If you're loved by someone, you're never rejected, decide what to be and GO BE IT
-The Avett brothers
Recommend Reading Introduction to Unproven
DEFINITELY READ Prologue
Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three
Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six
Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two Chapter Twenty Three Chapter Twenty Four
Chapter Twenty Five Chapter Twenty Six Chapter Twenty Seven
Chapter Twenty Eight Chapter Twenty Nine Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty One Chapter Thirty Two Chapter Thirty Three
Chapter Thirty Four Chapter Thirty Five Chapter Thirty Six
Chapter Thirty Seven Chapter Thirty EightChapter Thirty Nine
Chapter Forty Chapter Forty One Chapter Forty Two
Chapter Forty Three Chapter Forty Four Chapter Forty Five
Chapter Forty Six Chapter Forty Seven Chapter Forty Eight
Chapter Forty Nine Chapter Fifty Chapter Fifty One
Chapter Fifty Two Chapter Fifty Three
Chapter Fifty Four
Chapter Fifty Five Chapter Fifty Six Chapter Fifty Seven
Chapter Fifty EightChapter Fifty NineChapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty One Chapter Sixty Two Chapter Sixty Three
Chapter Sixty Four Chapter Sixty Five Chapter Sixty Six
Chapter Sixty Seven
"It's your shot playah," Jason pointed his cue at Grayson, a smirk on his handsome face.
"Excuse me," Gray said to the girl currently hanging on him. She let go reluctantly, pushing her lips into an exaggerated pout. He grabbed his stick from where he'd left it leaning against the scuffed wooden table when he'd been accosted by the well-endowed British brunette.
He and Jason were in a small pub that was so thick with cigarette smoke it settled in the room like fog. He'd never been in a place like it and yet he felt at home, like it was made for him, mainly because the promise of violence seemed to vibrate in the murky air, and it had been awhile since he'd used his hands for anything other than stroking or drinking.
He walked up to the pool table and studied the remaining balls, conscious of the stares of the two men he and Jason were playing against. Veteran bar room brawlers, that's the way he would describe them if a story worth telling sprung from this place. He glanced at them and suppressed a grin. They were both in their mid to late thirties, built well but going a bit squidgy around the edges. One had a crew cut and a nose that had been very obviously broken in his life, with a lazy eye but good teeth. The other was bearded and beginning to gray with sharp brown eyes and teeth that had seen better days. These were men you did not fuck with out of anything but necessity.
He found the shot he wanted and bent down, honing in, his focus pristine. His arm slid back and snapped forward.
He straightened slowly, a smile creeping across his face as the balls did what he'd asked of them, sinking the three then banking to sink the eight. He straightened as Jason whooped over their victory, gauging the reaction of their opponents. The bearded one met his eyes and broke into a smile.
"Now that was some good shoot'n," he declared. "Let us buy you boyos a round, then we'll have ou'sel'es a rematch."
Grayson returned the smile though he was slightly disappointed. They were straight shooters- which was a good thing, but his hands were itching for some action. He'd been counting on the challenge.
No sooner had he thought this than a meaty hand landed on his shoulder.
He looked over, then up.
"You messin' with my girl you American prick?"
Grayson cocked a brow. "Well that depends... Who’s your girl?"
The large man glanced at the brunette who had recently had her hand on Grayson's crotch and Gray didn't wait for the answer, delivering a quick uppercut to the man's chin. It was like watching a movie in slow motion, he had enough time to see the hit register on the big guy's face, dance out of the way of retaliation, and come back in to land another one; before all hell broke loose.
Twenty minutes later he was pushed out onto the sidewalk in front of the place.
"Hie yer arses on outta here before the coppers show," the bearded man from the pool game told him, shoving him into a waiting cab. Grayson watched as crew cut herded Jason around to the other side of the car before his vision snapped back to his oppressor.
The man caught his look and gave a subtle warning shake of his head. "You did well in there boyo, you've got some fast hands, but don't press your luck."
The car door was slammed in his face and he barely had time to track the man as he ran back to the bar before the cab flew away from the curb.
"God DAMN, you can fight!" Jason declared.
Gray blinked at his friend, hearing his voice as if it were coming down a long tunnel. He felt something wet on his cheek and reached up to wipe it away. His hand came away red and he stared at it.
"That might leave a mark," Jason told him, "but I promise that big fucker has two more to match...Fuck yeah!" He grabbed Grayson's shoulder and shook it. "You, my friend, are the whole package."
Gray focused on him with effort. "Tell me something I don't know," he quipped, noting his throat felt like sandpaper.
Jason cracked up, and gripped his shoulder again. "Have I been calling you little prince? Well you've earned a new title young king!"
Grayson wiped at the blood running down his cheek and smiled slowly. Young King. Indeed.
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