Page 17 of Stone

“Why now?” I scowl, not sure where this is leading. “It’s been weeks. I thought that the case had been closed?”

“So did I, but apparently when the motor vehicle disposal company finally got around to collecting the car from the police compound, tests were done and they found something that looked suspicious. Further checks by the forensic team and well…”

“For fuck’s sake, Prez. Will you spit it out before I go insane?” An uncomfortable feeling that I can’t quite explain rumbles in my gut.

“It’s no longer a straightforward accidental death case. It’s now classified as a murder investigation.”

Fear, pain, and anger all hit me in one huge, monumental punch right in the solar plexus. My body begins to shake, my head pounds, and my stomach churns faster than a jet engine. I all but throw the baby monitor handset at Smoke before sprinting to the fence, leaning over it and puking up the remains of the peanut butter and jelly sandwich that Sasha had force-fed me at lunchtime.

As I go to straighten up, a hand falls gently on my back. I turn to find Smoke with, what looks like, a newly lit tab in between his lips. If it had been anyone else stood in front of me now, I would have vented my frustrations on them with my fists, but not my Prez.

“I’m sorry, Stone,” he chokes out. One thing I can say about Smoke is that he hates to see any of his brothers hurting. He feels it too, profoundly when it comes to me.

“The Irish?” I gasp out before wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

“Let’s not jump the gun, Stone. I’ll get Mayhem to start putting the word out. The other YOMC chapters will be on board too.”

“If it is them?” I grab one of the struts of the fence, rip it out of the ground and throw it towards the house. It crashes against the hard exterior, splinters scatter, falling to the ground.

“They’ll wish they’d never fucking heard of the Young Outlaws,” he finishes for me. “To them, their worst nightmare will seem like a tropical beach with naked chicks and Cuban cigars compared to what we are going to inflict on them. We will fucking crush them, make them suffer a slow and painful death.”

“Promise me that whoever is behind this, when we find out who it was that ordered the hit, I’m the one to cut them, make them bleed and watch them suffer. I want to revel in their pain and watch them beg for mercy, at which I will give none.”

The soft call of my name sounds from the monitor that Smoke now has in his hand and grabs our attention. It’s enough to snap me out of dark thoughts of revenge. Sasha has woken from her nap and takes priority, so for now, I have to squash my need to wreak havoc and take care of her.

“Go,” he nods towards the doorway. “The nanny should be here shortly. Better get Sasha ready.”

As I go to open the door, something catches my eye. Oriana is standing on the far side of the fence. By her expression and pallid skin, it’s obvious that she’s witnessed my outburst. But I doubt that she would have heard the reason behind it.

“Oriana.” Smoke shouts when he, too, notices her standing there. Her body is rooted to the spot, but her head turns, glancing back from where she came and for a moment, I think that she’s about to run. Her eyes connect with mine, but I’m too far away to read what they're giving. “Come here, sweetheart,” Smoke waves her over, the sweetheart thrown in to try to soften the harshness in his voice. “Let me deal with this,” he whispers to me when she starts to walk towards the gate and releases the latch. “Stone is on his way to get his niece from her nap, so why don’t we grab a coffee while we wait?”

I step inside and quickly make my way upstairs to Sasha’s room. I’m flooded with aggression right to my very core. The news still buzzing around in my brain. My brother. His beautiful wife. Sasha’s parents. Murdered, and if it is the Irish behind this, seeking vengeance, I’m to blame for the carnage that has decimated my family.

Oriana

Talk about fight or flight.

Witnessing Stone’s violent outburst and verbal threats to whoever they were talking about had me wondering what the hell I was doing here.

My initial instinct was to run, get back in my car, drive like the devil was on my tail and go back to my apartment and beg the boss at Big Moll’s diner for a job clearing tables. You never know, I might eventually get bumped up to waitress, grab extra shifts and make the money work.

Instead, I stand rooted to the spot. I won’t deny that what I saw, what I heard, scared the hell out of me, but my feet wouldn’t move. It was like an inner voice was telling me to suck it up because this job was too good to walk away from.

The money, free accommodation, and the extra credits that my professor had promised would pretty much guarantee me a more than respectable pass. It was at least worth a punt, wasn’t it?

But then again. I’ll be working for the vice president of a motorcycle club. A genuine leather-clad, Harley-riding,1% badge-wearing MC member, which my Google search had labeled them outlaws, gun runners and drug dealers. Not the type to mess with.

Yet here I am, walking towards the president of the club when he calls me over to him, while Stone makes his way into the house.

Guess I’m staying. Fight it is, then.

Stone

I push open the door with the soft gray elephant and the bright pink ears to find Sasha’s big blue eyes and cheeky smile waiting for me.

“Uncle Gabe, I’m not sleepy anymore.” She sits upright on her bed, the covers pushed back, holding on to the safety rail at the side to stop her from falling out.

That face, that beautiful face. She has her mother’s smile and placid temperament. Her father's eyes and dimples. Despite the war raging in my head, one look at Sasha has my anger subsiding.

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