blow off some steam. An even better excuse to get white girl wasted. “I’m down.”
“And King? He gonna let you?”
Scoffing, I roll my eyes. “He doesn’t have a say.” Even as the words leave my mouth, I know they’re not true, as much as I want them to be.
Lennon laughs, giving me a mocking thumbs up. “Sure, girl, just like Buck doesn’t have a say.”
Grabbing the pillow next to me on the couch, I chuck it at her. “King’s not my old man.”
“You keep tellin’ yourself that.”
“You’re an asshole.”
Lennon laughs loudly, hiding behind her hand. “I’m a teller of truths.”
“A gypsy asshole.”
She’s weird. Weirder than the rest of us, but I love her like a sister.
“So, you goin’ dressed like that?” Lennon asks, eying my shooting range outfit of leggings and a sweatshirt.
“Hell no.”
“Good. Have a prospect take your ass home, get changed, and we’ll go.”
Getting off the couch, I walk to the front door and open it. “Hey,” I say sweetly to the new guy.
He nods, acknowledging me.
“Take me home please?”
He looks hesitant. “King told me to watch you here.”
“Is King the president?” I ask, knowing I have one shot at this. I use my dad and my place in the club.
He shakes his head. “Exactly. I’d like to go home.”