Page 8 of Stone

“Think I preferred the Johnny Cash phase,” I said under my breath, looking up just as Dad appeared at the door.

He pointed at Ma, did a hip thrust, and barked, ‘It’s like Candy’ at the top of his voice.

“Fuck me,” Abe muttered from behind him. “Somebody get the man a red codpiece.”

Iris laughed.

“Did ya see the music video on MTV?” Abe demanded. “Never seen anythin’ like it.”

“They must be from New York,” Dad muttered. “Them New Yorkers are all crazy motherfuckers.” He sauntered over to Mom and tagged her tiny waist, pulling her into him. “Mornin’, Queenie.” He gave her ass a slap. “Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes.” Baring his teeth, Pop growled before laying a big smooch on her.

“Jesus,” I exclaimed, almost gagging.

“It’ll be you one day, Stone,” Abe crowed, sliding an arm around Iris’s shoulders.

I grinned. Our enforcer was right. One day, when I was prez, I’d smooch my girl in this very kitchen until our kids gagged, too.

Pop came up for air, turned to me, and grinned. “Happy fuckin’ birthday, ya little bastard.”

I laughed. “Thanks, Dad.”

He sneaked a look at Mom, who gave a slight nod. “Twenty-one today. You’re a man now, so I wanna know your decision. You’ve already prospected, so are you gonna join the club? Or enlist?”

Straightening my back, I met Dad’s challenging stare head-on. “Me and Leesy are goin’ down the recruitment center later. I love the club, but I reckon I can do more for the Demons if I’ve got combat experience. Gonna complete my three years and learn everything I can about motor vehicles. Then I’ll come home, marry Elise, and become a Speed Demon.”

Dad jerked a nod. “I’ve taught ya all I can, John. You’re a crack shot, you can fight as well as any man I’ve known, and you’ve got gumption. The military will be lucky to have you.” He walked toward me, resting a hand on my shoulder. “You still set on the Marines?”

“Yeah,” I murmured, getting choked up by my dad’s praise. “I think I can learn the most with them.”

Dad’s mouth curved into an evil smile. “They’ll either break ya or turn you into a machine. Just remember, if they break ya, don’t bother comin’ home. Don’t want no little pussy asses in the club.”

Abe barked a laugh.

“Don!” Mom scolded.

Dad held his hands up defensively. “He knows I’m only havin’ a bit’a fun with him.” But the warning glare he gave me silently told me he meant every damned word.

People who knew Pop from old said that Don ‘Bandit’ Stone always had a screw loose. Even as a teen, he danced to his own tune, which was weird considering his best friend growing up was the mayor’s son, Robert Henderson, who was straight as an arrow.

As an aspiring politician, Bert enlisted, which was the norm for any man who wanted to run for office eventually. Pop decided his friend would get himself killed if he wasn’t there to look out for him, so he enlisted too, which was just as well because Dad’s prediction eventually came true.

Ten years later, they arrived home with honorable discharges after being shot while fighting side by side during a battle in Saigon.

Although Pop never spoke of it, the consensus was that he’d saved Bert’s life that day.

When they got back to Hambleton, they started the MC as a place for vets to call home after ‘Nam. Pop got into runnin’ guns and weed because he couldn’t hold down a job with his screwed-up head. Being a one-percenter wasn’t exactly conducive to running for office, so Robert walked away, though strangely, they remained buds.

“Got you a birthday gift outside, John,” Mom murmured, walking over to stand next to Dad. “I can’t believe you’re twenty-one already. It seems like only yesterday you were running around the clubhouse pretending to be Harry Callahan.”

Pop slid his arm across Mom’s shoulders and turned toward the door. “Come on, ya little pissant. Let’s see what you’ve been spoiled with this year.”

“Don,” Mom snapped as we all headed into the corridor. “He’s a good boy and deserves a treat now and again. Plus, he’sgoing away to fight for our country. There’s not enough cash in the world to show our appreciation.”

“Hush, woman,” Dad retorted. “It’s not like there’s a fuckin’ war on. I got sent to fuckin’ ‘Nam. That lucky little bastard’ll sit on his ass for three years. The only action he’ll see will be with the Marine groupies who hang out at the bars near the base.”

“No way,” I protested as we hit the bar. “Got my woman. Don’t want another.”

Abe gave me a knowing look as a roar went up through the bar.

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