Pawn (The Pawn Duet #2) - T.M. Frazier Page 0,33
me back, but you don’t gotta do it now. And you ain’t selling your fucking shop. That’s final.”
“I don’t see any other way,” I reply.
“You’re a smart kid, Pike. Don’t consider it an investment in the deal that went bust. Consider the cash an investment in you. Long term.”
“But,” I begin to argue.
“You love your shop, right?” King asks. He looks around his own studio. “Probably as much as I love this fucking place.”
I nod. “It’s the first real thing I ever owned that was truly mine.”
“Then, you ain’t giving it up. That’s an order. You’ve got a future ahead of you. I’ll be here when you figure your shit out, and I know you will because as I’ve said, I see a lot of myself in you, and I know that right now you’re trying to think of a million alternative ways to pay me back, and you won’t stop until you do. It wasn’t your fault, but I know you’ll make right by it. Try and sell it and I’ll buy it back in your name and then you’ll owe me even more.”
He’s right.
King smirks because he fucking knows he’s right. “And on that note, you want a tat or something?” he asks, pouring another shot for each of us.
I down mine quickly. This time, there is no burn from the alcohol, just from the bittersweet truth trickling down my throat.
I shake my head. “Not tonight,” I say, wanting to get to the point of why King wanted me to be here now that I’ve laid out my plans for him.
King walks over to the nearest swivel stool and takes a seat. Even in the small chair, it’s as if he’s just sat upon his throne in the Kingdom that he built. “Then, did you come here just to stare at my walls, or was it just to tell me your plans and claim your girl?” he asks, lighting a cigarette and holding out the pack to me. I take one and light it as well, perplexed by his question.
“Uh, you asked me to come here,” I remind him.
King shakes his head. “I got a lot going on right now, but remembering who I set a meeting with isn’t something I ever forget.”
I frown and reach into my back pocket, and pull out the note he sent me this morning. I hand it to King.
He takes a deep drag off his smoke. He looks from the note to me. “This wasn’t me.”
“Then, who?” I ask.
The door slowly creaks open.
Our eyes meet as we both realize we’ve been set up. King springs out of his chair and heads to the wall safe behind one of the drawings, and I draw my gun from my waistband as he pulls out a weapon of his own.
“Who the fuck is there?” King shouts, grabbing a gun from the safe he takes a position on one side of the door while I take another.
A man walks in with his hands on his head as if he’s being arrested. I can only see the back of him from my position. His head is shaved down to the skin. He’s wearing a white tank top and baggy jeans. He’s got tattoos, shitty ones depicting swastikas and…
“Oh, shit,” I whisper to myself before realizing there isn’t time for hesitation when it comes to Percy Alban.
I rush forward and kick out his legs from behind, sending him to his knees. I press the gun to the back of his head. “You’ve got two minutes to speak before I blow your fucking brains through your forehead.”
“I’m not armed. I didn’t come here to cause shit,” he says, calmly. Too calmly. “I came here to talk.”
“Oh yeah? Who else did you bring to have this talk?” King asks, stepping in front of Percy.
Percy shakes his head. “No one, man. Check your fucking cameras. I came in here alone.”
King steps over to the monitors beside the door and checks the cameras. He nods to me. “He’s tellin’ the truth. He’s alone.”
“I told you,” Percy says. “I just came here to talk.”
“Why should I fucking talk to you, of all fucking people?” I grate, as King steps to the other side.
He looks over his shoulder at me. “Because I need help, from both of you.” He looks to King and then to me with what looks like tears in his eyes. “And so does Mickey.”
“Give me one fucking reason why I shouldn’t put a bullet in your fucking head right the