Laurent and the Beast (Kings of Hell MC 1)

Laurent brushed his hair over his shoulder. “Did I misunderstand the meaning of the word? The context is of not chaining someone to yourself, is it not? And I have noticed that liberty is the biggest value for all Kings of Hell.”

“Well, I can’t tell you what you’re supposed to want for yourself,” Beast said somewhat sharply.

Laurent paused, giving it some thought. “I believe nothing is as valuable as freedom.” He glanced to the door that Beast always kept locked. Knight was allowed in there. Would Laurent now be too? He didn’t dare ask just yet.

Beast downed a whole glass of juice. “I’m hungry. Do you want to go out and have breakfast somewhere?”

Laurent nodded. Preparations took much longer than usual, because showering turned out to be much more pleasurable together. Then the paint on Laurent’s eyes wouldn’t come off, so he made a detour to Nao’s, which also provided him the chance to stop in his own room and change into fresh clothes that Beast would like so much better.

It was fine for him to take a bit of time, because Beast wanted to go feed Hound anyway, but the truth about last night’s events tickled at the back of Laurent’s throat when he spoke to Nao. She was very curious whether he managed to find a partner, but he tried to tell as few lies as possible.

Once he was done with his errands and went downstairs in search of Beast, he felt thoroughly refreshed and like himself again in the clothes Beast had chosen for him the first time they went shopping together. Laurent did pin his priceless brooch to the lapel of his leather jacket though, and he was happy to find it suited this new modern style just fine.

He was halfway to the billiard room when an old man stumbled into the corridor, cutting off his way. It took Laurent several seconds to realize that the mass of matted gray hair and the curled shoulders belonged to none other than King, who’d sported bright golden hair just last evening.

Martina followed him out, dressed in last night’s clothes and with traces of makeup on her cheeks. Her hair was a bit of a mess, but despite the copious amount of alcohol she consumed at every party, she did not seem in a shape nearly as bad as King was.

“Please, you can dye it. Lots of men do that,” Martina cooed, stepping back when her man moaned, rubbing his forehead. “Are you gonna be sick again? Do you want some mint tea? Coffee?” she tried, but King dismissed all her efforts with rude, rapid gestures.

Martina eventually noticed Laurent and sighed, crossing her arms under her breasts. “It’s fine. He had a bit too much to drink last night.”

Only then did it occur to King that he was being watched, and pale, wild eyes spat poison at Laurent from behind the silvery, tangled mane. “You. Come here, you little fucker.”

Martina approached, trying to calm him down, but after a few dismissive words, she must have had enough and rushed the other way, barefoot and with high heels in hand.

King didn’t even move like a human being anymore, stumbling against the wall like a wounded wolf that had lost too much blood. Laurent didn’t dare move when he approached, hunched over like the most pitiful drunks of Brecon in Laurent’s time. In 2017 wives weren’t keen on helping their men at all cost. Martina was technically not King’s wife, but it still seemed to Laurent that she was, by common law at least.

“Get in,” King urged, pushing Laurent into the open room, which reeked of liquor and sweat.

Laurent smiled nervously. He’d seen the men sometimes call each other ‘fucker’ and laugh about it, but the tone of King’s words didn’t make it seem like he was in a playful mood. “How can I help, Mr. King?”

“Mr. King, my ass,” King hissed and pushed at Laurent so hard he almost landed on the dirty mattress covered only by a sheet that was halfway on the floor anyway. “Look at me. What have you done?” he asked, pushing back to reveal an earthy complexion and dull, blotchy eyes.

He looked like a badly aged man.

“I?” Laurent stumbled away, assessing his chances in case he needed to run. He was wary not to let King approach him close enough to be at arm’s length. “Are you just tired after too much drink, sir?”

King gritted his teeth, ferocious like a sickly wolf out for food. “Don’t you fucking play dumb, little boy. I’m drained. I don’t feel like myself. It’s like the connection I share with my son has been cut. Do you want to starve me out before he turns thirty three?”

Laurent licked his lips, hiding the sense of satisfaction at King not being able to steal from Beast. The guilt that accompanied him last night evaporated in the sense of achievement when he realized that he unknowingly aided his lover in getting back at his secret tormentor. “What happens when he turns thirty three, sir? And I don’t understand how your current condition is my fault.”