“You fucking—” Hank lurched, but Colby held fast.
“If I were you, Hank, I’d stop struggling and watch how you talk to my friend,” Colby said calmly, even though he really wanted to slam this guy to the floor and beat him like Hank had been doing to Keats. “I’d hate to have to crush your windpipe.”
A wild look flashed through Hank’s dilated eyes and he reared back. Colby saw the head butt coming half a second before it would’ve connected. Colby tilted to the right to dodge the attempt. But the click of something deadly had his heart stilling.
Colby turned, finding Keats holding a gun with hands as steady as a surgeon’s. His eye was already swelling and his lip was cut. “Hank, you need to get the hell out of here and drop this. I don’t owe you any money. Nina’s just pointing that shit at me because she’s mad we broke up.”
“Liar!”
“You want to argue with me right now?” Keats asked, voice cold, gun trained on Hank. “You think I have anything to lose if I pull this trigger? Look around, what do I have to fucking lose?”
Hank’s Adam’s apple bobbed beneath Colby’s forearm.
“Listen,” Colby said in a quiet voice. “You know you’ve got no chance against me or that gun. But this doesn’t need to turn into anything. You walk out that door, leave him the fuck alone, and this is done.”
Hank didn’t respond at first, and Keats stepped closer. That was when Hank finally saw the light of logic. “Fine.”
Colby eyed Keats and tipped his head toward him, letting him know the direction he was going. Then he eased his forearm from Hank’s throat and grabbed the guy’s bicep in a firm grip. “Move.”
Hank seemed to grow a few brain cells because he didn’t try to fight. Colby led him out the door and ushered him into the parking lot with a few more warning words. He let him go but didn’t take his eyes off him. The guy was hyped up on something and could make another rash move at any moment. So Colby returned to the doorway, walking backward, and didn’t move away until Hank crossed the parking lot and climbed into a beat-up black Mustang and drove off with a fuck you and a one-finger salute. Only when the taillights winked out of sight did Colby let his shoulders relax. The bed squeaked behind him as Keats dropped onto the mattress.
Colby shut the door and locked it, adding the chain to it for good measure, then went over to the bed. Keats was hunched over, holding his side, and cursing under his breath. The gun was on the side table. Colby went to the gun first and checked that the safety was back on.
“What are you doing here?” Keats asked, letting out a soft groan when he tried to turn to look at Colby.
“A gun, Keats?”
He flinched at Colby’s tone, or maybe it was from pain. “Yeah. It’s the one I stole from my father when I ran away. I’ve never had to fire it, but you have to protect yourself.”
Colby sighed and crouched down in front of him. He grasped Keats’s chin and tilted his face toward the light. The skin hadn’t been broken except for the minor cut on his mouth, but he’d probably have a black eye tomorrow. “Do you need a hospital?”
Keats licked the spot of blood off his lip and gingerly pressed at his ribs. “No, I don’t think anything’s broken. Luckily, he wasn’t wearing his steel-toed boots tonight.”
Colby rubbed a hand over his face. “Fuck.”
“Look, it’s not a big deal, all right?” Keats said, the tightness in his voice making lies out of the words. “Just a few war wounds. I’ll be all right.”
“Yeah, you will. Pack your shit.”
“What?”
“You’re coming home with me and never coming back here.” Colby stood and walked to the window to make sure Hank didn’t return for a second round with his own weapon.
“Colby—”
“This isn’t a negotiation,” he snapped.
“But—”
He stared out the window, trying to keep the reins on his temper. “Did that guy have a reason for coming after you?”
“No, my ex is throwing me under the bus. I didn’t take his stash.”
He looked his way. “You do drugs, Keats? Sell them?”
Keats’s movements were slow and tentative as he pushed up from the bed to a stand. “No, not anymore.”
“Meaning?”