5. Unwanted guest
UNWANTED GUEST
CUTTER
I stand stock-still in the entryway to the club bar, relief washing over me.
After actively avoiding me all day, Kit’s back where she belongs.
Watching her from across the room, my mind races with questions.
Where has she been all day? Was she with him?
Did she let him kiss her? Touch her? Eyes can be deceiving.
Maybe she knows him and they’re friends. Maybe someone else brought him here. She throws her head back in laughter as the youngest Carnell tips a shot into her mouth.
“Please tell me this is just a weird fucking dream and my baby sister did not bring that train wreck back to our club,” Callan growls, scrubbing his hands down his face.
The tattoos on his arm appear to move as he fists his hands, his muscles tensing.
Not a weird dream, a fucking nightmare. I want to break the little weasel’s neck.
“Dodger,” Callan calls out to our brother closest to us. Frowning, Dodger places his beer down on a table and marches over.
“Everything all right?”
“The kid with Kitty, how’d he get here?” Callan gestures with a tip of his head.
Cranking his neck to see through the crowd of brothers filling the space, Dodger scratches his chin. “Kitty showed up with him. Can’t say I like her choice. He looks like a junkie. You want me to throw him out? Rough him up a bit?”
“No. Go find Diamond. See if she collected his cell phone when he came in,” Callan tells him before turning to me.
“You go pull Kitty aside and see where the fuck she found him so we can drop him back there and pretend this never happened. I’m going to give my old man a heads up.
He’s going to be pissed,” Callan hisses, glancing one last time at his sister before his footfalls pound down the hall.
“Who is he?” Dodger asks.
“Best you don’t know. When you get the phone, take it to Pres’s office.”
“On it.”
What are the chances of that little prick being at the club? We need to get him out as quietly as possible and hope the bastard doesn’t find his way back here or remember coming in the first place. Moving through the room, I stalk toward Kitty, her aura drawing me in like a magnet to metal.
I thought she’d be above the petty shit of flaunting some prick in front of me, yet here she is, her hand on his chest, giggling like he’s the funniest fucker in the world.
As much as it pains me to admit, perhaps last night really did mark the end of our fucked-up story.
That’s what I want to happen—what needs to happen.
Either way, one thing was for sure: I’d rather see her alone forever than with the likes of Nicolas Carnell.
A growl crawls up my throat, a simmering rage bubbling like lava beneath my skin.
He’s beneath her. We both are. Chatter and laughter fill the air while rock music rumbles through speakers mounted in every corner of the room.
Bodies writhe. Daddy is actively fucking a redhead on top of the bar.
Mad Micky, an old timer who used to work as a hired killer, plays pin finger with Green, his blade stabbing with precision and speed between each spread finger, leaving notches of chipped wood.
This place isn’t for the faint of heart.
You need guts and an invite if you want to party with the Kings, and this pissant had neither.
I step toward Kitty with predatory intent, a sick zap of satisfaction spiking within me when she physically reacts to my approach, jerking with the temptation to take off running. “Don’t fucking do it,” I mouth. Her lips part. Heat blossoms across her cheeks. So beautiful. So fucking mine.
As I grip her wrist heat sears up my arm, spreading like wildfire to my cock, arousing it from slumber.
Why do I want her so bad? It’s a compulsion.
Fucked-and-chucked her less than twenty-four hours ago, yet a few apologetic words whispered into her ear, and she’d be back in my bed at my mercy. I’m a piece of shit.
The words sit on the tip of my tongue, but if I act on it, I don’t think I’ll ever stop.
And keeping her tied to me in secret, not letting her experience what it’s like to have a man who flaunts her like the treasure she is, is cruel.
I’m no saint. I’ve been cruel too many times in my life, but not to her.
Fuck, why does she have to be Callan’s sister?
Fate is a sadist.
She squirms like her skin is too tight for her bones as I drag her away from Nicolas, who’s already moving to the next warm body. I manage to get her into the hallway before she tugs her arm free. She folds them over her chest and winces, dropping her hold, a pained hiss slipping from her lips.
“What’s wrong?” Adrenaline pulses in my veins. Did that motherfucker hurt her? Doesn’t matter what last name he carries; he’ll be put to ground.
“Nothing. What do you want?” Irritation wraps around her words, and I don’t like it aimed at me one fucking bit.
“You acted like you were in pain. Did he do something to you?”
She rolls her eyes, sucking in a big breath that makes her tits swell. “Don’t act like a meathead, Cutter. You’re not my man, remember?”
Like I can forget.
“You’re still one of us and Callan’s little sister.” I attempt to act nonchalant, but she can read the fury in my eyes. It matches her own.
“So you keep pointing out.”
“Tell me why you winced,” I ask, ignoring the barb.
“Tell me why you care?” Her eyes widen, jaw firm.
“Don’t do that,” I sneer, showing my teeth.
“Do what?”
“Be bratty. It doesn’t suit you.” Damn, she has a fire that draws me to it like a moth.
“Fuck you,” she spits out, spinning on her heel to make a break for it.
Grabbing her arm, I halt her movements and growl, “Do you know who you brought here?” Kitty is a force, more mature than her years and not afraid to be herself, but she’s also a little naive to think she could bring whoever the fuck she wants into the club.
All non-member men inevitably get challenged by a brother if they’re brave enough to enter these doors.
“Nicolas?” She jabs a thumb over her shoulder, her brow dipping low.
“Nicolas Carnell, Kitty.” I punch out her name like it’s a dirty word.
“So what?” Blonde strands of hair rustle around her face with a shake of her head. She really is clueless as to why that would be an issue.
“Michael has men out looking for him. He’s off the rails and a liability. He can’t be here, Kit.” I’m practically standing over her, boxing her in. Her fat, pouty lips beg to be kissed as she swipes her tongue out to wet them.
Tease.
“I’ll keep an eye on him.”
“You shouldn’t have brought him in the first place. What the hell are you doing with the likes of him anyway?” She smells like dessert, sweet and sinful.
“I met him at a card game and wanted some company.” Attempting to back up, her ass hits the wall.
“To punish me?” So close, so fucking close, I can taste her on my tongue.
“What?” The word comes out breathy. Her eyes roam my face, landing on my mouth.
“You’re with him to punish me,” I repeat.
That snaps her out of the spell she succumbed to.
“Get over yourself. I’m not that pathetic, and I’m not with him in the way you’re insinuating.
” She shoves at my chest, and I chuckle, stepping back as Green lumbers into the hall, holding out his hand, clutching it at the wrist. Blood tracks a line down his finger and drips to the floor.
“Where’s Di?”
“She’ll be up your ass with a mop if you don’t stop pissing blood on her floor.
” Releasing an exasperated breath, I jab a finger down the hall and Green hurries in that direction.
I don’t have a clue where Di is, but his interruption makes me realize how reckless we’re being discussing this shit in the hallway.
Moving around Kit, I peer back into the bar.
Nicolas is nursing a beer at the end of the bar and luckily no one is paying attention to him. The brothers are too busy getting wasted, fucking, or both.
I take a hard look at the kid. He’s changed so much since I last saw him, but that was almost three years ago.
There are no similarities between him and his brother.
Michael is always well put together, not a hair out of place, not so much as a piece of lint on the designer shit he wears.
Not this motherfucker, though. His white shirt is covered in drink spills, his slacks gaping on the toothpicks he calls legs.
The kid looks like he hasn’t eaten in months.
He’s nothing but skin and bone, with gaunt cheeks and protruding collarbones.
If Kitty told me he was a homeless person someone took pity on, I’d half believe it.
I don’t know why the Carnells are worried about being seen around the Kings when their own is out here high as a kite and starving to death, trying to rub his cock on women who don’t belong to him.
“I’ll get him out of here if it’s a problem,” Kitty says, sidling up to my side, following my line of sight to Nicolas. She’s leaving this place with him over my dead body.
“No, it’s fine. Go find your brother. He’ll want a word with you about this.”
“Did you tattle to Callan?” Her tone is a mix of disbelief and disgust.
“He was the one who fucking spotted the Carnell kid. Don’t blame me for your stupid decisions.” I glare down at her.
The air shifts between us, condensing, hate swelling in her chest. “I only blame you for being one of those stupid decisions.”
Damn, I’ve taken bullets that hurt less.
Her ass shimmies in a pair of leather pants, making my balls ache as she takes off, leaving me with a gaping wound. Only a fool would actively try and make a woman like Kitty not want them. This is a shitshow of my own making, and I hate myself for it.
I need a drink.
My long strides eat up the space between the door and the bar.
“Bottle of whiskey and a glass,” I shout down the line of brothers to Maggie, who’s giggling about whatever Monster is saying to her.
She holds up a finger, signaling for me to wait a minute.
Is every bitch in this place trying to make me snap?
Arms suddenly wrap around my waist from behind. The overwhelming scent of crappy floral perfume invades my space as a petite brunette slides around my body like it’s a stripper pole. “You look tense. I can loosen you up.”
I couldn’t fuck her even if I wanted to. Kitty might as well have cut my cock off and taken it with her because even with this bitch’s bare tits pushing against my chest, there’s not so much as a twitch below my waist.
“You can get me a drink. Maggie is too busy getting her ear licked out.” Maggie is one of three who look like they were spat out of the same doctor’s office by a clone machine.
I slam my hand down on the black glossy bar, and Micky grunts beside me.
“Monster’s cock is infamous. The size of an arm apparently.
I hope he uses lube.” The chesty laugh that follows almost chokes him.
He splatters and wheezes, a plume of smoke billowing from his lips.
The blunt he’s smoking drops hot rocks onto his shirt, leaving little holes.
How the fucker hasn’t set himself ablaze or gotten lung cancer by now, I’ll never know. The bastard looks ninety.
“He does,” the brunette purrs like a kitten, biting her lip. “Use lube,” she clarifies, running a hand down the length of my torso. “Spit.” She wags her eyebrows.
Great. As if the night hasn’t already been a pile of crap, now I have to hear about Monster’s monster cock.
“Go find someone else to fuck. I’m not drunk enough,” I tell her, pushing her away from me. Pouting, she backs away and is swiped up by another brother, making her screech and giggle.
“Would be like throwing a hotdog down a hallway going in after Monster, anyway, son.” Micky nods, pushing a glass of amber liquid my way. “I always order two when Maggie’s behind the bar. Bitch gets distracted like a cat spotting a laser pen.”
I knock the drink back in one gulp then hold it up in thanks before slamming it on the bar. Fuck you very much, Maggie.
Nudging myself through the throngs of bodies, I make my way to where I last saw Nicolas and look around, not finding him anywhere.
Fuck .