“Not many people do. We connected over our love of art. I prefer working with spray paint, which makes a lot of people stick their nose up in the air.” I took a long sip of my OJ and placed it back on the table, running my finger around the edge of the glass as memories resurfaced in my mind. “Before we joined the Kings, we had these shitty bikes. Old Harleys we found at this rundown secondhand place. But we painted them, created designs on them and made them look new. They were fucking amazing.” I smiled. We’d restored them together and createdadventures with them. “They broke down on us eventually. You can make somethinglooknew, but it won’t last long if the inside is fucked.” I laughed at the irony. “Bit like me, I guess. I look fine on the outside, but my insides are a mess.”
He made a sympathetic sound but didn’t touch the topic. Smart man. “Can I see some of your artwork? Do you have a portfolio?”
A lightness spread in my chest and I grinned. “Yeah, absolutely.” I dragged out my phone from the pocket of my jeans and scrolled through my gallery until I found a folder I’d made for artwork I’d done years ago.
After college, PD and I went in opposite directions. He became a tattoo artist, using his skills to create masterpieces on people’s bodies, while I wandered for a while, lost until I finally settled in construction and learned to weld. Somewhere in the back of my mind I’d thought I might work on metal sculptures eventually. Now, I was jobless and drifting again, a lost soul merely existing.
I found the photos I’d taken of our bikes all those years ago and gave Quain the phone. “You can scroll through. It’s been a long time since I’ve done anything, but that’s the pictures we took of our bikes and all the pieces we did.”
Quain hummed as he flicked through the photos, his eyes narrowed in concentration.
I watched him, a weird sensation prickling through my chest, almost as though I craved his acceptance, which was fucking stupid. I hadn’t painted seriously since I’d started construction, and I missed it, but between King’s work and my actual job, I’d never had the time.
Finally, Quain smiled as he handed back the phone. “You’re talented, Rook. Why don’t you still do it?”
I paused, taking in the sound of my nickname on his lips. Why was it so easy for him to acknowledge me as a King, butmy own brothers struggled with it? I brushed aside the thought. Instead, I made a face. “Never had time. I had stuff to do with the Kings, then nine-to-five work.”
“And now?” He raised his perfect eyebrows. Even this early in the day, he was stillput together. I had no idea how Barber had landed him. Sometimes life was a mystery.
“I miss it. Probably should give it a shot again.”
He clapped his hands. “Brilliant. You can start by creating art for my salons. I can buy you the tools you need and the canvas.”
I winced and grabbed my glass, finishing off my juice. “I don’t know, man. I can’t promise I can make something like these guys.” I gestured to the brochure.
He laughed. “They’re pretentious. I think you can create what I need to spark my clients’ minds with possibilities.”
I snorted out a chuckle. “You’re weird, you know that?” I took another bite of my bacon and toast. “All right, I’ll do it. But I’m not going to charge you or any of that bullshit.”
He sent me an incredulous look. “With all due respect, Rook, you will, and I’ll pay you a generous amount. Art is more than slapping something together. It’s years of training your skills and honing your techniques. That’s worth a lot. Plus, check out these prices.”
He tapped one of the paintings from the art gallery, and I nearly choked on my food. Ten thousand. Fucking hell.
“And no offense to these artists, but I prefer yours.” He winked. “So, I’d like to hire you to make me eight pieces at nine thousand dollars each. How does that sound?”
My eyebrows furrowed. “That’s like....” My brain wouldn’t function and adding together the amount was a fizzle.
Quain smiled and must’ve decided to save me from embarrassment. “Seventy-two thousand dollars, yes.”
I nearly fell off the chair. Blinking at him, I opened my mouth, then closed it again. I held up a finger to him. “That’s only one grand less than the professionals.”
He rolled his eyes. “Like I said, I prefer yours andyouare a professional, are you not? You went to college for it and you’re talented. I’ve made up my mind. I’d love for it to be done in about six weeks. Do you think that’s possible?”
“Fuck yeah,” I said without missing a beat.
His grin widened. “Great. We have a deal.”
There was a rustle outside the kitchen and the door opened. Barber stepped in, yawning widely, and I eyed him and his dick swinging in the wind in displeasure. He rubbed his eye with his fist and smiled at me.
“Hey, Will.” He wriggled his hips and his dick slapped his thighs. “Like what you see?”
Quain sighed. “Luke, really? Go put on clothes. Nobody wants to see that first thing. I made breakfast.”
“You want to see it.” He winked at Quain before howling with laughter and turning around to leave the kitchen again.
I glanced back at Quain. “Him? Really?”
He shook his head. “Yeah, sometimes I wonder why, too.”
