I shrug.

“Right?” he presses.

“Right.”

“And I ain’t heard a thing. So that right there tells me that whatever the fuck you’re beatin’ yourself up over is a load of shit. We all make mistakes sometimes.”

“I guess.”

“But?”

“But I think I’ll be gone for a while this time.” I spare a quick look his way, before returning my focus to the bottle in my hands. “If I want to earn their trust, they’ll be followin’ me before long, checkin’ me out. I’m not about to lead them back here.”

“If you’re sure.” He takes a swig of his beer, staring off into nothing again.

“Positive.”

Elena enters the common room through the doors that lead out back, Dante in tow. She frowns King’s way and tugs Dante by the hand, heading upstairs.

“How’s things going for you?” I ask, watching King’s boy and his mama make their way up the steps.

King watches her leave the room, longing evident in his expression. “Complicated.”

“She’s settled in, though?”

“Think so. She hasn’t really said much either way.” He sighs, swirling what’s left of his drink in the bottle. “She blows hot and cold like a broken air conditioner. I never know what I’m goin’ to get.”

I turn on my seat to face the bar again, resting my elbows on the top, the same as King. “How did you know she was worth it?”

“How do you mean?” He casts me a sidelong glance.

“She was Carlos’s woman, right?”

King nods.

“When did you decide she was worth the trouble, then? I mean, surely it was easier to just walk away?”

“I could have.” King nods, staring across the bar again. “But I guess there just came a time when I knew I couldn’t walk away anymore. When all I thought about was Elena, I figured it was time to let her know that. What she did with that knowledge was her decision—I was just the mug who was along for the ride.”

“But it didn’t work out?” Nobody is a stranger to the fights King and Elena have. Their relationship—if you could call it that—is volatile at the best of times, not aided by the fact Carlos would love to get his hands on the woman, just to show that he could.

“Don’t know yet. Our road’s still got a ways to go.” King casts me a curious look. “What makes you ask?”

Sharp blue eyes haunt my thoughts. “Nothin’.” I lift my drink, taking a ridiculously long time to take a meager sip.

“Whose is she?” he asks, his eyes narrowed.

“Who said there even is a she?” I say, my voice rising.

“The fact you look like a teenage boy caught with his dick out over his dad’s Penthouse says there is.”

“Fuck off.” Silence falls between us, and I risk a look in his direction.

He stares at me, one eyebrow raised. “Well?”

“Fuck. She’s Gunter’s.”

“Who the fuck is Gunter?”

I twist my lips to the side in thought. Who exactly is Gunter? It’s a good question. “I think he must be like us, the Butchers. He has to be the muscle. Fuckwit doesn’t look smart enough to be anythin’ else.”

“But he’s trouble if you piss him off.”

“Oh, yeah,” I reply without hesitation. “Lots.”

King sighs, scrubbing both hands over his face. “You lot are more fuckin’ trouble than a house full of horny teenage boys. In fact, I think teenage boys would be easier to keep on task.”

“Dude, you have to see her,” I try to explain. “She’s fuckin’ amazing.”

“She could have a golden cooter for all I fuckin’ care,” King says, slapping his arms down on the bar top. “She’s still not worth it if it’s going to fuck up what we’re trying to achieve.”

“Who says it will?” I frown, my back going stiff.

“Because when there’s a woman involved, it always gets fucked up.” King growls, clenching his fists at the sides of his face. “Fuck this shit! Why does everything have to be so damned hard around here?” He slams both fists down on the bar, making our drinks jump. “Just sort it, Bronx. I’m serious. You screw this up and dump us in the shit because you’re thinkin’ with your cock in your hand, and I’ll fuckin’ put you to ground.”

I raise both hands, silently apologizing. We all know he lost his head a few weeks back, and we’ve all seen him angry, but this level of impatience is new, even for him. Poor bastard’s probably got the biggest case of blue-balls waiting for Elena to soften up—figures.

He spins off his stool and hesitates before laying a kick into the baseboard of the bar. The wood splinters under the pressure, but doesn’t break open. He clenches his jaw and growls at the damage, as though he expected more, before marching toward his office. The door swings closed with a resounding bang, the pictures on the wall either side shaking where they hang.

“Sheesh. You pissed him off good,” Dog remarks, coming to stand beside me. “What did you say?”

“Think it was more what I didn’t have to say,” I tell the prospect, pushing to stand. “Let him know I’ve gone when he shows his head, eh?”

“Sure thing.” Dog nods.

I’ve got some decisions to go make, and whatever I choose, I get the feeling I’m going to be letting somebody down. Yay, to be me.

BED OF LIES

Ryan

three weeks later

Ten-thirty and I’m home in bed, thanks to Gunter’s habit of getting himself kicked out of the bar because of a fight. Yep, just another night out at the Red Lion. The whole incident started because some chump looked at me for too long. If only Gunter knew I’d spent the night staring across the room at the sexy guy from the party. Maybe then he wouldn’t have cared so much about some kid who looked like he was barely old enough to drink, let alone fight.

I knew the sexy kitchen-guy would be there, especially since he’s been a steady fixture at the place during the last few weeks. I overheard Eddie telling Easy he asked him to the next car show, and I’d be a fool to deny my heart soared a little knowing that. He called him Bronson. His name is Bronson. Said he seemed like too much of a straight arrow to be be simply out to score. Told Easy to look into him, dig a little on his history, and ask around.

As much as I told Bronson to stay away from us, I’m regretting it. I hope his record comes back clear, free of any ties to people Eddie mind find conflicting to his ‘business endeavors’. I’m praying they let him in to the inner circle and that I get to see more of him. I’m selfish, thinking only of my own desires in this whole situation, but after talking with him at the crack house party, after hearing him whisper those things in my ear, he’s become more than my guilty pleasure. He’s no longer some nameless eye-candy—he’s a person. A man—a fucking fine one at that—and my nightly fantasy.

Gunter can see I’m distracted. I haven’t been putting out as often, and I push his hands away when he tries to get grabby with me. I can’t stand the thought of him touching me like that anymore—especially when Bronson’s watching us. And he does watch. I catch him eyeing me over the length of his bottle as he takes a drink. I feel his eyes on me when I pass on my way to the ladies, and my skin sears every time. I’ve relieved the ache between my legs in the privacy of the stall more than once; closing my eyes and dreaming it’s his hands roaming my pussy, rubbing my clit, and bringing me to orgasm as I bite my lip to stop from crying out.

I want him and if this growing determination has anything to do with it, I’m going to have him. I just need the information out of Eddie first and then I’ll cut myself free, walk away clean and do what Bronson said to—find him.

Yet, there’s only so long I can avoid Gunter’s advances before it sets off alarm bells in the idiot’s head. So tonight, I caved. I bit back the pang of deceit and I promised him I’d make up for my distance, blaming my previously cold attitude on shifting hormones before Aunt Flo. Which brings me to now—exactly twelve minutes after we walked in the door, and here I am, lying beside Gunter while he snores his alcohol- and sex-induced sleep away. He took twelve minutes. I was over it in two. And yet, here he is, satisfied with his effort, oblivious to the fact I’m staring at the ceiling and angry that he never got me off. I’m horny as hell . . . and thinking of another man.