“Back off, Stone. Come on,” Texas said.
“Doesn’t matter what they talked about. Boulder had intimate knowledge of our crew. I mean, hell, I almost took the man on a damn gun run. He knows just about everything,” Notch said.
“I remember that. Back three months ago, right?” Texas asked.
“Fucking hell,” Bronx growled.
“Look, when I got to talking with him over beers, he told me he was a nomad searching for a club in the area to join. That’s why I did an intense background search on him. I mean, I ran all the shit. Aliases he had worked under. The man had been set up with two fucking social security numbers. And nothing in his backstory triggered cop. None of it,” I said.
“The man talked intelligently about crews, too. Knew how they operated. Shit like that,” Texas said.
“Is it possible he’s really a crew member somewhere working for the police under blackmail circumstances? That shit happens sometimes,” Notch said.
“Or he’s a cop that has intimate knowledge of crews because of a bad experience. Which means he’s holdin’ a grudge,” Stone said.
“Which means he’d be out to get us because of some petty bullshit,” Bronx snarled.
None of it sounded good. None of it sat right with me. I was pissed off enough that I had been blindsided. And when I went to run the social security numbers and aliases I’d logged on Boulder, none of it existed. Just as quickly as I’d found all that shit, it had been ripped from my sources. It was like the fucking man didn’t even exist.
It made my blood boil just thinking about it.
Then, a thought occurred to me.
“Bronx, why were you late?” I asked.
I turned and looked at the man as the room fell silent.
“You were the first I messaged and you live the closest. Why were you late?” I asked.
“What? You suspecting me of something?” he asked.
“Just answer the damn question,” I said.
“Stone, what’s going on?” Texas asked.
“You don’t really think Bronx helped him with anything, do you?” Notch asked.
“Answer. The question. Bronx,” I commanded.
He sighed. “Boulder was following me yesterday.”
“What?” Texas asked.
“I came out of my fucking apartment and got onto my bike, and he followed me out of my damn apartment complex. I drove around for almost an hour before I headed to the bar to start working things out with how we funnel our money in from the shit we sell off that we don’t need. An hour, Stone. That fucker stayed behind me for an hour, thinking I couldn't see him. I took a lot of back roads getting here in case he was on my fucking tail again,” Bronx said.
“He’s following us now?” Notch asked.
“Holy fuck, I hadn’t even considered that,” Texas said.
“You're an idiot to not consider it. You’ve been too busy playing house with Stone’s sister that you don’t stop to consider the obvious, jackass,” Bronx said.
“You wanna say that one more time, asshole?” Texas asked.
“The two of you need to calm down right now. This doesn't help a damn thing,” Notch said.
“Says the guy who was living it up in New Mexico when we fucking needed him here! Why the hell weren’t you answering your damn cell phone!?” Bronx roared.
The guys erupted into an argument and I pinched the bridge of my nose. We’d all been in high-stress scenarios before, but nothing like this. And we were without a plan, to boot. We’d been totally blindsided, and crews like this without a plan who were also taken by surprise were volatile at best.
“Shut the fuck up!” I yelled.
They all stopped in their tracks, their fingers in the air and their fists ready to pound one another into the fucking carpet.
“If you want someone to blame, then blame me. This is my fault,” I said.
“It’s not your fault, Stone,” Texas said.
“It is,” I said, my eyes connecting hard with his. “I’m the president of this crew. I’m in my position because I’m supposed to see shit like this coming from ten miles away. And I couldn't sniff it out even when it was under my nose.”
“You had a lot going on with Ella and Jett. You had a good reason,” Notch said.
“He’s right. Jett gave us all a run for our money,” Bronx said.
“What we have to do now is stay on high alert. Boulder is still out there, and probably gunning for us. If he was following you, and you’re sure of that, then he’s aiming to take us down. He couldn’t do it from the inside, so he’s looking to catch us in the act of something,” I said.
“So, what’s the plan?” Texas asked.
The guys dispersed back into a circle as I gathered my thoughts.
“For now, we pause our gun deals,” I said.
“The Chinese won’t like that,” Notch said.
“Deal with it. That’s your job when you’re not planning outings. There’s a shipment coming in tomorrow; that stays on track. We take the back roads Texas has laid out so we can get them safely to us. We have to assume all our old routes are being policed now,” I said.
“I’ll get it done,” Notch said.
“In the meantime, we deal with the guns we’re already used to using. We stick with that ammo and we don’t touch these new guns coming in tomorrow. If this drags out, we’ll have to sell those back out to keep our pockets lined with money. I don’t want any of you guys suffering hits to your bank accounts because of this shit,” I said.
“Thank fuck,” Bronx murmured.
“Okay. So, we’re pausing both purchases and sales for now?” Texas asked.
“Yes. We only sell once the need for income pushes us there. Notch, get on the phone with our contact in China and be honest with him. Let him know our ranks were penetrated, and until we can sort it out, all purchases have to be halted for both our safeties. I know Jin Yung. He’ll appreciate the heads up,” I said.
“I’ll call them once the meeting’s done,” Notch said.
“What do we do about our clients? We just wrapped up another protection detail and we’re supposed to dive into one in a week,” Texas said.
I paused. “Protection detail is fine so long as we use the guns registered legally in our names. No using the things we’ve got locked up. Stick to the laws and the rules to a tee. And we should be good for now.”
“Good. Because that’s our other main source of income. We shouldn't have to sell at all if we can keep protecting. Which will keep our noses cleaner,” Texas said.
“And above all, remain on high alert. Keep one eye on your rearview at all times. Check your streets before you leave, and trust your gut. If you feel like you’re being followed, do what Bronx did. Meander and take back roads until the feeling goes away before you head to your destination,” I said.
“How the hell are we gonna get this man off our tail?” Bronx asked.
It was a question I wasn’t sure how to answer yet.
“For now, I want to make sure our purchases and sales are on pause. Once Notch has that under control, we’ll tackle that question,” I said.
“Also known as, you don’t fucking know and you need time to come up with some shit,” Bronx said.
I tried my best not to pop off at Bronx. I knew he was struggling the most with this. The man never opened up to anyone. Not with all the shit he’d been through. And he really took a liking to Boulder. That man had manipulated who I thought was the strongest in our ranks. Despite the fact that Bronx was our numbers guy, he was mentally fortified, emotionally intelligent, and never misstepped. Until now.
And I could tell he was really beating himself up over it.
“You never gave him any of our financial rundowns, right?” I asked.
Bronx sighed. “No. I didn’t. He asked about them a few times, but I stayed above board. Something told me it was odd that he’d ask, but you guys ask all the time, too. And I don't give you guys specifics.”
“Good on you,” Texas said.
“Doesn’t feel that way,” Bronx said.
I reached out and patted him on the shoulder. I squeezed it firmly and he gave me a head nod. Something he always did when he was done with whatever physical interaction was happening. Bronx didn’t do close interaction. He didn’t do conversation. Not if he didn’t have to. Hell, I’d never even seen him hook up with a woman that came into our bar, and the man practically held that shit down regularly. But Bronx was loyal. To a fault.
Boulder had fucked with the wrong guy in our ranks.
“We’ll get him off our tail. None of us saw this coming,” Texas said.
“I spent the most time with him. I should have seen it coming. My gut kept telling me things, and I kept ignoring it or rationalizing it away,” Bronx said.
“Doesn’t matter. We’ve all been in that position with people and places and things. All we can do is learn from it and keep going,” Notch said.
“Yeah. Listen to the manwhore over there. He knows what he’s talking about. He has shit choices in women all the time. He’s had to run from his share of stalkers,” I said, grinning.
And finally, after over a damn month, I got a chuckle out of Bronx.
“That was a good one,” he said.
“Glad you can laugh at my expense,” Notch said flatly.
“Oh, come on. Be a good sport about it,” I said, grinning.
“Yeah, says the man who takes home fat women with muffin tops,” Notch said.
“Hey, they’re thick women. Not fat. ‘Fat’ is a derogatory term. I ever hear you use that in front of one of my women, you won’t have a face,” I said.
“You do like ‘em big, though,” Texas said.
“Because they’re so fuckin’ comfy that way,” I said, groaning.
All of us took a moment to chuckle. To breathe. To think about something other than the shithole we’d found ourselves in. Hell, even Bronx was finally joining in, and it felt like we were a core group again.
A family, however fractured we felt at the moment.
“Okay. Church dismissed. You have your assignments. Keep at them,” I said.
“I’ll go make those calls,” Notch said.
“I’ll head back to the bar and keep working and running numbers,” Bronx said.
“And I’ll stay in touch with our clients. Keep setting up appointments and such,” Texas said.
“Good. Notch, keep in touch. Bronx, you do the same. And Texas?” I asked.
“Yep?” he asked.
“Don’t you dare wrap my sister up in any of this shit,” I said.
He shook his head. “Wasn’t planning on it, Stone.”
“Good.”
2
Hayley
I wiped the sweat off my brow as I leaned back up. That was it. The last fucking box for my apartment. I looked around at the chaotic furniture and the bedframe that still needed to be pieced together and wondered how my box spring and mattress would look sitting on the floor. I’d forgotten how much of a bullshit fiasco moving was. Hiring men to help. Paying them to drive the truck. Having them help unload all my shit and still feel like I was dying. Sure, most people looked at my size and shook their head. Figured I could use the movement of hauling boxes up three flights of steps because of how thick my thighs were and how my tits jiggled and how my stomach rolled over the cuff of my jeans that were probably a size too tight.
I didn’t give a damn what they thought. Because I could kick ass with the best of them.
Even though I knew my father was upset with me for not enlisting his help, I didn’t care. When a girl lost her mother at a young age, like I did, they learned to grow up fast. I learned how to grow up fast. My mother passed away in a freak car accident that left her sizzling in the car while the motorcyclist walked away scot free. You know, other than the manslaughter charge that put him behind bars. A closed-casket funeral sealed my hatred for bikes, and the memory of it made me wrinkle my nose at anyone around me who drove one of those murder beasts.
I didn’t want to look at them ever again after what they did to my mother.
I walked into the kitchen and turned on the light. The small one-bedroom apartment was all I could afford in the gaslamp district of San Diego. Which was fine. If I wanted to cramp the style of my savings account, I could have afforded more. Somewhere… not here. But I actually wanted to retire instead of always dipping into my 401(k) and my investments like my father always did.
The man was reckless with money and would never retire at the rate he was borrowing against his funds all the time.
First, it was a new car. Said he needed a dependable vehicle other than his police cruiser. Then, it was a renovation on his bathroom. His reasoning was because he kept stubbing his toe every time he stepped into the shower. So, he borrowed against his investments, hired a gutting crew, and ripped apart his ensuite bathroom. Out went the tub-shower combination and in went a gaudy walk-in shower with a waterfall nozzle and a jet tub that I wasn’t even sure he’d used.
New furniture. New clothes. New everything, basically.
It was a habit my father developed after the death of my mother. Retail therapy gone off the rails.
Even though I wasn’t completely ecstatic to be back in San Diego, I had to admit I missed the place. After getting a community college degree in Los Angeles in some bullshit medical field I had no interest in pursuing, I snagged a job working for the L.A. Zoo. It wasn’t much. Just enough to pay for the small loans I had to take out to finish my classes. But I became so attracted to working with the animals that I started researching into things I could do. Careers I could pursue that had me working with large, exotic animals like this for the rest of my life.
That was what led to the zoology degree.
I ripped open my first box and began putting dishes away. And as I did, I thought back on my life up until this point. I’d just graduated with my Master’s in Zoology and ended up snagging a great full-time position with benefits at the San Diego Zoo. My heart ached, leaving Los Angeles. The place pulsed with energy. It had an incredible nightlife for single women like myself who wanted to go out on the weekends and splurge a bit of my paycheck on guys and drinks. My twenty-seventh birthday had come with a new job, a new apartment, and no debt to speak of.
So much better than the medical field.
I ripped open box after box. I heard my alarm go off at one in the afternoon and I realized I still hadn’t taken a shower. My father was expecting me at two in Encinitas. Where he lived. Where I’d grown up. In the same house that delivered me not only my childhood, but the death of my mother.
I still had no idea why the fuck he hadn’t moved yet.
Maybe that was why he renovated. To try and bury her memory. Maybe that was why he gutted the bathroom they shared and completely redid their bedroom. Maybe that was why he replaced all the furniture with things he couldn't afford and tossed out all the plates they’d gotten on the day of their wedding.
To try and erase the scent of her that still poured from the walls of his home.
Our home.
Their home.
After putting together my kitchen, I went and explored the rest of my apartment. It wasn’t much. Eight hundred square feet of empty space, especially since I didn’t have much furniture. I had a couch, a recliner, my bed, and a dresser. That was it, in terms of furniture. I didn’t watch enough television to justify having one and I sure as hell didn’t have the time to sit and read books. I kept myself busy, always.
I’d been that way from a young age.
After tearing through boxes and finding my clothes, I grabbed a new outfit. The bathroom wasn’t set up to shower, but I figured I could use my father’s beautiful, newly-renovated bathroom to clean myself up. I grabbed the bag of toiletries I had packed up for myself, then stuffed everything into a plastic bag.
I locked the apartment door behind me before I started to my car, ready to get across town.
I k
new the way by heart. Even though so much about San Diego had changed already, I’d always remember the roads. The construction. The systemic gridlock of the bustling town. San Diego was definitely a place for families. For a mother and a father with two and a half kids and a perfectly-bred labradoodle that ran around underneath their feet.
I’d never have something like that. It wasn’t my style. Not after tasting the beautiful, thrilling nightlife of Los Angeles.
I’d get back there one day.
I was ripped from my thoughts by a deafening roar. I zoomed down the road, trying to merge so I could turn left at the stoplight. One more left before the entrance to my father’s neighborhood. One more left standing in my way between the stench coming from my armpits and a fucking shower.
Then, I heard a horn honking.
The roar grew and raced around me. Motorcycles ripped by on all sides of me. I looked in my rearview mirror and saw them coming up on my tail, watching as the wimps of San Diego pulled over to let them through.
Pulled over. To let them go.
Like they were fucking driving ambulances.
“Fucking bullshit men,” I murmured.
I didn’t care. They didn’t own me. Even though people who rode bikes thought they owned shit, all they really had were limp dicks they tried to overcompensate for by the loudness of their bikes. I took the left turn anyway and heard them laying the horn on me. A couple of them raced by me, eyeing me down as if I was the one in the wrong.
A hulking man with brown hair and dark brown eyes passed by me, flipping me the fucking bird in the process.
“You’re bullshit!” I exclaimed.
I almost ran into the curb with how they followed me. How they tore around that corner like they didn’t give enough of a shit about the other people around them. I almost ran into one of them as I straightened the wheel of my car and watched them all pour in front of me. They sped off, easily doing seventy in the forty-five I was cruising in.
The Lost Boys MC Series: Books 1-4 Page 16
