Page 147 of Stone

“Took long enough,” Thrash muttered.

Like a shot, I was on him. Grabbing his collar, I hauled him back against the wall, snarling, “Would’ve been sooner if your fuckstick of a father and his even bigger fuckstick cronies didn’t take and abuse one of our ol’ ladies. You expected a quick handover after that? Ya fuckin’ idiot. All they did was delay the vote. Nearly twenty years later, and it’s only just done, and the only man to blame is your dead rat bastard father.”

“Careful, Dagger,” Thrash warned.

“Or what?” I challenged.

His gaze lowered.

I threw him away from me, watching him stumble, then recover. “You’ve got the product, and you’ve got the guns. That’s it. Our business is done. Remember our agreement. You keep all your whores, dirty drugs, and cunt men out of Hambleton, and we won’t have a problem. The second you renege on our deal, what happened to your dad will seem like child’s play. Do you fuckin’ get me?”

Silence.

“Do you fuckin’ get me?” I roared.

“Loud and clear,” he muttered.

I turned and made for the warehouse doors, Hendrix, Tex, KC, Shotgun, and my new beast of an enforcer, Atlas, flanking me, having my six, my brothers, my brethren, always.

Over the years, we’d built a club we could be proud of. Other MCs—including one percenters—respected and liked us. We encouraged visitors and opened our doors with love and respect, freely given. We’d sent out envoys to rallies, arranged meets with other friendly clubs, building allies and relations. Wehad men, ex-military, ex-cops, ex fucking everything beating our doors down for a place because of our values, principles, and reputation.

And we only picked the best. The most elite of men.

The old timers mainly had died off, left through ill health, or retired, and with them went the desire and the patience to deal with anything illegal.

We had our own businesses and investments. My oldest boy, Xander, played the stock market for fun and made us a fortune. One day, all my boys would be Demons, running things by my side and beyond.

Xander one day wanted the gavel. He loved planning and playing chess, feeling men out, and seeing what made them tick. Gage had been boxing since the year he turned eight and was currently studying art. He wanted to design custom bikes for our thriving auto shop. Kit was desperate to be a soldier. He dreamed of the army, and I knew one day he’d be an asset to any club.

Even Freya, my baby, walked, talked, read, wrote, and did math early. She read books years above her age bracket and understood it all. She’d fulfill my dream for her to leave the biker life and be more because she was precisely that; my princess was worth every star in the universe.

Now, all we had to do was give up the diamond patch representing our one percenter status, and we would be fully legitimate.

I burst out of the warehouse and into the fresh air. Then, as I mounted my chrome and black Harley, I took a lungful deep inside, filling my chest with everything I ever wanted.

Everything clean.

Everything decent.

Everything I respected.

My legacy.

Except I was missing the one thing that would make it all worthwhile. The one thing I yearned for but would never get, because as much as God blessed me with so fucking much beauty, he never saw fit to give me the one thing that gave me true peace.

Elise.

I could take lungfuls of air all day long and fill stadiums with it. But I’d never fill the hole she left because she was my one, and like my dad always said…

Stone men loved hard, fast, and forever.

Chapter Forty

Elise

Glasses clinked among the low buzz of chatter in the upmarket hotel bar in LoDo Denver. I’d been here three hours, knocked back five martinis, and had also knocked back three offers from men asking to ‘join me.’

My mom had passed ten days before, but I’d stayed to arrange and attend her funeral, which had been held the day before.

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