Walking over to the big guy, I smiled up at him. “How ya been, Uncle Clive?”
“Been better, girlie. This little fella givin’ ya problems?”
“Oh, nuttin’ I can’t handle.” I grinned just as Cameron ran in through the front door and everything happened fast, as my uncle Clive pushed me out of the way to get to Mitch, who lunged for Cameron, grabbing the kid and pointing his gun at his head.
No one moved.
Snarling, Mitch grinned. “Who’s got the upper hand now, bitch?”
“He’s a small boy, Mitch, let him go,” I demanded as I pushed past my uncle, only to stop when Mitch pointed his gun at me.
“Kid’s comin’ with me.”
“Let me go!” Cameron shouted, wiggling as he tried to get free. “You ripped my coat. My sissy bought me this coat, asshole!”
“Shut up,” Mitch grunted, shaking Cameron, who glared at the son of a bitch.
“Mister, Clive’s gonna kick your ass!”
“Not if he’s dead,” Clive growled, stepping forward with a ferocity that made Mitch’s grin falter. “Ya messed with the wrong kid, mister. You best let him go before yer trouble gets a heapin’ bigger.”
Holding tight to Cameron, Mitch slowly moved toward the front door. “Not gonna happen. The kid and I are leaving.”
“Ya gonna stand there scaredy cat or do somethin’, kid?”
Cameron smirked, twisted and grabbed Mitch’s hand, then bit down, hard. Mitch howled, and before Cameron could move, he hauled off and backhanded the small boy, throwing him across the room. I raced toward Cameron as Mitch fled the cabin, my uncle Clive following behind him.
“Cameron!” I screamed, falling to my knees beside him. Gathering his face in my hands, I cringed, seeing his bloody nose.
“Not my first bloody nose, C.C.,” the kid groaned, wiping the blood away with the back of his hand as I sighed, sitting on my ass.
“Ms. C.C.?”
“Yeah?”
“How mad do you think my dad’s gonna be when he gets here?”
Sighing, I said, “Pretty mad,” when we both heard a shotgun blast.
Closing my eyes, I leaned my head back against the wall and said, “Guess Uncle Clive got Mitch.”
“Oh, he ain’t dead. Clive only uses buckshot.”
I winced at that.
King said absolutely nothing as he leaned back in his chair and looked at the proud boy standing before him. “So ya see, Dad, I really didn’t have a choice. If I got out of the car, the douchecanoe would have seen me. I was only protecting Ms. C.C., like all of you would. Besides, she’d still be at Clive’s place if I hadn’t of snuck in the trunk of Trip’s fancy car. Which reminds me,” the brat said, turning around to look at Trip. “I may have ripped out the wiring in the back lights. I read somewhere that if ever I was to find myself locked in a trunk, I could disconnect the light wires and make them blink, like an SOS for someone to see. Only no one saw. But I’m sure it’s nothing you can’t fix. If not, Ms. Sarah will. She loves working on cars. Ain’t that right, Gunner?”
“Yep.” Gunner nodded, trying hard to hold in his laughter.
King cleared his throat as Cameron slowly turned back to him. Leaning forward, King asked, “But that doesn’t explain why your ass wasn’t in bed like it was supposed to be.”
Cameron gulped. “Yeah, about that. I’m gonna need you to readjust my bedtime. I don’t need much sleep, and I’m always waking up way earlier than the rest of you. So, I’m thinking ten or eleven o’clock should do me just fine.”
King leaned further forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his piercing gaze locked onto Cameron. “You want me to reward you with a different bedtime?” he asked, his voice low, dangerous, and threaded with the kind of authority that made even Gunner stop smirking in the background.
Cameron shrugged, his bravado faltering slightly. “I mean... it’s only a suggestion,” he muttered, shifting uncomfortablyunder King’s scrutiny. “But any time after nine will do me just fine.”
“Get out of here,” King growled, and Cameron ran from the room as if his ass were on fire. The second he slammed the door, the brothers all lost their shit and let loose.
