Page 55 of Cold as Stone
“You getting in on this?” I say to Stone, who’s watching the chaos with barely concealed amusement.
He grins. “I already did.”
“Fucking hell. Betrayed by my own flesh and blood. It’s creepy, you know, betting on this shit.”
Stone just grins.
He lets the ribbing go on for another minute or so before calling for order.
“Alright, alright, you dicks. That’s enough. We’ve got actual business to finish.”
But the damage is done. For the rest of church, I catch brothers grinning at me and making not-so-subtle comments about “taking care of business” and “sealing the deal.” By the time we’re dismissed, I’m ready to punch someone.
“Don’t look so sour,” Bones says as we file out of the chapel. “It’s nice to see you happy for once.”
“I’m always happy,” I protest.
“You’re always content,” he corrects. “There’s a difference. And whatever’s happening with you and Kya? It’s good for you, brother. We’re happy for you.”
“You guys got a weird way of showing it,” I say finally.
He claps me on the shoulder. “Now, appreciate if you could hold yourself together for another twenty-four hours. I got three hundred riding on you.”
I flip him off and head for my bike, but I’m smiling despite myself. Because for all their teasing and inappropriate betting habits, the brothers are right about one thing.
I am happy. Happier than I’ve been in years.
And if that means dealing with a few crude jokes and losing bets, it’s a small price to pay for whatever this thing with Kya might become.
My phone buzzes as I’m putting on my helmet.
Unknown
Tell your girlfriend to sell.
The good mood evaporates instantly, replaced by cold, focused rage.
Summit.
I screenshot the message and send it to Stone, then start my bike.
They want to play games? Threaten Kya?
Fine. But they picked the wrong fight with the wrong man.
They’re going to learn exactly why crossing the Stoneheart MC is the last mistake they’ll ever make.
13
KYA
The afternoon crowd is steady but manageable when Lee walks through the front door just after four. I’m restocking glasses behind the bar when I see him, and my pulse does that annoying skip it’s been doing every time I think about this morning.
He approaches the bar with purpose, his expression somewhere between amused and exasperated. Before I can ask what’s wrong, he reaches across the bar, cups the back of my neck, and pulls me into a kiss that’s thorough enough to make my toes curl.
“Hi,” he murmurs against my lips when he finally pulls back.
“Hi yourself,” I manage, slightly breathless. “What was that for?”
