I snorted. “He’ll get over it. Get the first flight out. I want you here by tomorrow.” I ended the call before he could argue.
I absorbed the details of the bare space that would be my future for the next few months. Years? Who knew how long it would take, but I was sticking around until my revenge was complete. That retribution started here, in a tattoo parlor I would build from ashes into a fortress.
The next piece of the puzzle? KC Beaumont.
2
KRISTOFER COLT “KC” BEAUMONT
Pa stared at me, his lips pulled into a tight frown. He looked frazzled, his short dark hair an uncharacteristic mess and his clothes askew, but since Barber had left the house strutting this morning like the cat who’d eaten the canary, I imagined they’d had “fun” before Barber had left for work. He was always put together, unlessBarberhappened.
“What?” I asked.
“KC.”
I groaned. I’d fucking known this would become an issue. Pa never stopped worrying, and I loved him for that. He was the first person in my life to care about me. He’d adopted me when I was eleven after my heroin addict mother had vanished, maybe died. I’d tried to pickpocket him. He’d saved me from a life on the streets. After all these years, Pa still took his job as my parent very seriously. Sometimestooseriously.
“Pa,” I mimicked, giving him the same expression he was sending my way. “See? I can make that face, too.” I took a large sip of my morning orange juice. I had a nutrition plan to stick to, and if I didn’t get my protein or calories in, my trainer wouldhave my ass. I’d already shoved down three eggs filled out with a pile of egg whites, oatmeal, almonds, and blueberries. Oh, and also a protein shake that wasn’t on the plan.
“You were up a little after five this morning to exercise. When do you sleep?” Pa grumbled, glaring at me from where he sat at the kitchen table. He’d arrived home yesterday after a month-long job. “You’re putting too much stress on yourself. You’ll make yourself sick.”
“Says you.” I took another long sip of my juice. I was already behind for the day. It was 8:30 a.m. and I had to drink a smoothie in an hour to reach my protein goals. Getting bigger was the objective, especially since my QB continually picked at me about gaining muscle. He was an asshole, but not wrong. “I have to go to class. I’ve got Strategic Management and Business Policy.” I made a face. “Fucking hate the prof.”
“Want me to kill him?” Pa raised an eyebrow. We’d had livelier conversations about what type of pasta to have for dinner. Killing a man was easier for Pa than the decision between fusilli and penne. Death didn’t faze him, which was all part of the assassin package.
“No, I don’t hate him that much. It’s only been a couple of weeks since I started the class.” My lips twitched. I wasnotgoing to smile. Nope. I was supposed to be the sane one of this family. He’d specifically told me that I had to go to college and get a legal job. That meant not having conversations with him about who he should or shouldn’t murder.
Pa smirked when I huffed. “It was a question.”
“He’s my professor. You’ve spent too much time around your boyfriend.”
Pa laughed, a polite sound that echoed gently around the kitchen.
My heart ached. I missed him when he went away for work, and I hated that I barely had time to spend with him, but the newsemester had just begun and my football coach was attacking this season with a vengeance. He had a rivalry with the St. Loren Armadillos. We were playing them in two weeks, and if we didn’t kick their asses....Well, I didn’t want to know what would happen.
“I’m glad you’re home,” I whispered, striding back over to give him a tight hug. He stood so we could get a better grip on each other, and my chest turned warm while cozy happiness filled me. He fit under my chin perfectly, reminding us both that I wasn’t a little boy anymore. Pa had a hard time accepting that, though.
“Me too.” He pressed a kiss to my temple despite the height difference. I would never be too old for a kiss from my pa. He was more than a parent—he was my best friend. “Wow, you’ve really bulked up!” He patted my shoulders. “I can’t believe how solid you got with only a month of football practice under your belt.”
“Speaking of, I have football practice this afternoon, so I won’t be home until late.”
Pa made a disgruntled sound. “You’re working too hard.” He sent me a sharp look, the kind he gave me when he thought I was pushing myself.
I shrugged. “I’m in college.”
“You don’tneedto play football.”
I sighed. Another argument we’d had since I was in high school. I didn’t want to play pro, but NGU had given me a scholarship to play for the Riders. Pa argued he could easily pay my tuition, but I wanted to stand on my own two feet. Not to mention, I enjoyed playing football. It was fun, despite Coach’s yelling and our shitty quarterback who thought he was the MVP of the universe.
“I want to.” I nudged his shoulder with my hand. “Please stop. I don’t want to fight. You just got home.”
Pa held up his palms, relenting. “Fine. But you know how I feel.”
“I know.”
He patted my cheek, and I said goodbye before exiting our home and getting into the orange Jeep Recon he’d bought me for my twentieth birthday. I’d left it in the driveway last night and I was surprised he hadn’t complained about it, since there was plenty of room in the garage.
It was veering toward quarter to nine. I needed to get my favorite protein smoothie from the gym bar close to campus, so I sucked down my orange juice as fast as I could without spilling it on the tan seats.
