Page 48 of King of Pain
I throw my head back, laughing. “You’re a good friend, Jen.”
“I know,” she says smugly.
As the song ends, something changes. Ant freezes in the middle of the dance floor, his face turning pale. My eyes followhis line of sight, and I spot someone dressed as a priest. The man is heading toward Ant. His movements seem deliberate, but he could just be crossing the club. It’s Halloween, after all, and a priest costume wouldn’t be unusual.
But then I see his face, and there’s no mistaking it. It’s the same creep who came into Devil Records.
Ant’s hands fly up defensively, his body language screaming panic.
My blood runs cold.
Without thinking, I push through the crowd, adrenaline surging.
Grabbing the priest by the front of his robe, I lift him off the ground and carry him off the dance floor. I slam him against the wall, and pin my arm against his neck. The man’s eyes enlarge just slightly, but he doesn’t say a word.
“I don’t know what your game is, priest,” I growl, my voice low and dangerous. “But I know intimidation tactics when I see them. If you ever come near him again, I will end you. Do you understand me?”
He sneers at me and doesn’t respond.
I press my forearm harder against his throat. “Maybe I wasn’t clear. If you so much asthinkof him, I will find you, and I will kill you in the most unpleasant way imaginable. Understood?”
He forces out a strained “yes” from his constricted throat, and my eyes search his for any sign of truth. This method of intimidation—I’ve seen it before from the Black Crows in Boston. The thought of Halloween and costumes flashes through my mind.
Gripping his collar, I hoist him up and slam him against the wall again. “You’re not even a priest, are you? Who hired you?” I demand.
He doesn’t answer, just sneers again, defiance glinting in his eyes. Realizing the scene I’m causing, I reluctantly let him go.The man bolts, vanishing into the crowd just as Jen and Butters push through to where I’m standing.
“What the fuck was that about?” Jen demands, her eyes darting between me and where Ant is still frozen on the dance floor.
“Take him outside,” I say, jerking my head toward Ant. “He needs air.”
Butters nods, grabbing him by the arm and leading him and Jen out the back entrance to the club. I stay behind for a moment, my hands still shaking. The look on Ant’s face flashes in my mind: fear, raw and unfiltered. Whatever this was, it wasn’t random.
I head out the same back exit a couple minutes later. I find him in the alley behind the bar, sitting on a low wall. Jen gives me a look before heading back inside with Butters, leaving us alone.
Ant’s head is bowed, his shoulders tense. When he looks up, his eyes are glassy. “I don’t know what to say right now,” he murmurs. “Thank you. I wish I had the strength to tell you more.”
“You don’t need to tell me anything right now,” I say softly, stepping closer. “Everyone has a story, Ant. And everyone has agency over when and how they tell that story… and to whom.”
A tear escapes the corner of his eye and slides down his cheek. My insides ignite at the sight, a rage building deep within me. I want to pull him close, to tell him he’s safe, but I hold back. For now.
I want to ask him if he’s in danger, but I know he won’t tell me the truth, so I’ll assume that he is and plan accordingly. No, I won’t prod anymore tonight, but whatever this is, I’ll be here for him when he’s ready.
I smile gently, offer a hand up and say, “Come on, Beautiful, let’s go get some cheese fries and talk about how dumb people who like the newer Star Wars installments are.”
A shaky laugh escapes him, and I take that as a victory.
Ant and I walk toward an all-night diner near Devil House, and my pulse races, trying to piece together what the hell just happened. My fists are still clenched from slamming that creep against the wall, and my chest burns with an anger I’m not ready to shake. What kind of game was he playing, showing up here? Watching Ant freeze on that dance floor, seeing the sheer panic in his eyes, fuck, it made me want to break something. Someone.
I’m not sure what this guy’s deal is, or what kind of nightmares he’s dredging up for Ant, but I am sure of one thing: I’ll be damned if I let the man get near him again. Ant doesn’t have to tell me his story yet, not until he’s ready, but that doesn’t mean I’m blind. It’s clear something dark has been eating at him for a long time, leaving wounds so deep they threaten to bleed him out. Tonight, I saw just how close to the surface those wounds are.
The thing that’s messing me up the most is how carefree Ant was before the guy showed up. Seeing him loosen up tonight—laughing, dancing, even being a little flirty—it was beautiful. He looked free, lighter than I’ve ever seen him. The way he poked me in the chest and teased me about my jersey earlier… fuck, it was killing me not to touch him, to pull him close and tell him how magnificent he is when he lets that guard down.
Maybe tonight would’ve been the night. Maybe if that asshole hadn’t shown up, I’d finally have worked up the courage to make a move. To slide my fingers through his hair and hold him steady as I searched his eyes for permission—for need—and then, finally, claim the lips that have always looked like they belonged to me.
My anger flares up all over again. I clench my fists harder, digging my nails into my palms to ground myself. Whoever this “priest” is, he’s a threat—and I know how to deal with threats. If he thinks he can use whatever power he has to scare Ant, he’s got another thing coming.
I don’t know who or what haunts you, Anthony Pacini, but I know exactly how I’m going to protect you.
