Page 46 of Heart of Stone
Before I can process that, his mouth is on mine. This kiss is different from our first—slower, deeper, like he’s trying to memorize the taste of me. His hands frame my face, thumbs stroking my cheeks as he draws me closer.
I let myself sink into him, let myself believe that this can be simple, uncomplicated. That I can have this without consequences, without fear. That the strength I’ve wished for might include the courage to let someone in.
But nothing in my life has ever been simple.
I pull back, walking on unsteady legs toward my bedroom door. “I should get some sleep.”
“Andi.” My name is rough in his throat, laden with things unsaid.
I pause in the doorway, one hand on the frame. The words come out before I can stop them, raw and honest in the darkness. “You know what’s funny? It’s easier to kiss you than it is to trust you.”
I glance over to see the impact of my words in his eyes, in the way his jaw tightens, but I step through and close the bedroom door before he can respond.
Leaning against the wood, I touch my lips where I can still feel his kiss, wondering if any wall will be strong enough to keep him out.
Wondering if I want it to.
Damn.
11
HAWK
Duck’s office is a cluttered sanctuary of old-school grit and stubborn independence. The walls are a patchwork of grease-stained posters, faded photos of muscle cars, and a calendar stuck on a year long past. A battered desk dominates the small room, its surface littered with a mismatched collection of tools, unpaid bills, and a half-empty bottle of whiskey that’s likely seen more action than the coffee mug beside it. A fan in the corner sputters noisily, barely stirring the warm, oil-scented air, while the overhead light flickers faintly, casting uneven shadows across the floor.
The leather chair behind the desk creaks under Duck’s weight, worn patches and scuffed arms telling tales of countless late nights spent balancing books and fending off threats to his little slice of turf. A stack of faded blueprints leans precariously against a filing cabinet, and the faint hum of a radio playing classic rock fills the silence when conversations die. Despite the chaos, the space has a certain charm—gritty, no-nonsense, and unapologetically Duck.
The fact he’s called Axel and me in doesn’t bode well.
“Got this earlier today.” Duck tosses the envelope onto his desk. “Two million. Cash.”
Axel whistles low, picking up the offer letter. “That’s a lot of green for a garage in this neighborhood.”
“That’s because it ain’t about the garage.” I study Duck’s face. The old timer is pissed. “Summit wants the land.”
“Bingo.” Duck drops into his chair, the leather groaning under his weight. “Got a visit yesterday. Real smooth talker in an expensive suit. Said the neighborhood’s ‘evolving.’ That I should get out while the getting’s good.”
“Sounds gentle enough,” Axel says, his tone light.
“Oh, it wasn’t.” Duck pulls a second bottle of whiskey from his bottom drawer, not bothering with glasses as he takes a swig. “Mentioned how it’d be a shame if the city found code violations. How insurance rates are going up in ‘high-risk areas.’”
I catch the bottle he tosses my way. “Same playbook they’re using on the residents.”
“Yep.” Duck leans forward, his chair creaking. “But here’s what’s got me thinking—they’re moving too fast. Three months ago, they weren’t even in town. Now they’re throwing around millions like it’s nothing.”
“Money like that doesn’t appear overnight,” I say, rolling the bottle between my palms. “Not clean money, anyway. Those rumors about the cartel might be closer to the truth than we thought.”
Axel moves to the window, watching the garage floor below. “Lee says they’re bringing in workers from out of state. Whole crews. Setting up temp housing at the old factory site.”
“Before permits?” Duck’s eyebrows shoot up.
“That’s the thing.” Axel turns back to us. “Permits are flying through city hall. Projects that should take months to approve are getting rubber-stamped in days.”
“The mayor’s been spotted at the country club with Summit’s CEO,” I add. “Real cozy from what our prospects report.”
Duck snorts. “Roberts wouldn’t know honest money if it bit him in the ass. But still—why here? Why now?”
“Location.” Axel pulls out his phone, bringing up a map. “Look at it. Highway access. Rail line runs right behind the neighborhood. And those old mining tunnels underneath?—”
