Page 62 of Kings Don't Break

“You don’t have to participate. This mission’s going to be kept small. Only a handful of guys. You probably already know who you are.”

Mace rises up again, clamping a hand to my shoulder. “Cash’ll be leading this one. It’ll be kept small for discretion. All our drug and armament deals are going to have to be more underground ’til we’ve got them off our back. That includes the gambling rings.”

A collective groan echoes through the saloon.

The meeting carries on for another forty minutes. I’ve long tuned out by its end.

A thousand other thoughts occupy my head. My mind’s mapping out the deal we’ll soon be carrying out with the Barreras cartel, obsessing over even the smallest things that could go wrong. I’m preoccupied with thoughts of Korine at the Chop Shop and how fucking sexy she looks in the coveralls, bent over a bike as she repairs it. Then I’m feeling like a creepy horndog for even letting my mind go there.

She’s not even officially divorced yet. She’s still struggling with the aftermath of her relationship with her piece of shit husband and I’m over here fantasizing about something that’s never going to happen.

The thing is, it’s been a while. Over a month.

I’m not used to going this long without female touch. Without charming some woman around town into bed. And though I could any night if I wanted to—I’ve got no commitment to anyone—I’m holding back.

The idea of hooking up with some chick I’ve picked up at the bar couldn’t sound less appealing.

It feels… wrong.

I force myself to stop digging for the reason why. Deep down I know what’s got me feeling that way, but it’s not something I can think about.

Korine is off limits. It’s got to stay that way.

“Alright,” Mace says to quiet down the ribble-rabble going on toward the end of the meeting. “That’s enough for today. Get the hell out my face and go enjoy yourselves.”

Several Kings explode in cheers, slamming their beer steins together, spilling Texas Brew everywhere. Nobody cares. Not even the barmaids. They simply laugh and shake their heads in scolding, knowing damn well it’s expected out of these gatherings.

I’m about to dip out sight unseen when Melody, one of the barmaids, releases a shriek. The only guy not immediately getting drunk off his ass, I jut my chin at her. “What’s up? Something wrong?”

“The cops! They’re headed this way!” she chokes out, turning to me with big, round eyes.

“Fuck.” I check over her shoulder out the bar window.

Sure enough, two police officers in uniform approach the doors. One is some string bean, smug-looking asshole I’ve never seen, and the other is none other than Kenneth Stricklin. They walk like they believe they own the streets. As if they believe they own our fucking club bar too. I turn around to address the bar room floor.

“Listen up—we’ve got visitors!”

Barely another few seconds pass before the saloon doors swing open and they barge in. Things go from loud and rowdy to so quiet you could hear a fucking piece of lint flutter to the floor.

Mace meets them halfway, his expression representing the steel we’re named after.

Stricklin and the other officer share looks. The two assholes are here to cause shit. That much couldn’t be clearer. They stand clutching their belts and peering around the crowded bar like it’s their territory to rule. They couldn’t be more mistaken.

“Can we help you?” Mace asks.

The officer with Stricklin answers with a shrug. “We’re here for a drink. Ain’t that what this is—a bar that serves refreshments?”

“This is our club. Kings only,” Mace says.

He and Stricklin share another look. “Are you aware that, by law, you’re required to serve everybody during business hours?”

“We’re closed. Now get the hell out of here.”

Stricklin’s cheek twitches as his attention shifts beyond Mace. He’s peering right at me from over Mace’s shoulder. “Seems like you’re hiding something. You boys wouldn’t happen to be up to no good, would you? We might be forced to take action.”

I rush over, cutting a path in between where Mace stands and the two pieces of shit hover. “What part of we’re closed don’t you fucking understand?”

“Cash!”