Chapter 18
PD
The sign for the Precinct—a golden neon cop badge that made my skin crawl—glowed, a bright beacon of light to our left. It was almost enough to put me off neon signs. Maybe it was time the Ink Well got a new one.
My riding boots crunched gravel as we headed toward the front door of the bar and ignored the patio full of rambunctious drunk and smoking cops off to our right.
The twinkle lights strung over their heads struck me as funny and I snorted.
Of all the things that screamed “Cop!” to me, little strings of lights weren’t it.
“I found Loubeck’s address,” Dallas said for the fifth time. “Why don’t we just go there?” He kicked at the gravel.
“Yeah, so we can catch him with his entire stash of guns nearby and topped up with bullets?” King shook his head. “No. It would be better to catch him out somewhere. That’s our last resort.”
“Maybe wearing our cuts was too much,” Dallas murmured, grasping King’s hand, then letting it go, as if he was worried about looking weak. He squared his shoulders but ruined it by tugging at his cut.
Will chuckled, and I threw my arm over his solid shoulders, slowing down so we were keeping pace with each other.
Touching him soothed my nerves but sparked new worries as he pressed a hand to his ribs and nestled into my side.
Was he well enough to do this? He thought so, which meant I needed to respect that.
It was hard.
Loving him made me want to tell him to stay safe, but I guess that was always what loving someone did. We were both better off together.
Will smiled at me, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Fucking sexy. “We don’t hide our club patch. Maybe that’s why you haven’t been voted a full member yet, prospect.”
“Damned right!” King pulled open the front door. The Kings of Men patch was large on the back of his leather cut. The skull with the crown on top made him unmistakable to friends, enemies, and everyone in between. He missed the hurt look Dallas sent his way.
Loud classic country music washed over us, and I sighed. I’d had enough of this crap tonight.
“Besides, everyone in here knows my name!” King smirked.
“It’s a regular Cheers,” Dallas snarked, face impassive.
King was laughing as we followed him inside.
Will went ahead of me, even though I was itching to keep him out of the inevitable scuffle.
Ever since we’d cooked up this idea, I’d been fighting off waves of something I refused to call fear.
Yeah, a couple of shithead cops had gotten the best of me recently, but it wasn’t like we hadn’t won in the end.
I’d be motherfucked if I was going to be afraid of cops. I took a long, steady breath.
“This is my kinda place.” King grinned and rubbed his hands together, taking in the lay of the land.
The dimly lit bar wasn’t a dump, but the one in the clubhouse was fancier.
The exposed brick walls were nice-ish, and maybe they would’ve classed up the joint, but the floors were rough wood that probably got oiled now and then to keep away the dust. I relaxed a smidge when we weren’t instantly looking down the muzzle of about thirty handguns.
“What the hell is this?” Detective O’Neill, someone we all knew and hated, spun on his stool at the scuffed wooden bar and crossed his arms over his rumpled gray suit.
He was worse for wear. His stubble was more gray than anything else these days and it was halfway to a beard, as if he hadn’t bothered to keep up with it.
There was a large stain on the left knee of his suit pants that might or might not be blood.
King hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans. “It’s a free country, last I checked.”
An old codger behind the bar snorted. He had white hair and was rail thin, but his shoulders were square. There was no mistaking that he’d spent a lifetime at attention. He crossed his arms and scowled, almost pouting in our direction. “I don’t serve criminals.”
King glanced around. “But you got a bar full of ’em.”
There was some laughter and a few boos as we made our way to four open stools at the bar.
“Kid, I told you years ago, them bikes would get you in trouble!”
“Sergeant Balinski! Damn, I thought you were dead!” King walked over to an old-timer with his hand out and the man shook with him while wearing a wide smile that wavered and wouldn’t stay in place.
“Get this kid a drink, Tubbs.” Balinski flashed a grin with more wrinkles than a shirt lost under a bed.
“Yeah, there must be some way we can get a drink.” King smirked at the bartender.
Unease prickled down my spine. We were a spectacle for now, which everyone loved, but that could change fast. We were balanced on a knife edge, and depending on which way things fell, this could get ugly.
Tubbs grabbed an empty glass and pointed it at King. “You drink tonight’s special and you can all stay. I’ll even give it to you on the house.”
The hoots and clapping that broke out around the room had me groaning. Shit, what was happening?
“Don’t,” Dallas murmured. “Just don’t.”
O’Neill looked smug, so whatever was about to happen wouldn’t be good.
“Bring it,” King said, resting his hands on the bar and shaking out his shoulders.
Tubbs winked at Balinski as he grabbed the bar mat from the server’s side and held it over the glass. The liquid that drained out had me holding back a gag. He did that with three more mats, but King didn’t flinch, only stared the man dead in the eye.
“Those cleaned daily?” King asked as the glass full of murky brown booze sludge was set in front of him with gusto.
“Nope.” Tubbs grinned, flashing crooked teeth.
“Do it!” someone at a table behind us yelled.
“Do it! Do it! Do it!” The chanting belonged in a frat house, not a bar full of cops, but it was happening just the same. Will laughed and smacked my shoulder as King picked up the glass, spun in a circle with it held high, then downed it with a flourish.
I finally began to relax at the cheering. Everyone was in a good mood tonight, not something I’d expected. Scratch that. A few men at the bar gave us looks that made it clear they wanted to drag us outside and shoot us.
“How was it?” I slapped King on the back.
“Spicy,” he said, then cleared his throat and slammed the empty glass on the bar with a clink.
The man behind the bar shook his head but set bottles of beer in front of us. Dallas tossed down cash.
“King, come here. Tell me about your life, son. I lost track of you when you went to jail.” Balinski patted the stool next to him.
“You always thought you’d straighten me out.” King shook his head fondly.
“Hoped.” Balinski smiled.
Dallas’s eyebrows flew upward as King took the seat beside the old man.
It didn’t take more than a minute of perusing the bar to come to the conclusion that this was a waste of time. “He isn’t here,” I said loud enough for Will and Dallas to hear me.
“Hold on.” Dallas tapped King’s shoulder, luring him out of conversation with Balinski. “Can I bum a smoke?”
“Huh?” King looked far too confused when he spun toward Dallas. “Sweetness?”
Dallas whispered in his ear, leaning close enough to press his body against King’s side, which got his ass squeezed, not that it seemed like he minded.
King massaged Dallas’s lower back and nodded at whatever he was saying.
When Dallas stepped away, he had King’s cigarettes and lighter.
He made a beeline for the door that opened onto the patio, and I realized he was going to check out there for good old Marty Loubeck.
I had a few things I’d like to say to the fucker that had started this mess.
“Might as well enjoy yourself,” Will said, knocking his beer bottle against mine. “How many Kings can say they’ve had a beer at the Precinct. Prez will be bragging about this shit for weeks, after he’s done hurling tomorrow morning.”
“Yeah, yeah. I will. You’re always a good time.” I nudged his knee with mine, and he flicked up the brim of my hat.
“What if you just met me in a bar today?” he asked, dark eyebrows raised.
“I’d take you home and fuck you until you begged me never to stop.” I nipped the end of his nose.
He laughed, and I loved the way the warm sound rolled out of him.
“Well, I’m leaving. I can’t watch this shit,” O’Neill announced to the entire bar. No one responded as he pursed his lips tighter than an asshole and tossed cash on the bar.
“No. Wait. Everyone wanted you to stay.” Will snickered, and that had O’Neill breathing fire, but then a few guys nearby chuckled.
O’Neill spun toward the off-duty cops, and they got very interested in their drinks. He knocked his barstool over on his way out the door.
Will rested his hand on his ribs as he chuckled. He probably needed his meds, but I bit my tongue. He’d asked me to back off, and I was trying to listen to him, had to learn how to do that.
No matter how much I hated it.
About ten minutes later, Dallas came back inside dragging along the scent of cigarette smoke and shook his head as he reached us.
“Shit,” Will snarled, startling me. He scowled at his beer.
Dallas slid onto the stool beside King. “It’s fine. This would’ve been a difficult place to talk to him anyway. We can go,” he said to King as he passed back his smokes and lighter.
“In a bit,” King said, still carefully listening to a story Balinski was telling, leaning close to the old man.
Real frustration flashed across Dallas’s face, something that was rare around King.
Will winced and rubbed his ribs, and all at once, I couldn’t wait for this night to be over.
I wanted to take him home. Lay him out on my bed.
Play with that tiny ring through his taint.
Blow him until I was choking on his jizz.
Then, I wanted him to look at me, all gentle, like I was fucking great.
I licked my lips.
Maybe bury my cock in his ass and leave it there for a few hours. My dick took a serious interest in this line of thinking. But none of that shit was gonna happen until we found this asshole.