King's Barber

by M. D. Gregory

  “Wait. I got money.” Holter shoved himself to his feet, nearly tumbling forward and hitting me. I pushed him backward, and he stumbled to his desk, ripping open the top drawer. The floor-to-ceiling windows gave us a perfect view of the city, tall buildings twinkling like diamonds in the morning sun. These businessmen were all the same, though. They partied, and when they had to pay up, they panicked. I’d dealt with enough of them to hate their scrawny asses.

  He waved a thick envelope at me, and I strode forward, tearing it out of his hands. I took the time to count each hundred-dollar bill and frowned at him when I finished. “Is this a joke? This is ten grand. You owe us fifty plus interest.”

  “I can get the rest for you.” He wrung his hands together. “I promise. Please.”

  I sighed and stared up at the pretty lights embedded into the ceiling, praying for some smart junkies for once. Giving him an annoyed glare, I waved the envelope at him. “By the end of the week, Holter, or your wife will get a visit. Got it?”

  He nodded, wiping his bloody nose with the back of his hand. The cut on his forehead where I’d elbowed him bled more profusely than his nose, though, and he looked like he’d been in a few rounds of Fight Club. The guy couldn’t punch to save his life, even if he did get a few surprise hits in. The boys wouldn’t let me live this down.

  I glared at him and touched my aching jaw before I shoved the Ruger into its holster and turned on my heel, storming out of his office. His receptionist went to stand, then sat down again, as though she didn’t know what to do around a biker. I wasn’t her boss’s usual guests. Winking at her as I swept past, I headed straight to the elevator and pulled out my phone, texting King to let him know the job wasn’t fully complete.

  He called me as I got out the front door of the building and I accepted it. “Hey, pres.”

  “What happened?” King asked bluntly. “That little weasel owes us fifty grand, Barber, and I want it delivered.”

  “He gave us ten,” I said as I walked to Uncle Errol’s rusty Ford truck. I really needed to buy a car for situations like these, when my bike was either being fixed or it was left somewhere, like Quain’s house. Smiling at the thought of that sexy motherfucker, I settled into the cab of the truck and shoved the key in, turning the ignition. She spluttered a bit before she finally roared to life.

  “Where’s the other forty plus interest?” King’s tone bordered on dangerous.

  “You know what these fucking businessmen are like. Excuse after excuse. I told you we shouldn’t sell to them.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I told the fucker to get the rest to us by the end of the week, or we’ll visit his wife and use her to get the money back.”

  King sighed. “You figure he’s good for it?”

  I hesitated. I hated when King asked me these kinds of questions, but it’d always been part of the gig. We weren’t a reputable club for no reason. If people fucked with our business, we dealt with them the way they needed to be handled. “I don’t think so. I think that money was for someone else, pres. He’s the kind of douche who owes cash to all kinds of people, I’d bet my bike on it.”

  “Fuck.” He growled in frustration. “I hate bringing family into this. You think we can knock him around a bit first?”

  “Nah, the bastard had the balls to hit me when I asked him for the money. I can already feel the bruises.” I stared out into the street I was parked on, taking in the worker bees dressed in expensive coats continuing on with their life with no idea what was happening around them. They each had their own issues, some probably with the same drug habits as Holter. I shivered against the morning chill. “I think you’re going to need to send Reaper to the wife and daughter. Maybe scare them. That might get Holter moving.”

  “Fuck. That asshole better start paying up. I don’t want to have to put bullets in his family’s heads.”

  “Yeah. Talk later.” I ended the call and threw the phone on the seat next to me. The barber shop wasn’t far from here, a few blocks, but the traffic was shitty. By the time I got to work, twenty minutes had gone by and I was in a foul mood. That all changed when I saw who was waiting for me at the front of the shop, though. I grinned when I walked toward Quain.

  He looked as delicious as ever in those tight jeans and black turtleneck. The chain with the ring on it that he wore every day hung around his neck, and instead of appearing annoyed with me like he usually was, his brows were furrowed in concern when I reached him. I could still taste his mouth on mine—sweet as strawberry wine—and I wanted more.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, touching my cheek where Holter had landed one of his punches.

  I winced but continued smiling. “I’m fine, now that you’re here.”

  Quain sent me an unimpressed look, his short hair fluttering slight with a gust of wind. “You think you’re so charming, but you’re not.”

  “I have to disagree,” I teased with a laugh. “All the boys love me.”

  He rolled his eyes and cupped my cheek, caressing his thumb over my skin.

  I closed my eyes and sighed pleasantly. “I can’t decide what side of you I like best. The part who bitches about my garbage and music, or this one.”

  Quain snorted, and I opened my eyes to stare down at him again. He had no idea what he did to me, and it was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. As a bike club we had all sorts of groupies who wanted an adventure on the wild side—from whores to random guys and girls, they all begged to ride my dick—but Quain didn’t need to ask. My dick was already hard and waiting for him to hop on.

  “I just wanted to see if you were okay. Oli said you went to do some business for King, and I was worried.” He stepped back, but I grabbed him before he could retreat, hauling him against me. I slammed my mouth against his. He moaned, his arms wrapping around my neck as I forced his back up against the glass front of the shop, not giving a shit who would be watching us from inside and on the street. I hungered for him.

  The noises he made were delicious, and I pressed my hardening dick against his thigh, giving him a good feel of what he did to me. He moaned into my mouth, and I made a move to get even closer, but then he placed his hands on my chest, shoving me away and breaking our contact. I took a few steps back, disappointment it ended so quickly sitting heavily in my gut.

  Quain inhaled deeply and drew his bottom lip into his mouth. “You are insufferable.”

  I laughed with genuine amusement. “And you are gorgeous.”

  He chuckled and shook his head, pushing away from the glass. “I need to go back to work. If you’re lucky, maybe you can come around for dinner again tonight, and you can tell me about your morning.”

  “I’d like that.” Except I wouldn’t be telling him anything about the message I’d delivered. No one outside of the club could know about our business, even if they were a hot hairstylist with a tight body I wanted to pound.

  “Have a good day, Luke.” He swept toward his shop’s door and disappeared inside, leaving me outside grinning like a maniac.

  Shaking my head, I went into my own shop and was met with hoots and whistles. I rolled my eyes at Oli, Watson, and the couple of customers we had waiting. Bowing dramatically, I winked. “Thank you, thank you. I’m here all week for your entertainment.”

  Everyone laughed.

  Turning toward Oli, I narrowed my eyes and checked the time on my phone. “You’re supposed to be at school. It’s nine.”

  He shrugged, running his hands through his curly hair. “Nothing important is happening there today anyway. I thought you’d need the help here. You said you had business for King.”

  Watson was standing behind his station, a customer in his chair. He turned toward me and said, “Kid helped out a lot this morning, boss. I needed him. Florie called in. Her grams died last night, and she needs to help her mom sort things out.”

  I sighed. “Fine.” I tapped the register counter. “But no more skipping school, Oli. You need to get your high school diploma if PD will ever look at you for a tat
too apprenticeship. Got it?”

  He saluted me. “Yes, sir.”

  By the end of the day I was fucked. Customers entered in droves and we had more than we could handle with Florence taking the day off. We had to turn some away and ask them to come in tomorrow. They would, of course, because we were one of the best barbers in New Gothenburg. Between me, Florence, and Watson, we had the talent to give our customers a gentlemen’s appeal.

  When six thirty came I sent Watson home and grabbed Oli before he could leave, too.

  “You wanna tell me what’s going on?” I asked seriously, crossing my arms.

  Oli shrugged, giving me a guilty stare. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I know you, kid. You’ve worked here since you were fifteen, and I know your mom, too. Why are you skipping school?” I gritted my teeth. “You being bullied? You tell me who they are and I’ll kick their asses.”

  He shook his head. Running his hand through his mess of curls, he shrugged again. “I’m not being bullied. I told you, I thought you could use the help.”

  “I don’t believe a word you say.” But I also knew when the little shit wasn’t going to give me answers. He always talked when he was ready. Fucking teenagers. They were all the same. Moody and secretive. Was I ever like that? I snorted. Yep, sure was. “Get going. You can help out tomorrow morning before school, but you are not skipping again, got it? Your mom will have my balls.”

  He laughed and nodded. “Sure thing, Barber. See you tomorrow.” He waved his goodbye and left through the front door. I turned the lock behind him and sighed, running a hand down my face. I needed a fucking drink. Chuckling, I headed to the staff room, turning the metal music off on the way past, and opened the cupboard beneath the sink, reaching behind dish detergent to find my special stash of whiskey. Irish. The best kind.

  I unscrewed the lid and grabbed a glass from the drying rack on the sink, filling it halfway before I downed it. “Ah, that hit the spot.”

  Pouring another, I drank that fast, too. I thought about a third but shoved aside the idea. If I was going to Quain’s tonight, I didn’t want to be smashed. I wanted to fuck him. The thought had my cock twitching as I replaced the whiskey in the secret spot. I’d already imagined all the ways I wanted to have him, from on his back to on his hands and knees. I wanted to shove him to the floor in front of me and drive my dick between those pretty lips while I told him to take it like a good little slut. He couldn’t bitch about anything if he had my meat in his mouth.

  I bit my lip and gave myself a hard squeeze. “Fuck.”

  Shaking my head, I moved out of the staff kitchen and back into the main room of the shop. I cleaned up as quickly as I could, dumping the garbage into the can in the back alley and sweeping the floor. Closing the store sucked, and most of the time I got one of the part-timers or Oli to do it, but I’d started later than usual and thought it only fair to close for them.

  I sanitized the stations and set the equipment out for tomorrow morning, when something knocked me from behind, making me stumble forward. The back of my head throbbed in agony, and I turned in time to duck and avoid another attack, dodging the fist that came at my face. I rolled across the floor and got to my feet, but my assailant came at me again. Dizziness washed over me as I bobbed away from another punch and stumbled, crashing to the floor.

  “Fuck….” I touched my head where he’d hit me the first time and my fingers came back with blood. Motherfucker. I turned to get a good look at him. If I was going to die, I wanted to see who had come to do it.

  I didn’t know who he was, though. He wore all black, but his head was bare, giving me the perfect view of his face—which told me I wasn’t leaving here alive. The motherfucker was going to put a bullet in my head with the Glock he held in his right hand. He was young, with bronze skin and short black hair. He squinted at me with his brown eyes and smirked.

  “If you were gonna kill me, why hit me with the butt of your gun first?” I hissed.

  The man’s smirk widened. “I was told to make it hurt.”

  “By who?” I laughed, shaking my head, but that only made the dizziness worse. “Was it that weasel Holter? He works quick. How much did he give you? I hope you got the money first.”

  He shrugged. “Don’t know a Holter. I’m not here for him.”

  The bastard was taunting me, wanted me to talk some more before he ended this game. I knew how guys like him worked. I was him in some ways. I enjoyed playing with my prey before I destroyed it, too.

  I glanced behind him at the door, but it was too far away, and I’d stupidly hung the Ruger up in its holster behind the register. There was no way in hell I was getting to it before he shot me in the back. I’d been hit there before and it wasn’t fun.

  “At least give me a clue.” I rolled my eyes and reached up to touch my head again. The pounding agony spread through my body and there wasn’t a doubt in my mind I had a concussion. He’d hit me hard.

  “A cartel.” He grinned at me, flashing me a gold tooth.

  “Which one? We don’t mess with the cartels. We have our own business lines here in New Gothenburg because this is our territory. We get our stuff through someone else. If you got a problem with the drugs, take it up with our business partner.”

  He laughed and the sound echoed throughout the empty room. “This isn’t about drugs. Not in the typical sense, anyway.”

  “Really?” I sighed. “Come on, buddy, we’re both businessmen here. You kill, I kill. Just tell me what the fuck you want and get it over with.”

  I eyed a bat I kept for protection near my station. After the last attack on my shop from the Demons, I wanted to be ready for anything, and I had weapons stored everywhere. I’d have a better chance getting to it than any of the others.

  “You know someone who’s messing with our business. If you’re a businessman, as you said, you’d understand.” He raised his gun, and I was on limited time.

  Adrenaline had me surging forward, knocking the Glock out of his hand as I raced toward the bat. I grabbed the weapon just in time and turned to smash it against his hand as he raised the gun he’d grabbed from the floor. He screamed in pain and dropped the Glock again, and I kicked it because I knew if I went for it, he’d knock me on my ass. I swung the bat at him again, but he dodged and smashed his shoulder into my gut, sending me flying backward. I hit the chair at my station and tumbled over it, landing on the floor with a hard thump.

  The world spun and I groaned as I stood up on unsteady feet. Another knock to the cheek had me pitching forward to the floor again, landing on my stomach. Pain reverberated through my skull and body and I felt like I was on fire. My head hurt and so did my face where I’d been punched by more than one person today.

  I rolled over to my back to find him standing above me, the gun clutched tightly in his fingers. His chest heaved in exertion and he glared at me.

  “Say your final words, hijo de puta.”

  “Goodbye.” The familiar voice had me slumping in relief, and the suppressed sounds of bullets ripping through a silencer echoed through the room.

  The man’s eyes widened, and a drop of blood slid from the exit wound at his forehead. He crashed forward, and I had just enough time to roll out of the way before he landed on the floor beside me.

  I groaned, blinking up at Quain, who held a gun. He stared down at the mess of the stranger and let out a breath. Something sparked in his gaze, a strange zap of… excitement that had me frowning at him.

  “Are you okay?” I whispered, the world spinning for a moment. This was Quain, a hairstylist who I was sure hadn’t ever shot anyone before. But he’d done that today, for me.

  Quain blinked slowly and then fell to his knees in front of me. “Are you?” He touched my face, and I winced at the familiar thumping of pain. “Do you need a doctor?”

  “No,” I said quickly. “Fuck no. The club has a doctor. Shit. I need to call King, tell him what happened.”

  Standing was a hellu
va lot harder than I expected, but Quain helped. He pressed his fingers to the wound on my head, and I cringed away from him.

  “Bastard used the butt of his gun.”

  “Who was he?” Quain asked, but I shook my head. I wasn’t getting him involved.

  “Listen, you should leave. I need to call my brothers to come clean this place up.”

  “No,” he said sharply. “I’m not going anywhere. I shot him, so I’m staying here. At least let me help you clean up those injuries while we wait for them to come.”

  I sighed and hobbled over to my station’s seat. Falling into it, I winced through another bout of pain. “Fine. Can you grab my phone? It’s over near the register.”

  When he passed me the cell, I nodded in thanks.

  “Where’s your first aid kit?” he asked, his face set in determination.

  “In the staff room. Under the sink.”

  And then he was gone. Calling King wasn’t fun. He knew not to ask a lot of questions over the phone, but after I gave him a short, simple explanation of what was happening without giving too much away, he hissed and said he’d be there soon with the boys. In the meantime, I let Quain clean up the cut on the back of my head and ice my face, too. At least it seemed like he knew what he was doing.

  I stared at Quain through the mirror, watching as he worked with alcohol wipes to clean up the wound, which stung like a bitch, but needed to be done. “Have you ever shot anyone before, Quain?”

  He froze and raised his gaze to return my stare. Licking his lips, he shook his head. “Not human. I’ve been hunting with my dad, though.”

  “Really?” I frowned at him suspiciously. “You certainly handled killing a man well.”

  He shrugged and pursed his lips. “He attacked you, Luke, and was going to kill you. I did what I needed to do. The words you’re looking for are thank you.”

  I laughed, though it hurt my ribs. “Thank you.”

  He smiled, and the sight had me relaxing. “You’re welcome.” He paused for a second, turning to glance at the dead body. “He spoke Spanish and looks Latino. Have the Kings pissed off anyone like that?”