Chapter 32
CHAPTER 32
K ing stood back, allowing Amara and Joey privacy as they said goodbye to Lee. They allowed half an hour for the family before the public was invited in. The public was the part that was bothering him. Sloan had sent a group text that all Warriors not on duty would be on alert at the funeral.
He scoped the area out, making sure he knew where the entrances and exits were. His eyes went to Amara as she moved toward the funeral director. King wasn’t one to pay much attention to clothing, but when Amara had come downstairs before they left for the funeral home, everything else ceased to exist. Her dress was black as the night sky before a storm. The fabric clung to her in a respectful and sinful way, the modest neckline doing little to hide the elegant curve of her throat, the long sleeves framing the delicate strength in her arms. It hugged her waist, skimmed over her hips, and fell just below her knees, but it was the way she moved in it that held him captive. She was graceful yet powerful; she carried both sorrow and defiance in every step. The slit along her thigh was barely there, just a tease, but enough to make his fists clench at his sides to keep from touching her. She was mourning, but Amara was still breathtaking. When she finally turned, searching for him and her beautiful eyes searching his, King knew that no matter the occasion or the grief...Amara would always be the most stunning thing in any room.
The funeral director said something, pulling Amara’s attention away from him. King didn’t hear the words. His focus shifted to Joey, who was struggling to leave the room. The kid’s movements were tense, his face a mask of frustration. King frowned, pushing off the wall, and headed toward him. The doors were still locked for another few minutes. He had instructed the funeral director to notify him before opening the doors to the public. If the man had thought the request was strange, he hadn’t questioned it. King wasn’t taking chances, not with them. Not today. Not ever.
His sharp gaze caught Joey slumped in a chair, head in his hands, the crutches abandoned in the middle of the floor. A quiet sigh left King as he walked over, scooped them up, and leaned them against the wall out of the way but close enough if Joey needed them.
King lowered himself into the chair beside him, stretching his legs out and crossing at the ankles. He didn’t speak. Didn’t push. The kid needed a moment, and King would give it to him. He leaned back, arms crossed over his chest, scanning the room out of habit before glancing down at his own clothes. Black slacks, polished boots, and a white button-down shirt. It was the only decent shirt he owned. His leather jacket rested heavily on his shoulders, hiding the weapons he refused to be without.
His gaze drifted to the casket, the weight of the moment settling in. Today made it real. Today made what happened to Lee final. He understood that grief wasn’t an emotion that followed any rules. For Joey and Amara, this was when it all became undeniable. There was no coming back from this—no more waiting for an impossible miracle.
He finally turned his head toward Joey. King exhaled slowly. "Do you need anything?" His voice was calm and steady—the way you talked to someone standing on the edge.
Joey didn’t look up. Didn’t answer right away. But after a long moment, he shook his head. "I just... I don’t know what to do now."
King nodded, understanding that feeling better than he cared to admit. "You keep going." His voice was firm but not unkind. "That’s all you can do."
"Yeah, I guess." Joey finally lifted his head, his eyes red but dry. “Guess it just hit me that I’m pretty much alone in the world now.”
“You’re not alone, Joey.” King held his gaze. “You have Amara as your blood. And you have me and the rest of the Warriors.”
“Amara has you now,” Joey said, then frowned. “She doesn’t have time for my shit, King. She’s got her own life. She didn’t sign on to be a stepmom to me.”
King exhaled, the sound heavy in the quiet room. He sat up, rolling his shoulders, his gaze sweeping over the space. The air was thick with the weight of grief, but he’d seen enough loss to know that sitting in it too long could drown a person.
Joey was hurting. Anyone with a damn heart could see that. But King also knew pain could either forge a person into something stronger or break them into pieces too shattered to put back together. And letting the kid sink into self-pity wasn’t happening on his watch.
King leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees as he studied Joey. The kid was barely holding it together, grief twisting his features, making him look younger than he was. King understood that kind of pain and how it settled deep in your bones, heavy and unshakable. But he also knew that drowning in it wouldn’t bring Lee back.
“There’s nothing wrong with mourning the ones we lost,” King said, his voice even but edged with steel. “But a real man doesn’t let grief chain him down. He rises from it and does what’s right.”
Joey’s gaze stayed locked on the casket, his fingers digging into the fabric of his pants. Then, finally, he looked up at King, his eyes shadowed with uncertainty. “And what’s the right thing?” he asked, his voice rough, lost.
King exhaled, standing to his full height. “By being the man your dad would be proud of.” His words were firm, unshakable. “It’s as easy as that. Amara’s going to need you just as much as you need her. Your father would expect you to care for her, and so do I when I’m not around.”
He let that sink in, watching Joey process it, watching the shift in his expression—the hesitation, the fight, and finally, the understanding. King nodded, then turned and walked out, giving him a moment alone.
The second he stepped into the next room, his eyes found Amara. King didn’t hesitate. He moved toward her because that’s where he needed to be.
“Sir, I am going to open the door now.” The funeral director informed him.
“Thank you,” King responded but didn’t stop until he was next to Amara. “You okay?”
“No,” she said, her eyes going to the room Joey had disappeared into. “But I will be. Is Joey okay?”
“No,” King tilted her face to his when he saw the worry in her eyes. “But he will be.” He repeated her words back to her.
She reached up and gently touched his face. “Thank you for being here for him, King.”
“I’m here for you also, Amara,” King whispered, taking her hand from his face to kiss her palm before pulling her into him for a hug.
Movement caught his attention, and he watched as Joey slowly made his way to the casket. Once there, he scooted one crutch behind the casket. Turning, he stood to the side of where his father lay, his shoulders squared. Their eyes met, and Joey gave him a nod just as people started filing inside. King had never been a father and never would be a father, but in that moment, he knew exactly how a father would feel about a son like Joey...proud as fuck.
King shifted his attention to Amara, taking her hand in his larger one. Without a word, he led her forward toward Joey. She didn’t hesitate, stepping up beside Joey, standing tall beside him.
King leaned down, his voice low and firm in her ear. “You won’t be out of my sight.”
Amara looked up at him, her pale eyes shimmering with unshed emotion. She gave him a small, shaky smile and nodded, her fingers squeezing his in thanks before she let go.
King moved to the side of the room, his back resting against the wall. His stance seemed casual to the untrained eye, but his attention was anything but. His gaze tracked each person who walked through those doors. He read their movements, expressions, and intentions. If anyone thought to harm the two people who were becoming the most important thing in his world, God help them.
Amara stood beside Joey, the weight of grief pressing heavily on her chest, making it hard to breathe with each passing second. The room was filled with low murmurs, the quiet rustle of movement as people paid their respects. Some faces she recognized, like Lee’s coworkers and old friends from their childhood, while others were strangers. The Warriors and their Mates were amazing, surprising her and Joey with their support.
As time passed, faces blurred together, names swirled in her head, and an underlying fear gnawed at her through it all. What if one of these people had played a part in Lee’s death? What if she shook hands with someone who knew more than they let on? Someone who had hurt Joey? The unknowns made her skin prickle with unease, and the anxiety coiled tightly in her chest like a vice.
Each time she felt herself spiraling, her gaze instinctively sought out King. He never strayed far. Even when speaking with one of the Warriors, his sharp golden eyes never stopped tracking her. The way he watched her, guarded her, was like an anchor against the storm raging inside her. His steady presence was the only thing keeping her standing, the only thing keeping her from unraveling completely.
Then, a voice she hadn’t expected shattered what little composure she had left. “Amara.”
Her eyes snapped away from King, landing on Bud as he stepped forward, reaching for her hands. An icy dread slithered down her spine the moment his skin touched hers.
“I was so sorry to hear about Lee,” Bud said, his voice laced with a sickly sweetness that made her stomach turn.
Amara barely heard him. Her instincts screamed at her to pull away. She glanced at Joey, whose expression was dark. His glare was murderous, filled with barely restrained fury.
Panic flickered in her chest as her gaze swept the line of mourners behind Bud. She refused to make a scene, not here. She gritted her teeth and tried to free her hands, but he held on too tightly.
“Thank you,” she forced out, attempting to free herself again. His grip didn’t loosen. Her patience snapped. She yanked hard, breaking his hold, and narrowed her eyes. “What are you doing here, Bud?”
Bud’s expression shifted from feigned sympathy to something colder. “Amara, I’m here for you and Joey.”
“Bullshit.” Joey hissed, glaring at Bud. “My dad hated you, dude. Kicked your ass good, and now you think since he’s gone, you’re going to come back around. Yeah, not happening, asshole.”
Amara saw Bud’s eyes narrow angrily at Joey’s words, but he covered it quickly, turning his attention back to her.
“I wanted to call, but you’ve changed your number. You haven’t been home.” His fingers wrapped around her wrist again, squeezing.
“Get the hell out of here, man,” Joey sneered in disgust.
“You need to leave, Bud.” Amara really just wanted him to leave.
Bud ignored Joey and her warning to leave. Instead, he leaned closer to her. “Now that Lee is gone, we can pick up where we left off.” He then whispered. “I knew if I waited long enough, he’d be out of the picture one way or another.”
“Is there a problem?” King’s voice barely penetrated the rage that swept through her body.
“Yeah, there is,” Joey said, glaring at Bud. “King, meet Bernie. Bernie meet King.”
Bud opened his mouth to respond, but Amara was already moving. Fury, white-hot and all-consuming, surged through her, drowning out everything else. Her free hand curled into a fist, and before she could stop herself, she swung. Her knuckles cracked against Bud’s jaw with a satisfying thud. His head snapped back, a stunned expression crossing his face as he staggered.
“How dare you come here and disrespect my brother, you son of a bitch!” Amara seethed, her entire body trembling with rage.
The room fell into stunned silence. Bud clutched his jaw, his eyes blazing with something dark and furious. Before Bud could speak, King stepped in front of Amara, separating them.
“Get him the fuck outside and wait for me,” King ordered as Jared and Sid grabbed Bud, ushering him out.
Amara blinked, the world tilting slightly as the weight of what she had just done sank in. The room had gone deathly silent, all eyes locked on her in stunned disbelief. Her chest tightened. Oh, God. What have I done?
She glanced at Joey, guilt hitting her like a punch to the gut. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely holding together as tears stung her eyes.
But Joey just snorted, shaking his head. “Don’t be.” His lips curled into a smirk. “I heard what that asshole said. If you hadn’t hit him, I would have.”
Before she could respond, King’s voice rumbled beside her. “She’ll be right back.” His tone left no room for argument.
Then, before she could process what was happening, King led her out of the room, his grip firm but careful. Away from the gawking guests. Away from the whispers. Away from the chaos of it all.
The moment they were alone, he turned her to face him, his eyes sharp and assessing. “What did he say to you?”
Amara bit her lip, her arms wrapping around her stomach as the rush of emotions crashed down on her. “I shouldn’t have hit him.” Her voice wavered as shame curled around her. Not here. Not at Lee’s funeral.
King made a low sound in his throat, something deep and dangerous. “You’re right,” he said, his voice rough. Her stomach dropped. She looked up at him, expecting disappointment, but instead, his lips curled into something dark and promising. “You should have let me hit him. Though that is still likely to happen.”
Despite herself, a slight, shaky grin tugged at her lips, but it quickly crumbled as tears spilled over. She wiped at them furiously. “He said that we can pick up where we left off now that Lee is gone. That Lee was why we broke up, which is a lie.” Her voice cracked with rage. “Then he said that he knew if he waited long enough, Lee would be out of the picture one way or another.”
A low growl rumbled in King’s chest, his entire body tensing. His golden eyes turned black instantly. “I’ll take care of it, Amara,” he said, his voice eerily calm, but she could feel the storm raging beneath.
She shook her head, heart pounding. “King?—”
“Go back out there with Joey,” he interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Amara barely had time to process King’s departure before she found herself standing next to Joey and Steve. The tension in the room shifted as murmurs swept through the remaining guests. King moved through the funeral home with quiet determination, heading toward the back, where Sid and Jared had dragged Bud.
“Get my other crutch,” Joey muttered, his gaze locked on the same direction King had gone.
Steve didn’t hesitate, grabbing the crutch and handing it to him.
Amara frowned. “Where are you going?”
Joey looked at her as if she had just asked the dumbest question imaginable. “You think I’m gonna miss this?” He grunted, adjusting his stance before hobbling past her. “Everyone’s going outside anyway.”
Her head jerked up at his words, and sure enough, the room had emptied except for a few Warriors lingering nearby, their sharp eyes flicking between her and the door.
She glanced at the casket, her heart aching at the sight. “We still have the service, Joey.”
“Ah, I don’t think they’d start without us.” He called over his shoulder. “And it’s exactly what Dad would do, and you know it.”
Amara opened her mouth to argue, but Steve cut in with an easy shrug. “He’s got a point. I sure as hell don’t want to miss this.” He turned and followed Joey. “I’ve seen King in action, and this is going to be fucking awesome. This will make an awesome TikTok.”
“Shit.” She cursed, stepping to follow them, only to be stopped by the preacher’s disapproving stare.
“Are we ready to begin the service, Ms. Tarvin?” His tone was stiff as he glared at Steve, then turned his judgy eyes on her. She guessed he’d seen her punching skills firsthand.
Amara didn’t even hesitate. “Hold that thought.” She brushed past him, walking toward the exit where Kane stood, smirking like the devil himself.
“Nice punch,” he said, holding the door open for her.
“Thanks.” Amara stepped outside and came to an abrupt stop. King had Bud by the throat. And Bud was dangling off the ground like a rag doll.
Her stomach clenched. “Oh, hell.”
Kane stepped beside her, his arms crossing over his chest. “Who is that guy?”
“My ex.” Her voice was flat, but her eyes stayed on King. The fury radiating off him was a living, breathing thing. Kane let out a low whistle. “He’s not going to… kill him, is he?” she asked, suddenly unsure how far this was going to go.
Kane didn’t even blink. “Probably.”
That made her snap her gaze away from King and onto him. “What?”
He just jerked his chin toward the gathered crowd. “I mean… seems like everyone’s on King’s side.”
As if to prove his point, a voice shouted from the crowd.
“Beat his ass! That’s exactly what Lee would want! I was there the night Lee beat the shit out of this guy for stalking Amara. Looks like he didn’t learn his lesson.”
Her breath caught as she recognized the voice. Zachary Taylor, an old friend of Lee’s, was practically bouncing in excitement. A few others voiced their support. The Warriors stood around with amused looks on their faces. Even Sloan was eyeing Bud with a disapproving glare.
“Dad would’ve loved this,” Joey mused beside her, his grin stretching wide. “Bet he’s smiling down on us right now.”
Amara rolled her eyes, but a reluctant chuckle slipped past her lips. Only Lee would have found joy in a good old-fashioned ass-kicking at his own funeral.
She turned back just in time to see King lower Bud, his grip loosening just enough that Bud gasped for breath. King was saying something low, something she couldn’t hear over the growing noise of the crowd. Amara scanned the gathered faces. Smiles. Everywhere. Lee must have told everyone he knew about Bud. And not a single damn person looked sympathetic toward him.
Her lips curved into a slow, rueful smile as she shook her head. Her life had been turned upside down, so why should this shock her? She lifted her gaze to the sky, exhaling softly. Joey was right. Lee was definitely up there somewhere, watching this mess unfold with a beer in hand and a shit-eating grin on his face.