Luke shivered, reminding me he was still wet, his short hair dripping like the rest of him. His clothes stuck to his body, and it was a shame he had his leather jacket on because I couldn’t see the way his shirt clung to the tight abs I knew he had. I’d seen him shirtless more than once at a Kings’ party no one knew I was at, including the actual King’s birthday party. When they had gatherings at the clubhouse, I had a special spot outside where I liked to sit. There weren’t many windows to look through with my high tech, night binoculars, but the one I’d found, with a large crack in the paint slapped over it, had a good view of the entire barroom.
I sighed and gestured at him to follow me. We walked between the kitchen and the dining room and down a hallway to the bathroom. I opened the door for him and pursed my lips. “I’ll go get you some clothes. I don’t think anything I have will fit you, but KC’s will.”
Luke’s eyebrows furrowed. “Are you planning on kidnapping me? No one would know to look for me at your house.”
I snorted to hide my laughter. I wasnotgoing to laugh at one of his jokes. “You are too annoying to kidnap, and I highly doubt any of your family members have money for you, so no, I am definitely not planning on abducting you.”
Luke hummed like he didn’t believe me, but I didn’t miss his grin as I stalked out of the bathroom and toward KC’s room. He had the biggest room in the house, and I’d never regretted giving it to him when we moved in. Not only did he need all the space he could get, but he’d never had nice things, much like myself when I was a teenager.
I knew he’d be out in the back garage checking over Luke’s bike, so I strode straight into his walk-in closet to find clothing that would fit Luke. While he wasn’t small himself, compared to KC he was an ant, and I was even smaller.
I found something KC used to wear when he was fifteen and resisted the urge to chuckle. It was a pink shirt with a tongue sticking out printed on it, and it belonged to some band. I didn’t know who they were, but I remembered KC had been obsessed with them before he chose to concentrate on football rather than the emo life; his words, not mine. I didn’t know how pink was emo, but I never wanted to understand what went through a teenager’s mind these days. Times had changed.
I grabbed a pair of pants, too, but avoided any underwear. Nice-natured or not, KC would not want me going into his underwear drawer, and I doubted Luke wanted to wear another man’s briefs.
By the time I arrived back at the bathroom with a towel as well, I cautiously knocked on the door. “Are you decent?”
“I got my dick out, want to see?”
I rolled my eyes. He was so… uncouth. It made me smile. “I’m sure there’s nothing to see there.”
“I can prove otherwise. I’m ten inches, at least,” he said through the door.
I rolled my eyes. I’d seen him naked, too, because if you were a King, fucking where everyone could see you was a thing, apparently. Luke—Barber, as they called him—liked fucking whores over the couches. He definitely wasn’t a ten-incher, but if I had to guess, it was either seven or eight. He was wide, though, and the width alone had made my mouth water. I imagined the burn that would come with the stretch of his cock in my asshole.
He opened the door a smidge and held out his tattooed arm. The ink on his skin was artistically done—an array of red roses on a field of black with a couple of circles the same color as the flowers. His neck had roses, too, but they were completely black, with an eye beneath them. I didn’t understand the significance of any of his ink, but the more I learned about Luke, the more I realized he probably didn’t know what they meant, either. The one time I’d asked him why he’d gotten a Hebrew word on his upper cheek, he’d frowned at me and said, “It’s Hebrew? Fuck, I just told PD to slap some writing on my face.”
He took the clothes and closed the door again, and I frowned at it. I doubted Luke was shy about his body, and he had no reason to be. Maybe he thought I was a virgin. I snorted at the thought because I was far from it. “I didn’t get you underwear.”
“Yeah, thanks for that. I’m not wearing another dude’s nut huggers.”
“Not even KC’s?” I teased.
“Fuck that. No offense.” The door opened and Luke stepped out. Much to my surprise, he didn’t look annoyed at wearing a light pink shirt. He took it in stride, opening his arms and doing a twirl. “Is it my color?”
I laughed and didn’t have time to hide it. Luke’s eyes widened and he grinned.
“Holy shit. He does something else other than whine.”
I stuck my nose up at him, and he chuckled. “Pinkdoessuit you. You should wear it more often. The black is boring.”
“Says the dude who’s wearing a black turtleneck.” Luke winked at me and turned his head, glancing toward the open plan kitchen and living room. His nose ring flashed under the light again.
“Leave your clothes in the bathroom, I’ll wash them early in the morning and put them in the dryer.” I glanced inside the door and noticed he’d left his gun hanging on the holster on a towel rack. He’d left his wallet and keys on the sink. “And you can leave those there, too. I don’t want the gun anywhere else in my house.” He didn’t need to know that I had weapons stored in all sorts of niches. Hairstylist Quain hated guns, or at least wasn’t a fan of them.
He chuckled and saluted me before he looked my way with a thoughtful expression. “So KC’s your kid?”
Ah, so he was looking for KC before, to make sure he wasn’t asking anything inappropriate. I bent my finger at him and turned, leading him past the kitchen and down the step into the living room and to my favorite couch. I sat at one end, and out of all the spots he could have chosen, he sat beside me. My gut clenched far too pleasantly.
Luke was an enigmatic mess, the type of guy who didn’t know anything about tact. He was the last person I should have found attractive. I prided myself on how neat I was—at everything, from my house to my kills. Luke was like an awkward teenager with every person he murdered. He got the job done, but not without bringing chaos with him. I was surprised King hadn’t slithisthroat.
“To answer your question, yes, KC is my son.” I kicked off my shoes and pulled my legs up onto the couch and under me.
“How’s that?” He sat forward, his elbows on his knees as he eyed the living room carefully. I wasn’t sure if he was casing my house for something to steal or just looking. From what I knew about him, though, he wasn’t a thief. Murderer? Yes. Gun runner? Definitely. Drug dealer? Sure—all Kings were—but not a petty thief.
“How’s what? Use your words.” I rolled my eyes and laid my arm over the back of the couch, behind his neck.
His focus finally returned to me and the cute bastard quirked a grin in my direction. “How is he your kid? You don’t look old enough to have a teenager.”
