KC pushed at my shoulder, moving me out of the way so this deadbeat could see him. “Hey, Muzz.”
Muzz grinned at KC. “Hey, Giant. I didn’t know it was you. Who’s the elder?”
“Elder?” I glared at the little fucker. “I’m not a fucking elder, you piece of shit.”
KC rolled his eyes, and then he and Muzz did this strange handshake I didn’t understand. Was that a teenage thing? Crap, maybe I was getting old.
“You here for the Ducati starter?” Muzz asked, raising his arm to run his hand through his hair. The stench that came from his armpit made me want to puke. I might drink myself into a stupor sometimes and puff some weed and all that shit, but at least I showered. I wasn’t sure I could say the same for this guy.
“Yeah, you got it?”
Muzz waved us into the house. “Out back.”
I shook my head and followed KC into the house, which actually looked a lot better than the outside. I’d imagined the floor being covered in feces with the way this guy looked, but the wooden floorboards were clean, not even a piece of dirt in sight, and while the furniture was obviously secondhand, everything was kept in good condition. The only thing I could see out of place were some scratch marks on the back of the sofa.
Fuck. I hoped he didn’t have a cat. I hated cats.
He led us through the house to the back door, which opened out into the yard behind the house, and to my surprise it was as neat as Quain’s. The grass out here was mowed, the bushes freshly cut, and the aluminum garage was wide—big enough to fit at least four cars. It had a padlock on the front door, and Muzz stalked over to it, putting in a four-digit code before he yanked open the lock.
KC smirked at me. “I didn’t say where he got the parts. It doesn’t matter. It’s cheap.”
“And stolen?” I crossed my arms. Not that I gave a shit.
“Maybe.”
“Is the front yard a ruse, then?”
“Keeps the Goody Two-shoes away. They’re too scared to come anywhere near this house. Muzz is a good guy, though, he just… obtains his parts in different ways.” KC shrugged his massive shoulders and made his way into the garage when Muzz gestured him forward.
Muzz didn’t have much to say to me during the exchange. He preferred to talk to KC, and I was okay with that. The two teens spoke in a completely different language, or at least it felt like it, until they started talking bike speak. Then I understood them.
By the time they were done, KC paid the money we’d stopped at an ATM to get, and Muzz gave us the starter. Once he’d handed it over, he narrowed his ice blue eyes on me in thought.
“You’re a King, right?”
I crossed my arms, ready for a fight. Hell, I’d even take on a teenager if I needed to. “Yeah, I am.”
“Cool. If the Kings need any genuine parts, you know where to find me now. Get KC to give you my number. I do great deals.” He patted my shoulder on the way past, and I snorted, watching him nearly skip into the house.
“You said he was your friend?”
KC shrugged. “I go to school with him. Used to. I think he dropped out. Come on, let’s get out of here.”
He led me around the side of the house and through the long grass. I hated the idea of walking through what was potentially a tick-and-spider-infested habitat, but we managed to get to the other side without a bite or any buggy passengers.
When we were back in the truck, KC handed me the part. “It’s nearly new. It’ll last you a while.”
“Better be, kid.” I sent him a grin to tell him I was just messing with him. KC knew what he was talking about, and I trusted him, even if I hadn’t known him for a full twenty-four hours yet. “So, tell me about your pa.”
KC started the truck and it rumbled to life before he turned a narrowed look on me. “Why do you want to know about him?”
“Maybe I’m curious.”
He grunted and turned to look at the street behind him and then pulled out onto the road. His hands tightened around the steering wheel again. He reached over to turn on the radio—old-fashioned tech with a CD player. I bet this truck didn’t have Bluetooth. I didn’t think he was going to answer me, but when he took a few more turns and got onto the highway, he glanced at me.
“There’s nothing to tell that you can’t ask him yourself. He’s a hairstylist, which you know, and he enjoys his job.”
“And he adopted you.” I leaned back in my seat and kicked my boots off, throwing my feet onto the dashboard.
