Page 1 of Relentles
Prelude – Double Dealing – K-P
Each little sound raised the hairs on Kaleb Paul Andrews’ nape. Stones dropped to the pit of his stomach, distracting him from the papers he poured over. Not only because of motherfucking Logan Donovan and the bigger sonofabitch whowas also known as Reverend Motherfucker Sharper Banks. If they didn’t blaze to New Orleans themselves, they’d send fucking Rack after him.
But the Dwellers were nothing but a den of blood ties and monumental lies.
K-P wasn’t a pussy by any means; he just enjoyed cooking. Sue his fucking ass. However, what he was willingly and knowingly doing betrayed those two fucking psychopaths and their lapdog.
They had eyes and ears the world over, so, yes, every noise scared the fuck out of him. If they knew what he was doing, they’d skin him the fuck alive.
A premonition of doom hit K-P and he couldn’t stop the shiver assailing him.
In the near distance, something thudded, and K-P paused, sweat popping off him. He didn’t need to finish reading the documents, so he gathered them together, tapped the thick stack of papers against the dusty table in Roxanne’s attic to make sure the edges met, rolled them up and secured them with a rubber band.
After stuffing them into a specially made cylinder, he placed it against the exposed wood frame.
Footsteps pounded on the rickety, dropdown staircase. Spinning around, K-P placed his body in front of the cut sheetrock, glad the rectangle was only a foot in width and two feet in length. Made it easier to hide.
Big Joe stepped into the attic. The overhead light beamed off his blond hair, pinned up in a manbun. His blue gaze roamed the place, touching each crowded corner, every layer of dust on the wooden floors, the boxes of Mardi Gras and Christmas decorations, and the pieces of furniture.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Joe?” K-P snapped, turning back to the task at hand. After opening the container ofreadymade drywall mud, he snatched the trowel from the floor, then grabbed the forgotten piece of sheetrock he’d cut out with a utility knife and fit it back into place.
Joe hadn’t answered, so K-P dived into his second question. “Why the fuck are you up here with me, asshole? Roxanne will be suspicious enough seeing my fucking ass coming out her attic. But if it’s the two of us…?”
Fuck, those stones dropped into the pit of his stomach again. He hated to deceive her. The woman was plain damn hell-on-wheels, and he loved every inch of her.
“K-P?”
Just as the thought crossed K-P’s mind, her voice floated to him.
“Fuck me,” he grumbled, hurrying with his task. He’d have to get back to smooth over the piss poor float job. He was just happy she’d stored furniture up there.
“Me and Joe searching for some of your old photographs,” he called down, wincing at the scraping of the table legs when he shoved it against the wall containing the evidence of his double-dealing.
Silence and then, “Joe is here, too?”
“Yeah, sweetheart,” Joe answered, then sniggered. “Sorry for intruding but I had to come and see my second favorite girl.”
K-P glared at Joe, who grinned and shrugged.
“Not funny, asshole,” K-P warned as Roxanne called, “I have some albums downstairs, but if you’re looking for club photos, there’s a big plastic bin near my old sofa.”
It had beentheirold sofa, but K-P didn’t point that out. “Okay, thanks, babe,” he responded.
She didn’t say anything for a moment, but then another question floated up. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming into town?”
It had been an impulsive decision, precipitated by madmen. “I wanted to surprise you and Bailey,” he lied.
“Can you and Big Joe stay for dinner?”
“Actually, babe, we were hoping to stay for two or three days,” Joe answered before K-P could. “Won’t look so suspicious,” he whispered to K-P.
“I can prepare the guestroom foryou, K-P,” Roxanne called.
“What about me?” Joe returned, grinning from ear to ear.
“Let me call the local kennel, motherfucker,” she snapped. “You should fucking fit right in with the goddamn dogs.”
“Ouch. You wound me, Roxy,” Joe said, hooting with laughter.
