Page 16 of Kings Have No Mercy

Ozzie and the other guys gladly follow my order. They lean sideways for an open and unembarrassed appraisal of her—leeringlike drunk dumbasses.

It doesn’t hurt that the girl’s being all sexy and cute taking orders. She’s smiling and doing that thing chicks do where they fake laugh at unfunny shit guys say. She’s strutting across the saloon in those damn cutoff denim shorts, leaning over tables pretending she can’t hear, meanwhile giving the guys a front-row view of cleavage.

It’s all a fucking act.

She’s not a real slut like the other club girls that come through wanting a good time with the guys. She’s not even trying to get chose and made an old lady.

Neither is the real reason she’s here.

As if I don’t have enough stuff on my plate between being acting prez and this situation with the Hellrazors. Today’s mission was a shitshow and we failed to establish that we’re not gonna let them fuck with us just ’cuz Tom’s behind bars. The King’s rule is as strong as ever.

If they think for one second they’ll get away with shooting up Bush’s trailer and battering our prospects, they’re sorely mistaken.

I toss back the last of my beer and then push off the table. Cash won’t trick me a second time. I’ve had enough of the club and need some privacy. Several of the guys try to stop me on my way out, but I ignore them.

I leave the saloon altogether.

Years ago, when Mom died and Tom put his all into the club, he had a house built out back on what used to be an empty lot of dust and rocks. Nothing too fancy… but large enough to house several people comfortably. He and Velma usually spend a couple nights a week here.

Sometimes… I do too. Now that I’m acting prez, I’ll probably be sleeping here a lot more often.

I walk through the door with a hand scrubbing over my face, then fingers sliding over my short buzzcut head of hair. It’s like the hangover I had earlier returns. A dull ache starts up just like it had this morning.

Fuck.

I need sleep. A good night’s sleep.

I make it to the stairs before realizing Velma’s already here. She’s in the laundry room off the stairs, standing in front of the washer and dryer. Linens and towels fill her arms. She looks up when I stop short in the doorway.

“Hey, Mace. Figured you’d be turning in soon,” she says.

“What’re the sheets for?”

She blows out a breath like it’s a chore answering. “Don’t be an asshole like earlier. But I offered the girl a place to stay.”

“You what!? You better be fucking kidding, Velma!”

“There you go! Being an asshole!”

“I’ll be the fucking devil if it means getting rid that bitch!”

She rolls her eyes. “She’s got nowhere else to stay. You don’t even know the girl.”

“Neither do you. Neither does anybody. Yet here you are, giving her a damn job at the club! Now you want her under our roof too?”

“She’s homeless… and broke. She just came off a bad marriage. I think he was abusive.”

I take a step toward her. “She told you that?”

“No… but I know a troubled woman when I see one, asshole,” she snaps. “You forget how I first came to the Kings?”

“Your situation and whatever that girl’s doing are very different.”

“It’s only for a few nights. ’Til she can find a place. I’ll put her up in the den. Downstairs. Far away from you.”

Velma wanders off with the armful of linens she’s clutching.

I could stop her. Put my foot down. Demand she fire the girl. Damn sure kick her out, even if it means she’s sleeping on the streets, before she ever crosses the threshold into our house.

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