Killian storms off, and I watch as the valet driver quickly grabs the keys from beneath the stand and scurries off.
“Killian!” I yell out, jogging to catch up to him. “What do you mean your mom is getting fucked?”
Killian doesn’t stop. He continues walking until the valet parks the SUV up against the curb. I thank him because Killian clearly isn’t going to, and I jump into the passenger seat, turning to face him. His head is turned out the window, his features marred with anger.
“Kill?” I question.
“What, Dove?” he snaps, glaring right at me. “Why do you fucking care so much?”
“Because I just do. It’s what the fuck I do!” I snap back.
“Well, you shouldn’t.” His eyes glass over, and suddenly, I don’t feel as though I’m having a conversation with Killian. I’m having a conversation with the shell of him.
“Why?” I ask, reaching for his leg. “You’ve always been the nicest one to me.”
He scoffs, and then leans forward, until his lips are brushing against mine. “If you knew half of the shit that we have done, not just to others, but to you, you wouldn’t be so nice. Nor would you be bouncing on King’s dick either.” He sits back, as though he didn’t just raze me with his words.
“What do you mean?” I ask, tapping his leg. “Killian!”
He ignores me now, keeping his eyes outside. “Nothing, Little Bird. I’m just playing.”
I twist back in my seat and sigh, leaning my head against the headrest. The car fills with the scent of marijuana, and I turn slightly to see Killian smoking a joint. I smile weakly at him, before the front door slamming cuts me off.
Keaton and Kyrin are laughing, throwing their shirts over their head as King is scolding them from behind. I never did find out what Killian meant about them fucking his mom. He can’t be serious.
They all climb back into the car, Kyrin sliding in next to Killian. “Oh, come on. You know she can’t have King, so she goes for us. You could have mine, but she’s, ya know, old and shit.”
Killian flips Kyrin off. “Why can’t you keep your dick out of her for three seconds?”
Keaton slams the door closed. “In my defense, I think she used her juju on me.”
Kyrin laughs again, and my eyes catch King, who shakes his head and pulls out of the driveway as he drives us back to the tent.
I almost forgot all about Midnight Mayhem because tonight was so bizarre.
The Texas show goes smoothly, and I dance my set perfectly. I did more ballet movements with my solo acts, but when I finally recruit my new members, I will have that scene be fresh and raunchy—purely for entertainment. Delila agreed to fly me out to the boat next week, which works perfectly because, right now, we’ve just got into New Orleans for our month break. I didn’t ask why here, but I have a feeling that maybe New Orleans is where one of The Brother’s family is. Or maybe they just prefer it here.
King has been cryptic since that night, and aside from always having a hand or something on me when we’re in public, he’s not been around me much, which has been ideal, because I wanted to be able to think about what he was offering. Which is something I still don’t know.
“Dove!” King swipes open the curtain of my room, just as I’m reaching for my clothes. I’m standing in my bra and panties and nothing else.
“Wow, couldn’t you knock?”
He cuts his glare to me, running his eyes up and down my body. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”
My chest rises and falls. The more time I spend with King, the more I see him open. He has a hard shell, one that, as far as I’m concerned, no one has been able to so much as scratch the surface of, but there are times, small times, where I see him struggle with something internally.
“Thanks,” I mumble, rolling my eyes. “Why is it that when you’re not yelling at me, you’re scolding me.”
His hands come to the back of my thighs, and I squeal out in shock as he picks me up from the ground. “I yell a lot,” he grunts out, biting my lip. “But you scream a lot more.” His smirk presses against my mouth.
“What are we doing, King?” I ask, searching his eyes.
He groans, rolling his head back, before coming back to me. “Why does there have to be a thing? Why can’t we just go with it?” Maybe because when people ‘just go with it’ that’s how they get hurt…
I shrug. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I don’t know where we draw the line between yelling at each other and sleeping together.”
He seems to ponder my words, his fingers flexing around my thighs. The edges of his sharp jaw tense. “Alright,” he answers, hiking me up higher. I squeeze my legs around his waist. “How about this. No strings and no label.”