Page 20 of Burned in Stone
She talks in her sleep. Says your name.
My heart does something stupid and desperate in my chest.
Me:
Don’t toy with me, Mrs. Yu.
Yu:
Not toying. Thin walls. She also says no a lot too. Bad dreams.
Fuck. I look at my bleeding knuckles. At the destroyed heavy bag. At the mess I’ve made trying to fight shadows.
Me:
Keep watching her. Please.
Yu:
That’s what we do for family.
Family. Mercy doesn’t know it yet, but she’s got more than just me and Mrs. Yu. She’s got the whole MC, even if she’s too scared to see it. We protect our own. And whether she admits it or not, Mercy Rogers is ours.
Mine.
8
CASH
“Jesus, Cash, what’d that bag do to you?”
Hawk’s looking at my bandaged knuckles as I pour coffee. I try not to wince when the hot mug presses against the gauze. Four hours of sleep and my hands feel like ground meat.
“Needed to work some shit out,” I mutter.
“That why you destroyed our only heavy bag at three in the morning?” Bones asks from his spot at the bar. Of course he knows. Man probably heard me stumbling around like a drunk raccoon when I went to bed.
I shrug. “Better than breaking a prospect’s jaw for sport.”
Steel pulls his head back and frowns at me. “Dude.”
“Just an expression, Steel,” I say, patting his shoulder. “Your jaw’s safe.”
“For now,” Bones adds with a smirk.
Steel mutters something about ‘crazy officers’ and goes back to wiping down the counter. Kid works harder than anyone I know, even with all the shit we pile on him. But that’s what prospecting is all about.
“You’re going to need to replace it,” Stone says, appearing in the kitchen doorway like a ghost. “And take it down a notch. We need clear heads today.”
“Yeah, I know.” I flex my fingers, feeling the sting beneath the bandages. “I’ll get a new one right away.”
“You’ll have to use your own money,” Duck chimes in, frying bacon like it’s a normal Saturday and not the day everything might go to hell. “Pretty sure as our treasurer, you know damn well we’re barely breaking even after Summit’s latest bullshit.”
“Says the guy who fucked up an entire order of patches and merch,” Axel adds, snagging a piece of bacon from the tray. “Half the club is walking around advertising we’re a ‘motorcyle’ club.”
Duck’s face reddens as he flips another strip of meat with unnecessary force. “I told you, it’s getting fixed as fast as they can. The manufacturer’s backed up with orders. Besides, we’ve got bigger problems than a missing ‘C’ right now.”
“I fixed mine,” Tank announces, puffing out his chest and turning to display his cut. He’s drawn a crude ‘C’ between the stitching with what looks like a black Sharpie. The letter is lopsided and bleeding into the threads, making the patch look even worse than before.
