Page 5 of Stone
“Give them a final warning,” Doc announces shocking us but he shrugs and states, “They may be good at what they do but so are several others,” he looks around the table all of us nodding in agreement before he looks back at Anchor and demands, “Give them a final warning, they need to know they can’t keep doing this shit and that they are replaceable.”
“On it,” he agrees before Doc, then looks down and states, “I’ll be working nights all this week, so Stone,” he looks at me, “will be in charge during the day while I sleep.”
I nod. Doc is, well, a doctor, an E.R. one to be precise, and a fucking good one at that. So is Tank, who works weeknights at the hospital and weekends at Rebel’s Motors.
My wife was hoping to gain Doc’s attention before he graduated but it didn’t work. So she latched onto me, and I stupidly gave in after a year of her dangling her easy pussy in front of my face.
Damn stupid teenage hormones.
“Tank will be on all this week, as well as working nights next weekend, so he can’t be at the garage, but he can during the week next week, as he’s off.”
“Except Tuesday, Pres,” Tank reminds Doc, who nods.
Every Tuesday, Tank disappears for the day. We’re not too sure where he goes. The large fucker has always been closed off, but it’s the one day he says he can’t be at the club, we allowit because he does a lot around here while also working at the hospital.
“Alright, if that is everything, Anchor, I need you to finalize the run so we can get everything ready and –”
Doc's words are cut short as the church door is slammed open, banging against the pictures of our fathers and grandfathers on the wall gaining all our attention. I scowl as my fucking wife storms inside, not caring that this room is off limits, the prospect – a person who needs to spend a year doing grunt work, proving their loyalty to the club before they get voted in as a brother – Joe, standing behind her holding his cheek, while I can hear my sister cackling.
Fuck’s sake, she hit him.
“Can I help you, Elsie?!” Doc growls, and she flinches before she composes herself, then looks my way with a glare and demands, “Did you put a stop on my card?”
Doc snorts but coughs to cover it while I curl my lip at the woman before me, looking more like a clubwhore in her mini skirt, see-through tank showing her lacey pink bra and heels.
When I called Doc to let him know I was getting married, that I’d knocked the bitch up, he cursed me out for an hour before begging me not to go through with it. That I wouldn’t tarnish the club's name, but my dad gave me one look, threatened my role as VP and I knew I had to marry her.
He’s regretting it now though.
The bitch was never pregnant. Her hospital records, which Dirty managed to bring up, being the tech whiz he is, proved it. She claimed she lost it at twelve weeks. I claim she’s a lying whore, and when I went to demand a divorce, her father intercepted me, who happens to be friends with my dad.
He threatened to destroy all club businesses, and while I now know he never could, we own more in this town than he does and have more money than he does, I was an eighteen-year-old kidand believed him. Then she tried to kill herself, or wanted me to believe she did.
I found her in a puddle of her own blood, with slits across her wrists but the wrong way.
She wanted to make a statement, and I had no choice but to stay with her after her dad and mine demanded it, and now, eleven years later, I feel fucking stuck.
She fucks around, I fuck around, but she won’t leave, won’t give me the divorce I fucking want, and she has my dad on her side.
Fuck, dad even threatened to get a club vote to kick me out if I tried to divorce her.
“Did you earn any of it?” I ask her with a raised brow, knowing full well she fucking didn’t.
She’s a patch chaser through and through – a woman who wants a brother not for him but for the cut and what it represents – she doesn’t work, doesn’t do housework. Spends her time ordering the prospects to clean the one bedroom apartment I bought off club property, not wanting her anywhere near my home I built behind the clubhouse. She refuses to even help out at the clubhouse like most old ladies do and her main hobby is to fuck anyone who will have her.
She wanted the cushy life, and I was the idiot who married her.
“We’re married!” she snaps, and I snort, “Only on paper.”
I fucked her maybe five times since we got married, and each time was in the common room when I was drunk and she basically took advantage of my state.
“You can’t do this!” she whines, stomping her foot, the makeup she’s caked on her face cracking a little, and I reply as I lean forward, “Yeah, I can. You signed a pre-nup on our wedding day. Every cent I make, the properties I have, anything that is mine that you haven’t contributed to, belongs to me only. Now turn your ass around and leave, we’re in the middle of church.”
Her nostrils flare as she snaps, “This isn’t over, Stone. I’m entitled to some money.”
I grin and reply, “No, you’re not, and I’ve got work later, so don’t wait around here, you’re not allowed on club property when I’m not here.”
Her bottom chin wobbles, and just when I think she’ll try the waterworks like she has several times over the years, bringing up the so-called baby for sympathy, she screeches, stomps her foot, and storms off, and I sigh as I look down at my wedding ring.
