by Shannyn Leah
Stone
Bad Boys of Willow Valley
Book Two, Stone Patino
By The Lake Series
Shannyn Leah
Copyright © 2018 by Shannyn Leah
All rights reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or transmitted by any electronic or mechanical means including information, storage and retrieval systems, without the permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Shannyn Leah
www.ShannynLeah.com
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Stone (Bad Boys of Willow Valley, #2)
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter One
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Further Reading: Dax
Dedication
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Chapter One
“SLOWLY, NOW. LET’S bring her in.” Standing at the back of the shop bay, Stone Patino waved his hands as he directed a handful of guys pushing a 1969 Maserati Ghibli into the shop.
Damn, the car was fine.
It didn’t matter that the rust bucket had been sitting idle for too many years and the red exterior had more rust than paint. It didn’t even phase him that the soiled inside exposed more foam seat than tan leather because when they finished restoring what looked like a junker now, the car would be fine—damn fine.
Just envisioning the finished product pulsed adrenaline through Stone’s veins. Maybe not the type of rush he’d once craved, years ago, when he’d stood in an underground fighting ring ready to pummel the poor sucker standing across from him. Had it been the fight itself, the show, the illegitimacy of it, or all of it rolled into one awesome night? It didn’t matter anymore. The buzz from the car in front of him now suited the life he’d adjusted to, the life he’d built—the life he liked.
As the car inched back into place now, he shouted, “That’s good!”
The men halted with sighs of accomplishment, straightening and taking deep breaths. Some slapped each other’s backs, others wiped the back of their hands across their perspired foreheads, but all wore a satisfied grin with the arrival of the shop’s newest project.
Stone gently patted both hands on the rusty frame before he smoothed his hand flat and ran it across the trunk, over the window, finally stopping at the passenger’s side door frame. He leaned down and glanced at Dax Colyn, his best friend and owner of the shop.
His stupid ass friend had made himself comfortable in the filthy driver’s seat. No doubt oil, dirt, and animal feces had stained the rear of his pants. Stone would’ve been right in there with Dax if his evening plans didn’t require his best dressed.
“Lazy ass,” Dax grunted at him as his hands tightened around the wheel and a sound of ease escaped him. He glanced at Stone with a sluggish smirk, making it a point to wrinkle his nose when he purposely lingered a look on Stone’s pressed button-up shirt. “But you do have a pretty side if you ever want to take up modeling.” With a widening smirk, he added, “Senior modeling.”
Stone grabbed an old, hard, crusty piece of material from inside the car and threw it at his friend. “Screw you.”
It was Dax’s fault Stone was dressed like a cologne model—not a senior model. He might not be in his early twenties—or even late twenties—but he sure as hell wasn’t old. He could bench press more now than back in the day, plus he maintained a healthy workout at the gym. Maybe he’d grown a bit lazy in his all-around general appearance, but today he’d shaved away his regular scruff and even slicked back his longer hair.
Dax swiftly caught the material and threw it out the car window before returning his attention back to the car. He ran his oil-stained and calloused hand over the dashboard.
Standing inside his leather loafers, Stone pressed his feet firmer onto the cement floor to control the temptation to climb inside and join his friend.
Dax adjusted the mirror and the cracked piece fell off in his hand. He stared at the dirty glass for a moment, and then said, “Beauty, isn’t she?”
“Damn straight. Let’s check under the hood.” Stone wouldn’t touch, only look. Nothing wrong with just looking.
He bolted to the front of the car and lifted the hood of their new project. A mixture of glee and sounds of disappointed rumbled from him at the sight of the rusted insides. Years of being stored in damp and grubby places had agreed with its engine compartment less than the outside of the vehicle. Was there anything salvageable left here?
“Don’t get dirty, princess.” Dax wedged his way beside him without touching Stone’s tux with his own soiled clothes.
When Dax reached to pull the grey tie around Stone’s neck, he swatted his hand away. “I wouldn’t even be in this predicament if you hadn’t gone and pimped me out like your hooker,” Stone growled.
Dax laughed, which sounded more like a grunt that deepened as he stuck his head deeper under the hood.
“Stop your bitchin’.” Hawk Cullen strolled into the bay giving the collar of his black tuxedo jacket a flip before stretching out his arms and checking himself out. “Just think of the piece of ass you’re getting tonight.”
Stone shook his head, not surprised the first thing out of Hawk’s mouth regarded bedding a woman. He’d bet the majority of his thoughts revolved around getting laid.
“I’m not sleeping with whomever bids the highest.” Stone hastily grabbed his charcoal-colored tux jacket from a hook on the wall and nearly tore the metal right through the collar. He slipped the jacket on, noting the fitted material seemed tighter, constraining and forcing him into something he didn’t want to do.
“Neither is Hawk,” Dax said. “This is a charity. No private after party.”
“We’ll see.” Hawk couldn’t keep it in his pants if he tried. “Didn’t you get old lady Mabel last year?” he asked Dax.
Dax made a face. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Hawk punched his shoulder. “We need to get you liquored up for some juicy details.”
“Don’t change the subject. No after party.” Dax glared under low eyelids.
Hawk operated like a rebellious teenager who needed his dad—generally being Dax—to put him in his place. Whether he needed reminders or purposely baited Dax was a debatable subject that
would undoubtedly never be answered. Stone would rather have a one-time face-off in a fighting ring with Hawk then offer a daily dose of warnings.
In most cases, like now, Stone ignored him. Instead, he punched Dax in the shoulder, a little harder than intended and his friend retaliated with only a laugh.
He needed to get a grip. Damn, it was only a date with a woman for crying out loud. Not even a date, just dinner at The Caliendo Resort.
“It should be your ass up on that stage.”
Dax wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, leaving a strip of grease which Stone found himself jealous over. “I’m a happily married man now. Thanks for taking my place, man.”
“Hey, Patino!” Marnie Stax hollered from the bay door.
He must’ve lost track of time. How had an hour gone by so quickly?
Hawk straightened and flashed the new receptionist his cockiest smile. Even if the woman did behave as wild as her mix of white and grey hair, sporadically stained with random colors, she’d shown no interest in Hawk.
Stone glanced over, giving her an acknowledging nod so she could get back to work and avoid whatever idea was brewing in Hawk’s head. “I’m heading out now, thanks.”
“Hey, Marn, what time you get off tonight?” Hawk’s toned dripped with one-sided desire.
Marnie tightened the knot on the front of the plaid shirt tied above the waist of her ripped jeans before placing her hands her hips. “Sweetheart, you’re not man enough to handle me.” She winked a thick, black-lined eye at him before looking back at Stone.
Stone coughed to keep from laughing.
“Your dad called and said there’s an emergency at the gym. He needs you down there, ASAP.”
Stone cursed. He didn’t have time for one of his dad’s “emergencies”. They usually involved an empty bottle and a wad of crinkled cash and instructions to go buy a new one. Since his old man had been banned from the liquor store eons ago after a drunken afternoon of harassing the staff, he relied on his son to keep him fully stocked.
“Lolita, I’m all man,” Hawk persisted on her way out.
She turned to face them again and perched her thick eyebrows so high they disappeared behind her bangs, the only part of her hair the bandana tied around her head didn’t pull back. “In my experience, those who try extra hard are lacking downstairs.” Her eyes lowered to look at the front of Hawk’s pants. She gave her deep red-coated lips a little wiggle as of debating what was beyond the material before looking back at him with a small shrug. “Just saying.”
“Why don’t we take this into the back room and I’ll show you exactly what you’re missing.”
She pursed her lips. “Not interested.” She looked at Stone. “You better hurry because you’re due at the Caliendo Resort in less than an hour and if you have to stop by the beer store you’ll need to boot it.” She looked at Dax. “Dax, you have one hour then you’re going home to get ready.”
“Thanks, Marnie.” Dax waved at her without taking his attention away from the engine.
“I’m not joking.”
“I hear you.” His hand disappeared back in the car.
“And no jeans.”
“Can’t promise anything.”
“Marns, my number is lucky number nine.” Hawk flipped up the corners of his suit jacket. “Maybe you should stop by and put in a bid.”
Marnie shook her head. “The poor sucker who wins you tonight...” she muttered, leaving the bay.
Hawk’s eyes didn’t leave her backside until she disappeared and Stone’s fist itched to punch the cocky grin right off his face, even more so when he said, “I like her.”
“Stop trying to sleep with my staff,” Dax barked at him, sounding more serious than joking.
“At least he won’t scare this one away. She’s a rock.” And her persistence to say no seemed to be the very thing that pushed Hawk to continue to ask. “I better go see what poison my old man’s after now.”
“Make it quick. You don’t want to be late for the ladies.” The last word oozed slowly with Hawk’s anticipation.
Even his father’s poison and another strained father/son moment sounded better than the auction at the resort. If single Dax hadn’t agreed to the event over a year ago and if the money raised hadn’t been coming back to the fire station, Stone would’ve declined without regret.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t.
So he’d smile, and hopefully raise a nice dollar, but he wouldn’t enjoy doing it.
He headed out the bay door. “I’ll see you guys over there.”
Outside, Stone grabbed the helmet hanging on the handlebar of his bike, his pride and joy. Getting ready to slip it over his head, he saw Marnie running into the parking lot. “No! You’re not riding your bike.”
“Yes I am.”
“No, you’ll smell like gas fumes and the open road.”
He liked both of those smells. Besides, it was late August and there were a numbered amount of summer days left to enjoy his bike before the snow hit and he’d be storing it.
She took the helmet, tucking it under one arm and dangled a set of keys in front of him. “Take the Impala.”
Glancing across the lot at Dax’s sleek black car, he figured if he had to replace his bike, the 1967 Chevy Impala wasn’t such a bad trade.
“Thanks.” He took the keys. “You know, you can kick Hawk in the balls if he gets out of hand.”
She laughed. “He’s harmless. A dirt bag, but harmless.”
Stone shrugged. “I could kick him in the balls for you.”
She laughed again and slapped his shoulder.
Platonic.
Numb.
The same dull feeling he’d experienced with any woman who crossed his path—no desire to flirt or ask out on a date. He couldn’t even muster up enough energy to show a bit of interest in taking a woman back to his place for just one night. He was the complete opposite of Hawk, but the womanizer had never experienced the pain of a woman ripping out his heart, shredding it beyond repair, and then putting it back into an empty nothing. The cocky bastard didn’t understand betrayal. Stone had encountered destruction firsthand watching the woman he loved walk away only to leave him bleeding in a ring.
“Thanks, but if anyone gets to give him a good swift kick, I would prefer it to be me.”
He chuckled at her feistiness. “Fair enough.”
“Get going. You don’t want to be late.” Marnie jogged back to the shop’s front door and even her tight ass did nothing for Stone, but he knew what would.
Inside the Impala, he turned the key and revved the engine. “Hey there, Charlie, it’s been a while. How you been?” The pleasurable purr of response pushed down the emotions emerging up his chest. He wouldn’t let his past spoil today. He’d spent enough days feeling sorry for himself. These days he lived for himself, and only himself.
Pressing his foot firmly down on the gas pedal, he spun the wheels out of the parking lot and headed for Willow Valley’s main strip before stopping at his dad’s place.
Rustling in the glove box, he located a pair of Dax’s sunglasses and slipped them over his eyes, blocking the blinding summer sun beaming over the horizon. His body eased comfortably into the leather bucket seat and he simply reveled in controlling each turn of Charlie’s route while remembering the months he’d spent restoring this—what Olivia called “him” instead of the “her” they usually referred to the cars—with Dax, Rowdy, who’s now passed, and Olivia. Good months, busy months, just the way he liked it.
The warm day filled the parking spaces with vehicles while bicycles occupied the bike racks. Tourists stretched across the sandy beach to the west or walked along the local businesses to the east. It looked like a profitable day for the local shops. He considered stopping by Mrs. Calvert’s Bakery for a coffee to keep him going, but passed up the opportunity knowing he’d already wasted too much time. Instead, he reluctantly headed toward his dad’s gym just a road off the main strip.
Even Will
ow Valley’s older areas had a touristy atmosphere. Colorful flowers draped over baskets hanging from the street lamps, wooden benches with metal ornate backs were spaced a specific distance apart, and the houses maintained cut and groomed yards.
However, the cement building with the faded red letters reading, “Patino’s Gym” was somewhat of an eye sore. The original framed poster of his dad standing proudly in his championship fighting days attracted visitors to the gym and let his dad relive his glory days—the only thing besides the bottle that the old man cared about.
Stone parked in an empty space by the front doors, noting the blood-red-colored Jaguar ahead of him. No one local owned an F Type so he concluded it must belong to a hot-shot passing through or on vacation and they sure as hell wouldn’t be visiting his dad’s gym—unless it was another fan. He’d put his bets they were grabbing flowers at the florist shop on the far side or sitting down for a meal at the restaurant on the other side. Wherever the owner was, they had good taste. Damn good taste.
Inside the gym, the smell of sweat weaved around the out-of-date equipment. Grunting sounds came from the far back where a sparring ring stood as long as Stone could recall. He remembered practising and fighting in that very ring. And, as always, a multi-load of emotions slammed into him with such not-so-fond memories.
Today was going to shit. He blamed it on being suckered into being auctioned off like a piece of meat at the resort. Ordinarily, he managed to bury his past and live in the present. But every now and again, like today, every corner seemed to trigger a memory he was adamant to forget.
Turning away from the ring, his jaw set tighter. Regret resonated toward his younger self for allowing his, then, stubbornness to drive him away from what could have been a legit and professional career in fighting to the world of underground fighting. His life had been set up to fight from the moment he’d been born—the son of Slate Patino, fighting champion. He’d been bred to fight, but sometimes emotions had overpowered good sense.
Inhaling a deep breath, liking the gym smell more than most, he scrubbed a hand over his face, hating instead, the familiar feelings battling inside him. Surrendering to emotions were for the weak and Stone refused to allow them to run his decision making again.
