6. Rules
RULES
KITTY
As soon as I’m far enough away, I allow the tears to pave a path down my cheeks.
Not sad tears, these are angry and raw. A bottomless well of heartbreak settles over me.
I can’t believe this is how things are between us.
I don’t think I can see him daily knowing I’m not enough.
What happens when he starts taking club sluts back to his room and I have to hear the girls giggling to each other about how good of a fuck he is?
I’d rather stick knives in my ears.
Why did I allow this to happen? I got too invested in the belief this was heading somewhere. That it was real. Fuck my stupid heart.
I make my way through the club in a haze, finding myself at my dad’s office, trying to remember if Cutter said Callan was back here.
I place my ear to the door to listen for voices and almost fall through when it gives way.
Claire fills the space, her eyes wide, her lipstick-smeared lips popping open in surprise.
She looks like a sex doll. My stomach turns.
She’s been my dad’s favorite girl for quite some time.
Even made her exclusive. He can still fuck who he likes but only his dick she can have. Seems fair. Not. It’s gross.
That Cutter uses me as a fuck hole, picking me up and putting me down as he pleases, shouldn’t be surprising. Not when my own dad treats women like cum dumpsters.
“Hey, Kitty cat.”
Barf.
Everyone knows I was given the nickname Kitty because I always clean up at the card table. Nothing to do with cats, kittens, or pussies.
“Is Callan in there?” I don’t know why I’m asking.
Obviously he won’t be if she is, but I need something to fill the awkwardness.
She’s only a couple years older than me and tried befriending me at one point.
No thanks. I don’t need to sit around listening to her man problems—not when that man is my father.
She looks back in the room to check if Callan’s in there. Callan, over six-feet tall and built like a Hemsworth, you’d know if he was in the twenty-by-thirty room.
Way to go, Dad. Snagged a real catch.
“No, sorry. Have you tried his room?”
Thanks, genius.
“I’m heading there next.” A pang of guilt twinges in my gut for my mocking thoughts.
It’s not her fault my dad is a pervert and I’m full of anger and frustration.
All club sluts aim for the most powerful brothers, hoping to be upgraded to ol’ lady.
Little did Claire know, no one would take that spot from my mom.
Even if she never stepped foot in this club again or took dad back, Mom was his ol’ lady, forever and always.
“Claire, who the fuck are you talking to?” His gruff voice fills me with warmth and familiarity. He’s a pig to Claire, but I adore the asshole.
“Oh, it’s Kitty. She’s looking for Callan.”
“Well, let her in. You’re not the fucking gatekeeper of my office, bitch.”
Her giggle is a nervous flurry that tinges on her cheeks. “Of course. Sorry.” She widens the door and tucks her long blonde hair behind her ear. It’s almost the exact color of mine. I make a mental note to change that as soon as possible.
Casually entering his office, I make a conscious effort not to touch any surface they could have fucked on. A shudder rattles my bones.
“Hello, darlin’. Where have you been all day?
Tim said something about a tattoo. I told him he must be mistaken.
” He leans his ass against his desk, squeezing a ball in his fist. Not that he’ll admit it or get a diagnosis, but the man has arthritis in his fingers.
They swell and get stiff. Some bumps appeared on his joints about a year ago, but he refuses to go to the doctor or admit those bumps hadn’t been there his whole life.
“Kitty, tell me you didn’t get a tattoo at some street parlor. ”
“Actually.” I clench my teeth, flashing him the pearly whites. He doesn’t speak, just stares at me with an icy glare. If he were anyone else, I’d shit my pants and run for the door. But he isn’t. Even if I covered myself head-to-toe in tattoos, as long as it made me happy, he’d get over it.
That’s what hurts so much about Cutter.
If he let me speak to my dad, tell him how much I love Cutter and want to be with him, things would be okay.
Callan might be butthurt for a while, but he’d get over it.
It makes me wonder if he’s using them as an excuse to kick me to the curb.
The insecure, paranoid feeling is toxic, choking me from within.
I can taste the ash on my tongue. That man is taking up too much of my head space.
I lift my shirt and peel back the saran wrap Wynona put over the two aces inked on my ribcage. Dad sits back in his chair, making it creak with the movement. “It’s super cute,” Claire declares, walking over to my dad, putting an arm over his shoulder.
“Aren’t we done?” he grunts, cutting his gaze to hers. I wince, hating the humiliation on her behalf. Why does he have to be a dick? How would he feel if someone treated me like a slab of disposable meat? Cutter does precisely that.
Turning a brighter shade of red, her throat bobs and lips thin into a tight smile. “I need to go see if Maggie needs help behind the bar. It was good seeing you, Kitty.” She drops a kiss on my dad’s cheek, and he waves his free hand at her like he’s shooing a bug away.
I stick the plastic wrap back down and lower my top. The soft click of the door signals Claire’s departure, and I find myself asking, “Why are you a dick to her?”
“Since when do you care about the club sluts?”
Since I became one for Cutter.
“They’re still people. She chooses to be with you, you could at least treat her better than a transaction of body fluids.”
A crack of a smile tilts his lips. “I like the aces.” His colossal frame unfolds from the chair, the president patch sitting proudly on his cut over his chest. Lifelines web at the corners of his eyes as his smile reaches there.
Silver flecks of maturity stand in contrast against his dark hair, almost flickering under the light when he reaches me.
Clasping my cheeks in his palm, he raises my face to his, dropping a kiss on my forehead.
“Tim also said you were with a guy. Is this what has you pissed off? Do I need to go remove his genitals?”
“God no. Just because I met a guy doesn’t mean I let him in my pants.” Maybe that’s what I need to do to move on from Cutter, but it wouldn’t be with Nicolas.
“Good. He’s not good enough for you.”
Does he know him?
“No man is,” he adds, releasing me.
“Well, I’m not going for being an old spinster. You’ll have to come around to the idea that I’m going to want to date at some point.”
“You have plenty of time before you’re a spinster. Isn’t that a barren woman?” He chuckles, running a hand through his hair.
“No, it’s an unmarried woman slipping out of what society deems as her prime years.” Fucking society and their ideals. I hate people.
“You’re nineteen, darlin’—and you’ll never be out of your prime. You have your mother’s genes.” The fact that he knows my age shouldn’t make me feel good, but I know plenty of dads who barely remember their kids’ full names, so I allow the good feeling to fill my belly.
“Anyway, I’m looking for Callan. He’s pissed I brought Nicolas back to the club…”
“Wait—you brought someone back to the club?”
Well…shit .
“I thought Tim told you that?”
“This club is for Kings. King brothers, King business. Is this guy a fucking King?” His temper flares. His dark eyes absorb all the light in the room, drenching me in dread. I hate being the reason for his anger, but I also have an overwhelming need to stick up for myself.
“I live here too. This is my home, and I’m nineteen. I shouldn’t have to get permission to invite a friend over.” I go to fold my arms but think better of it. The piercings hurt like a bitch and are tender as all hell.
“How long have you known this friend?”
Crap .
His heavy boots clunk against the wood flooring as he paces over to the cameras filling the back wall of his office. The screens flicker with activity. Cameras monitor all rooms except bedrooms. Claire’s obviously been keeping him busy for a while. He hadn’t been taking notice.
The silent figures move across each screen like characters in a movie.
Diamond is in the kitchen, and my stomach yearns for whatever it is she’s cooking.
“Is that him?” He jabs a finger toward the screen.
Nicolas is in the game room with Claire.
She’s setting the pool table up. So much for helping Maggie with the bar.
“Yes, and I know I messed up, okay?” I defend, fidgeting.
Turning to face me, his brows are pinched. “I know it’s not fair to you, but these rules are in place for a reason.”
But it’s okay when they invite a shit ton of women who are strangers to the club.
“For one, we have undercover agents always looking for an in.”
I’d be more likely to be an agent than Nicolas “Cocaine Snorting” Carnell.
“Two, brothers are territorial. You fucking know this. You’ve grown up surrounded by them your whole life.
” He makes his way back to me, standing with his feet set apart, arms crossed over his broad chest, head bowed, looking down at me.
“If one brother took issue with him, they’d act like a pack and tear the kid apart. ”
It’s making more sense why Cutter was pissed now. Slipping my hands into my pockets, I tap my shoe on the floor and avert my gaze. Knuckles rap on the door, and Callan’s voice calls out. “It’s me.”
Great. Now they can both tell me what a fool I’ve been.
“Come in,” Dad calls out, rounding his desk once more and retaking his seat. The door swings open, and my brother, the younger version of my dad, strides in, the room shrinking at the sheer size of him.
“I came by earlier, but you were busy…” Sensing someone else in the room, he flits his gaze over his shoulder, cutting me with a scathing glare. “What the hell do you have to say for yourself?”
Holding my hand up to stop his rant, I roll my eyes. “Dad’s already given me the lecture. And Cutter, for that matter. If you have an issue with me, don’t send your minions to do the work for you,” I spit out, fed up with everyone taking turns in making me feel like a dick.
“I don’t have the time to come tell you when you fuck up because I always have to find a way to correct your mistakes.”
“Oh, fuck off. When’s the last time I fucked up?”
“Enough,” Dad barks, launching the ball from his desk at the wall. It bounces off with a thwap and hits Callan in the back. The bastard doesn’t even flinch. I would have fallen to the floor like it was a bullet shot from a magnum. “You two still bicker like you’re teenagers.”
“Technically, I am.”
“Enough,” he warns me with a glare. “You messed up bringing a kid back to the club but looks like there’s no harm done. Get rid of him and all is right in the world.”
“You haven’t told him who the fuck he is, have you?” Callan fumes, that annoying muscle in his jaw flexing. Tattling douchebag.
Dad straightens in his chair, steepling his fingers on the desk.
“Nicolas Carnell,” Callan informs him. “Michael Senior’s youngest son.”
Dad shoots to his feet, sending his chair skittering out behind him. My stomach knots. My heart punches wildly against my ribs.
“Kitty, go to your room,” Callan demands.
“Fuck you.”
“Kitty,” Dad barks, not in anger but urgency. Then I notice they’re both looking through me to the screens behind me.
Callan moves so fast I flinch back and raise my hands.
He’s never laid a finger on me before, but it’s reflex.
He grabs the tops of my arms and holds me in place, still looking over me to the monitors.
Turning my head, he ushers me toward the door before I can see what the hell has them spooked.
Opening it, he shoves me out and follows.
“Go straight to your room. Don’t stop or detour. ”
“Or pass go and collect two hundred dollars,” I scoff. “What the hell is going on?”
“Now, Kitty,” Dad orders, joining us in the hallway.
“Cops are at the gate. Don’t come out until me or your brother come for you.
” I don’t hear the alarm that usually goes off when cops are at the gate, but the strain on his face is enough for me to nod and take off.
Something’s happening, and if it’s making Dad and Callan worried, it’s bad. Really bad.