Page 86 of Choices

Eyeballing me across the kitchen, Callan slips into his cut as he strides to the counter and pulls a cleaver from the knife block.

That’s what I’m talking about.

Nodding my head, I take Kitty’s hand and lead her to the bar where everyone gathers. No more of her being sent to her room. She deserves to face this prick.

“Pres?” Dodger asks.

Pres looks around the room, then swipes a hand across his chin, his lips thinning. “We have guests. I want a peaceful resolution, but a show of power doesn’t hurt,” he tells his soldiers, all armed and ready. “There’s been a misunderstanding and I’m going to set it straight.”

“With who?” Green asks, unsteady on his feet. His chest and stomach are bare, his jeans ride too low on his hips showing a bush of pubic hair hanging over the top, his gun shoved down the front.

“Does it fucking matter who?” Pres growls. “Go put some fucking clothes on. You’re an embarrassment.”

Looking at his brother, his eyes almost cross. The fucker is wasted. Most of us are.

Wheels homes in on my hand clasped in Kitty’s, a frown marring his forehead. Kitty tenses and pulls free, folding her arms over her chest. Wheels steadies Green before he falls over and helps him into a seat.

Footfalls pound through the halls. Seconds later, Grease and Diamond enter with Michael Jr. and three of his bodyguards.Like they’ll be enough to take us down.

“Your man relieved us of our weapons—not the same courtesy we show you,” Michael says, his eyes wild, hair sticking up, no tie or jacket, his shirt half tucked into his slacks. I’ve never seen the man less than put together, let alone this disheveled.

“You’re lucky that’s all they stripped you of,” I snap.

Pres raises his hand, hushing me. “When we come to your home, we’re invited,” he informs Michael, raising a brow.

Michael’s lip curls as he surveys the room. “I thought we had an open invite. My brother was apparently here before he went missing off the face of the earth.”

“Your brother was killed by gang members because he was a cokehead and you cut off his supply,” I remind him.

Anger tightens his features, and his fists clench.Take your best shot, asshole.

“Let’s not forget who offered you retribution for that—and we’ve never claimed on it,” Callan cuts in, his tone deep and menacing. The fucker looks like he could take them all out without breaking a sweat.

“Is that because you have shit to hide?” Michael’s eyes shift to the cleaver gripped tightly in Callan’s hand.

“Careful,” Pres warns Michael. “You’re walking a tightrope in oil-soled shoes, son.”

Callan takes a measured step in Michael’s direction. “Nicolas was here partying with Kit one night when we got back from a run. We told her not to bring him here again and sent him on his way. Nothing to hide, nothing to tell, hence why we’ve never mentioned it.”

“What’s with the weapon? You going to kill me, Callan? That doesn’t seem like a man with nothing to hide.”

“Do you have memory loss or have you been snorting your own supply?” Callan seethes through greeted teeth, pointing to Kitty. “You put your fucking hands on my sister.”

Michael blinks before turning his head in her direction. “She caught me off guard.”

“I don’t give a fuck.”

Pres moves to Callan’s side and rests a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s all calm down. There’s emotion involved, and that makes us all a little reckless.”

The trio of men in black suits dart their attention in all directions, anxiously out of their depth. Not only are they outnumbered, they’re out-fucking-matched. They’re in the lion’s den covered in blood. Michael’s acting on impulse and that could get him killed.

“Kitty,” Michael attempts.

“Don’t talk to her,” I bark. “You lost that privilege, motherfucker.” I’m hostile, and he’s brazen enough to stare the devil in my eyes for longer than most.

“Does your father know you’re here?” Pres asks.

Turning his attention to Pres, he tilts his head. “No. I just want answers.”

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