KING(41)

She owned him.

“Who was that?” I asked. I watched from the window as the couple climbed onto a shiny black motorcycle. Her husband helped her with her helmet before they rode off down the drive, disappearing under the trees.

“If they wanted you to know, they would’ve told you.”

“They’re in love.”

“I sure as shit hope so. They’re married. Got a kid, too.”

King took off his gloves and tossed them into a stainless steel bin beside his worktable. He stood and joined me at the window. I could feel the heat from his body radiating onto my back. He leaned over me, his cheek brushing up against my temple. I closed my eyes and tried not to allow his nearness to affect me.

I’m stronger than this.

“There are plenty of married people in the world, but it doesn’t mean all of them are in love. Not like that, anyway.”

“No,” King agreed. “It doesn’t.” He stepped away, leaving nothing but cold air in his place. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“Do you want me to leave?” I asked, turning from the window. King was sitting on the couch with his phone in his hands.

“No, I have a lot of people coming tonight. You can help me.”

“You’re really talented,” I offered.

“You don’t have to say that,” King said, tapping away at the screen.

“I’m not trying to be nice. It’s true. Her tattoo was seriously amazing.”

“Hhmpf,” he grunted, not looking up from his phone.

“You know, it’s customary to say thank you when someone compliments you.”

“Thanks for the heads up.”

A car door slammed below, and two girls about my age giggled as they approached the door. The bell rang.

“Bring them up,” he ordered.

My job over the next several hours consisted of shuffling the music when King needed a change of pace, running downstairs to get him Red Bulls, and sitting around doing nothing. At one point, I stood up, told King that I was just taking up space, and that I should get out of his way. He glared at me and nodded back to the couch.

“Why do you do this when you do…other things?” I asked him between clients while I was washing out paint containers in the small sink. “And why don’t you have a real shop instead of doing this out of your house?”

“You ask a lot of f*cking questions,” King pointed out.

“Two.”

“What?”

“You said I ask a lot of questions. I only asked two.”

King folded his arms over his chest, accentuating his toned biceps. “If you must know, I do this because I’ve always done it. Art was the only class I liked as a kid. And I do this in my house because the places around here that are any sort of decent are on the other side of the causeway, and the rent wouldn’t make the business worth having. Happy?”

“So you do this because art was the only class you were good at in school?”

“More f*cking questions,” King sighed. “And you don’t listen. I did well in school. Very well, actually. I said art was the only class I liked, not the only class I was good at.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling stupid that I’d jumped to that conclusion. “I’m sorry. I just thought…”

“I’m a bad guy, pup, not a dumb guy.”

“I didn’t say you were dumb.”

“Look in that drawer over there.” He pointed at a tool box. I opened the drawer. In it was a framed degree from the University of South Florida. Under it was a gun.

“Why do you keep this in here? Why don’t you hang it up?”

“Because I earned the degree online.”

“That’s not a big…”

“While in prison,” King interrupted. “And I’m glad I did it. I like having it, but putting it on the wall would mean I was proud of it. My feelings are a lot more mixed than that. Besides, Grace says you should always have a drawer that reminds you that who you are and what you do aren’t always the same thing.”

“Who’s Grace?”

“You’ll find out.”

“Well, why don’t you just start your own business?”

King laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“You are, pup.”

“Why is that?”