Page 51 of King

“Same here,” Priest added.

“Uh, guys,” I heard Frank say.

“You each got a kid?”

All three of them said yes.

“All babies?”

“Yeah,” Priest answered first. “Mine is a boy, about two months old.”

“Mine too,” Frank replied. “Kid was just lying in the middle of the lab. Ain’t no one here but him. What the fuck is going on, King?”

“I’ve got a girl. About the same age too King,” Pyro informed then asked, “Who the fuck do they belong to?”

Thinking fast, I muttered. “Grab what they need, then blow the fucking places. Rendezvous in thirty. Light this fucking mountain up.”

Disconnecting the coms, I found a bag and shoved clothes, diapers, and anything else I could fit into it before carefully picking up the baby and holding her close. Leaving the trailer, I placed the baby next to the sleeping dog and quickly placed my charges around the trailer and surrounding area. I disconnected the coms, picked up the baby, and unleashed the dog. “Go on now, boy. You’re free.”

The dog looked up at me before laying his head back down.

“Seriously dude. This place is about to blow. You don’t want to be here when it does. Get!” I shouted, trying to shoo the dog away. Instead, the stubborn dog didn’t move. Not waiting any longer, I walked away and when I looked back, I saw the dog following me. When I knew I was a safe distance away, I reached into my pocket for my phone and dialed a number. On the third ring, a large explosion rocked the mountain side, lighting up the night sky.

Moments later, I heard another explosion, then another and another.

Looking at the bundle in my arms, I shook my head at the sleeping baby. “Who the fuck do you belong to, kid?”

Chapter Seventeen

Bailey

King had been gone for over twenty-four hours now. He never told me where he was going or what he was doing, not that I cared. He was a grown ass man, and he could do whatever the hell he wanted. It was none of my business. Yet, that didn’t stop me from looking out my shop window every five fucking minutes.

“Everything okay, Venom?” one of my top tier clients asked. Fucker flew in from New York City to have me finish up the tattoo on his back I’d been working on for over a year now. It was my pride and joy. His tattoo took up his whole back and after several sessions, today was for the final touches.

The skeletal reaper, head bowed in prayer, holding a crucifix on a chain, was the centerpiece. That bitch took forever to get right. A dark shroud covering most of its face was the easy part and so was shading in the lost souls floating around him in the back, but it was the skulls under his feet that took the longest. There were so many, and my client wanted each one a certain way. That took some planning and a lot of arguing, but we finally settled on the best course of action. Mainly, I told him how it was going to go or have someone else do the damn tattoo. In the end, I won and now I was almost done.

“Venom?”

Jumping at his voice, I turned and said, “It’s nothing, Montana.”

“Liar,” he chuckled, turning back around. “So, who is the bastard who’s got you all riled up? If Dog was still around, I’d help that fucker get rid of him. You’re too good for just anyone, Venom.”

Ignoring him, I went back to inking his back. I liked Montana. He was a straightforward dude. A little crass for my taste, but he was like all the others. Fucking hot as hell, muscular in all the right places and extremely dangerous.

I wasn’t stupid.

I knew who Montana Stone was.

Fucker was worth millions. Some big wig whoop-de-do from the Big Apple who ran a multi-million-dollar business with his dad. Bastard had his face in the papers all the time and just like every jack-off with too much money, Montana liked to play the badass.

“You know, I could have helped you find a place in the city. You’d get a hell of a lot more traffic there than here in some tourist attraction.”

“I like this tourist attraction.”

“Got several friends who would kill to have one of your designs.”

“They can send me an email like everyone else.”

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