“I amnotjealous.” He shot me a glance out of the corner of his eye, and a wicked grin spread across his lips, the kind that said what he was about to say next would piss me the fuck off. I straightened, tugging Charley closer. I hoped having Charley beside me would save Barber’s life, because if I killed him, King would never forgive me. “At least I can take a dick in my ass. He doesn’t even give his boyfriend the privilege to get anywhere near his hole. If you’re embarrassed about your hang-ups, you should learn to yap less when you’re drunk, Scar.”
Charley tensed in my arms and patted my chest, but it was too late. Barber had hit on the one sore subject I couldn’t let him get away with, and Charley being here was not going to save him.
“Colton—”
I pushed Charley behind me and jumped toward Barber, hearing the groan of disappointment from behind me as my fist met Barber’s cheek. Quain managed to dart out of the way with spry movements, but I saw a glob of Barber’s blood land on his nice white shirt, which I assumed was expensive, like everything else he owned.
Barber fell to the floor, and I landed on top of him, swinging my fist and smashing it into his jaw. His face went flying to the side and the loudcrackfilled the room. The brothers already in the barroom surrounded us but didn’t intervene as Barber bucked me so I crashed on the tiles beside him. He kicked, slamming his heel into my knee, and I cried out at the sharp spike of pain. I’d hurt my knee when I was eleven playing basketball, and the attack got me in a weak spot.
“Motherfucker!” I shouted as Barber spun on top of me, straddling me to bring a fist down onto my cheek. My head spun, stars bouncing in my vision, and I tore him off me. He went flying, and we both lay there for a moment, panting and trying to catch our breath.
Before I could move to attack him, Quain was there between us, blocking my access to Barber. Charley was on my other side on his knees, glaring at me.
“What?” I asked, but it sounded gargled. I spat out blood—I must have bitten the inside of my cheek when Barber hit me.
“For fuck’s sake, Scar,” Charley shouted, just as King came storming into the barroom from the hallway that led to his office.
“Again?” King growled out, but the lights flashing in my vision made it hard to see him for a moment—until he was right in front of us, looking like a very pissed-off president. He swiped his honey brown hair off his forehead. The grays at his temples had grown out more over the last few months, and we joked it was because he was worried about Hunter in New York, so close to Sloan Killough. Even though he’d had nothing to do with Hunter’s childhood, King made up for it now. He called Hunter nearly every night, to the point it frustrated his son. After he’d annoyed Hunter, he would call Forrest, but that twin seemed to enjoy the attention of his father.
“He doesn’t know when to shut his fucking mouth, King.” I spat out more blood onto the floor beside me.
“Get up, Scar.” King snapped his fingers at me. “Now. Get in my fucking office.”
“King…,” Charley began, but King sent him a sharp look that had him snapping his mouth closed.
King turned to Barber. “Clean up this fucking mess.”
I expected Barber to argue, but he clearly saw King wasn’t in the mood as the pres stormed out of the room. Rising, I grimaced at Charley and gave him a kiss, even though my mouth was covered in blood. We’d been in worse conditions before.
I followed King to his office and stepped in. King sat behind his desk rather than on the red leather couch in the corner to my left, so I figured I must be in trouble, especially since a mean and tired expression settled on his face. He waved impatiently at one of the chairs opposite him. The fireplace at his back had some embers glowing in the grate because sometimes King liked to burn wood for the hell of it, even during the summer, and the faint smell of cigar smoke hung in the air. I sighed and kept my chin high as I wiped at the blood on my mouth with the back of my hand. After I sat, he rose and grabbed a few tissues. Without a word, he handed them to me before sitting in the chair at my side.
I nodded as I wiped at my lips, cleaning off the blood, even though I could still taste the tanginess on my tongue. “Thanks.”
“Want to explain what the fuck is wrong with you?” King asked, quieter than I expected. “You’ve been in a mood for almost two weeks.”
“I haven’t.” I couldn’t even convince myself if I tried. Sighing, I smirked at him. “Got a drink?”
“Whiskey?” King gave me a grin.
“On the rocks.”
He rolled his eyes and stood, his boots thumping on the floor as he made his way to the handmade ebony bar he’d installed a while ago. I’d always liked King’s office; it had a regal yet dangerous feel about it.
Once King had ice in two tumblers with whiskey, he came back over and passed me one.
“You got the drink, now spill.” He fell into the seat beside mine and took a long sip of his alcohol. “Ah. That’s good. I can’t drink as much around Dallas, I’m trying to quit.”
“You ever think about going to that rehab? Didn’t you discuss it once?” I asked.
He snorted. “I went for a few days. It was shit.” Grimacing, he took another sip. “But I’m trying, you know? For Grant and Dallas.”
“Yeah.” I chuckled and rocked my tumbler, watching the ice clink against the sides, the whiskey sloshing with it. “The men we love make us reconsider a lot of things.”
“Yeah?” King leaned back in his chair and threw his right leg over his knee. “Want to tell me what’s up? Barber’s a pain in the ass, but he’s always been a fucking pain. He’s Barber. This is the second time you’ve attacked him, Colton.”
“He needs a good beating,” I grumbled, swallowing my whiskey in a few large swigs. Rising, I yanked his nearly empty drink out of his hand, strode to the bar, and filled them up for us. While I was there, I said, “Fucking shit-stirrer.”
“Is your mom okay? Josh hasn’t said anything happened.” King frowned at me when I popped the cork in the whiskey bottle again and walked back over to him with our tumblers to pass him one.
