by Cat Mason
“With all due respect, Miss Frazier, you must understand my hesitation to move forward.”
My eyes shoot across the table, landing on Hank Wright. He looks the part of the well put together business man; except Jensen and I are well aware of what kind of man he really is. He may try to hide it behind a suit and a smile, but there is a darkness in his eyes as he stares me down that shows the kind of monster he really is. I know he is baiting me with this half assed attempt to make me look bad. He expects me to fall apart. But, I won’t. There is too much at stake. “Of course, Mr. Wright.”
“Have either of you sat in on meetings?” he asks, tapping his ink pen on top of a legal pad. “Are you up to speed on current projects and their stages of development? Forgive me, but I can’t really see you as the type to take on a multi-billion-dollar entity. It isn’t exactly a hobby to keep you occupied between shopping trips,” he says, shrugging nonchalantly.
“You’re right,” I reply, smiling sweetly. “It isn’t, but I bet the degree I earned in college will help.” Leaning back in my chair, I cross one leg over the other and place my hands in my lap. “Listen, snide comments and sexist preconceived notions aside, once this meeting is over, you all have the chance to decide, for yourselves, whether you will continue to honor the agreement you made with my father or walk away and break the contract.” Taking a breath, I glance around the room. “At your expense, I might add. Though what happened to my father is tragic, and I have yet to fully process it and grieve,” I choke out, my eyes landing on Wright again. “Neither Jensen, or myself, will allow it to cripple Frazier Stone. I spent my childhood playing with dolls beneath this table while my father and Alexander Stone worked tirelessly to build an empire that was meant for Jensen and I to continue. While I understand your concern, Mr. Wright, it’s unwarranted.”
“Nothing is changing,” Jensen chimes in, giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. Moving around my chair, he takes the empty seat at my right that once belonged to his father and meets Wright’s eyes. “Frazier Stone Holdings is here to stay.”
Dropping his pen to the table, Wright sits back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest like a pouting child. I could take immense satisfaction knowing that my blow appears to have hit the bastard exactly where I intended, but I don’t. I could taunt him further, but instead, I remind myself of the reasons why we are here. Being a smart ass in the boardroom isn’t going to boost the morale Jensen and I should be trying to build while using this meeting to our advantage. My witty comebacks won’t help prove to any of these men that I have any fucking idea what I am doing and none of this will help my dad if I don’t stay focused. Leaning up in my chair, I flip open the meeting agenda and settle in so we can get down to business. Though my nerves are through the roof right now, I take comfort in knowing that while Jensen and I hopefully work some magic in the boardroom, Jinks is busy working a little of his own.
Mr. Bryant runs the show and I am more than happy to let him take the lead. He goes over pages of documentation that my father had drawn up in the event he was unable to maintain the everyday running of Frazier Stone. Though I do my best to pay attention, and even make sure to jot down some notes on a legal pad of my own, my focus is elsewhere. My eyes drift around the room, carefully studying everyone at the table, especially Hank Wright. If I passed him on the street, I would never know he was capable of the things that we know about him from what Olivia told us and Jinks found. It has me feeling extremely paranoid, wondering how many of these men can actually be trusted.
Jensen is wrong. The real monsters hide behind smiles and three piece suits.
Once all questions and concerns are addressed, the meeting is dismissed. Each man stops to shake my hand and express their condolences on their way out. When the room is empty, Wright finally pushes to his feet. “Your father would be impressed.” Tucking his things under his arm, he makes his way toward me. Extending his hand to me, his mouth turns up in a smile that causes the hairs to raise on the back of my neck. The look on this man’s face chills me to the bone. “I look forward to next time we meet, Miss Frazier.”
Uneasy with his closeness, I take a step back and am immediately met with Jensen’s hand at my hip. Slipping his hand around my waist, he pulls me into his side and flashes Wright a smile of his own. “Thank you for coming,” he says, reaching out and shaking the man’s still extended hand. “See you soon.”
Moving out of the room, Jensen leads us up the hall toward my father’s office. Closing the door behind him, he turns to face me. “You were amazing in there.”
“I hated every single second,” I inform him, sitting on the arm of the leather sofa. “It took everything in me not to bash his smug face in with the coffee mug sitting in front of me.”
“Not that he doesn’t deserve that,” Jensen chuckles. “And more.” Walking over, he slides his fingers under my chin and tilts my head back so that our eyes meet. “That fucker’s time is comin’. But,” he smiles down at me, “Justice sure as fuck won’t be served with a coffee mug.”
“You’re going to kill him,” I say, swallowing hard.
He nods. “Every fuckin’ one of ‘em.” Pulling me to my feet, Jensen brushes his lips over mine quickly. “Get your shit. We’re leavin’.”
Jensen drives a car with the same sort of passion as he does his Harley. Winding roads and lazy mountain highways all become his personal speedway. With one hand on the steering wheel, and the other on the shifter, he commands the car like he does everything else in life.
With utter control and complete domination.
Watching him out of the corner of my eye, I shift in my seat and cross one leg over the other. Blowing out a breath, he chuckles. “Woman, you lookin’ at me like that has me about two seconds away from pullin’ this car over and givin’ you my cock on the hood of this car.”
Jolting, I face him, my eyes widening. “You wouldn’t.”
He smirks. Taking his hand from the shifter, he runs his fingers up my thigh. “You can bet that sweet ass on it, Duchess.” Arching a brow, his fingers move higher, taking my skirt with it. “I’m more than happy to pull over right now, bend you over the front end, rip that tight skirt from your body and sink my teeth into that gorgeous ass like a ripe apple. But,” he shrugs. “I’d rather have you naked and in my bed begging for it.”
“You’re crazy,” I huff, rolling my eyes. “I’m not having sex with you on the side of the road.”
“You would,” he replies, his eyes darkening as he effortlessly teases me while managing to also focus on the road. Tightening his grip, Jensen digs his fingers into my skin. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction, I bite my lip to stifle my moan, but fail miserably. Releasing my thigh, he replaces his hand on the shifter and smiles. “And you’re disappointed that I’m not going to.”
“Whatever,” I mutter, turning in my seat to stare out the window.
Thankfully, it isn’t long before we are pulling up in front of the clubhouse. Thanks to his teasing and taunting, the tension in my body has me prepared to do a lot more than beg. I don’t like that my body reacts to him this way, and I sure as fuck don’t like that he knows it.
As if the smug bastard needs a boost to his already overinflated ego.
My relief to be out of the car is short lived the moment I see the black sedan parked beside the row of bikes. The doors open and out step Detective Ashmead and a man wearing a navy blue suit. Glancing around, he tucks a tan briefcase under his arm.
“Roanne Frazier,” Detective Ashmead says, removing her sunglasses and tucking them away in the pocket of her jacket. “This is Agent Richard Laswell. He’s been assigned to your father’s case.”
Agent Laswell is very handsome. Tall, with broad shoulders, though his body is lean. His dark blonde hair is short, but styled wild and unruly. Heading our way, he walks with determination and power. Intimidation radiates off him in waves. “Ma’am,” he greets, nodding his head. “We’re going to need you to come down to the sta
tion and answer some questions.”
“That’s not going to happen.” Jensen is around the car and at my side almost instantly. Wrapping a possessive arm around me, he stares them down. “Anything you have to ask Roanne, you can do right here.”
“Though I can appreciate your concern,” Laswell says, his eyes narrowing as his gaze moves from me to Jensen. “That’s not your call to make.”
“Look around, Dick,” Jensen bites out, his grip on me tightening almost to the point of pain. “The law around here is a goddamn joke. My concern is all that’s keepin’ Roanne from endin’ up just like her old man. Excuse me if I’m not jumpin’ to hand her off to some random shithead with a badge and the local crony humping his leg.”
Detective Ashmead’s eyes narrow on Jensen. “I’d watch your ass, Stone,” she warns through gritted teeth. “Unless you want a ride downtown in cuffs to face charges for interfering with a police investigation.”
“That’s not necessary,” I chime in, hoping to put an end to this discussion before it escalates. “I’m sure you can imagine we’re all on edge right now.” Shoving free of Jensen’s grasp, I meet Laswell’s eyes and smile. “Of course, I’ll do anything I can to help with the investigation.”
“I’m sure this has been very hard on you. I just wanted to follow up on a few things from your interview with Detective Ashmead and discuss a few things with you,” Laswell replies, a warm smile spreading across his face. “If you prefer, we can do this here. Is there somewhere we can speak privately?”
A loud horn honks, making me jump. Glancing at the entrance to the compound, I spot the large shipping truck pulling through the opened gates. The driver throws his hand up as he passes us, coming to a stop beside the club’s auto parts shop.
“Come with me,” Jensen answers, snapping me back to the conversation. Tugging me into his side again, he starts moving us toward the front doors of the clubhouse.
Chapter Twelve
Stone
Having a fucking Fed pull into my compound and start barking orders makes me angry as hell. Especially since McKelvy neglected to give us a heads up about this shit going down. I may not want the fucker here sniffing around, but there was no goddamn way he was taking Roanne off the property.
That smooth-talking bastard would have to kill me first.
Once I show them to the kitchen, and assure them that they won’t be disturbed, Laswell flashes me a smug as fuck grin. “We’ll let you know if we need anything,” he informs me, then closes the door in my face.
Balling my fists, I blow out a breath and remind myself that I have shit to do that doesn’t include kicking his freshly bleached teeth down his throat. Making my way back outside, I spot Jinks leaning against the railing of the porch, lighting a cigarette.
“We all set up?”
“Hell yeah,” he laughs, blowing out a cloud of smoke. Pushing off the railing, he heads my way. “He’s wired up from bumper to bumper. I’ll know if the prick runs a stop sign.”
“Good. Let me know what turns up.” Stepping closer, I clap him on the back. “Now, let’s get that cargo swapped and outta here. Last thing I need is that nosy fuckin’ Fed sniffin’ around our delivery truck.”
Jinks, D.A., Torch, and Doc work double time getting our car parts order swapped out with the shipment of moonshine and guns we supply to some friends a few counties over. Grabbing my cut from the car, I yank it on and head over to check out the goods. Satisfied that the guys have it handled, I make my way around the crates and pallets and step inside the garage, heading over to talk to the driver. “Wasn’t expecting you ‘til tomorrow, Connor,” I inform him, shaking his hand.
“Mr. Teague got wind you’ve been havin’ some issues out this way,” he replies, jerking his chin in the direction of the clubhouse. Retrieving an envelope from his back pocket, he extends it to me. “He won’t find comfort in knowin’ the Feds have been crawlin’ up your ass. Heat from the law means added risk. If risk goes up, he’ll want to meet and renegotiate terms before agreeing to another shipment."
“Tell Teague business hasn’t been compromised.” Taking the envelope, I quickly peek inside at the cash. “And it won’t be. If I’ve gotta wipe his nose every time the wind blows, maybe we should discuss a ten percent increase for takin’ time out of my day to stock up on Kleenex.”
“I know. I know. Don’t shoot the messenger.” Nodding, he holds up his hands. “Just a friendly heads up, Stone. That’s all.”
“Friendly or not, it’s not needed,” I shrug, shoving the cash into my pocket. “We good here?”
“For now,” he nods. Reaching out, he shakes my hand again. “I’ll let Mr. Teague know that our exchange went smoothly. He’ll be in touch.”
“Lookin’ forward to it,” I reply, reminding myself that nothing good would come from pushing the subject any further here and now.
This shithead’s job consists of driving the damn truck from A to B and, now, soothing Teague’s jittery nerves to avoid me having to ride out there for a sit down with him myself. Not that I am going to let the passed along comment slide. No fucking way does someone walk onto the Mayhem lot and tell me how to run the club, or dictate how we handle our business. Hell will freeze over before I lay down like a pup and heel to someone else’s command. But, I am smart enough to know when to play my hand. For now, he can believe he has the upper hand. Unless the situation escalates, Maxwell Teague can be dealt with later. Face to face.
I feel a little better once the truck is loaded and Connor pulls out of our lot with the load of twenty-five to life. Leaving Schrader and Doc to get shit sorted and put away, I head back toward the clubhouse. Carrying a folding chair and a small red cooler, Huck strides for the gates. Wagging his tail, his black Labrador, Bullet, follows behind like a shadow. “Goddamn early shipment makin’ us late, huh, Bullet?”
“What the hell are you doin?” I ask, heading after him.
“Damn high school kid comes through here every afternoon with that rusted out piece of shit he calls a truck. Flyin’ around the curves and squealin’ his tires like he’s got no care in the world,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Nearly ran the bus driver off the road twice last week. Got her so torn up she’s threatenin’ to quit.”
“Jace Kennedy,” I nod, remembering seeing the kid hot rod his junker through town a few times.
“Couple days ago, I caught him in town with his buddies. He ran his mouth,” he laughs. Jerking open the chair, Huck drops it to the ground. Meeting my eyes, he digs a pack of firecrackers from his pants pocket and smiles. “I’m ‘bout to teach that little prick some manners.”
“Crazy old man,” I ground out, yanking it from his hand. “You want to set off illegal explosives with a Federal Agent inside the clubhouse?”
“Hmm. Maybe you’re right.” Arching a brow, Huck scratches chin thoughtfully. “I should check his trunk for spike strips.”
Coming around the corner, the bus stops just up the road to let off two little girls, barely old enough to walk alone. Just as they start to walk across the street to a little gravel road that leads down the ridge, the backfiring of an engine catches my attention. The bright green truck flies around the side of the bus, the tires on the passenger side nearly coming off the ground. The front end snags the book bag right off one of the girls, throwing her forward into the ditch.
“Wooooo!” the little fucker screams, laying on the horn. “Almost gotcha!”
Throwing down the firecrackers, I ball my fists, rage churning in my gut. “Check on the kids and the driver,” I say, shooting Huck a look. “I’ll be back.”
Schrader and Jinks are on their bikes by the time I reach mine. Meeting D.A.’s eyes, I jerk my chin in the direction of the clubhouse. “Stick close to her.” He nods when my bike roars to life. Revving the throttle, I peel out of the lot, my tires screeching as I turn onto the road.
Taking the curves hard, I spot the truck pulling into a driveway at the bottom of the hill. Jace Kennedy climbs out just as I
stop and climb off my bike. “Hey!” When he doesn’t acknowledge me, it only pisses me off more. Schrader and Jinks are right behind me, but I don’t need backup to teach this little shit a lesson. “Yo, asshole,” I ground out, coming up on him fast. “Who taught you how to drive?”
He whips around to face me and puffs out his chest like the arrogant little fucker he is. Leaning back against the truck, a smug grin spreads across his face. “Your mom.”
“Uh oh,” Schrader scolds coming up behind me, clicking his tongue. “That’s gonna cost ya.”
“Oh yeah?” he laughs, yanking a can of Skoal from his pocket.
“Yeah.” Stepping closer, I shove him back into his truck. “It is.”
“Don’t fucking touch me,” he grounds out, shoving me. I smile. Grabbing a handful of his hair, I bash his face into my knee. “Ah!” Falling to the ground, he cups his face. “You broke my nose, you piece of shit.”
Schrader kicks him in the ribs, knocking him onto his side. “Maybe we should break his legs while we’re at it,” he says, kicking him again. “Can’t drive then, can he, Jinks?”
“Bet he can’t burn out in a wheelchair,” Jinks laughs, nailing him in the face with his boot.
“Listen up, asshole.” Bending down, I grip Kennedy by the hair again, yanking his face up so that he meets my eyes. A mix of tears and blood stream down his face, but I don’t feel bad for him. I feel justified. “Next time I catch you drivin’ like that,” I ground out, tightening my grip until he yelps like a bitch. “I’m gonna rip the shifter from this rusted out piece of shit and shove it so far up your ass you’ll walk in reverse every time you sneeze. You get me?”
