Page 38 of Hard as Stone
Anger burns in my gut, but I force my voice to stay gentle. “You think something’s not right?”
“I didn’t want to believe it before,” she admits. “He’s my dad, you know. But after what you said at dinner about your family and...” She bites her lip, worrying it between her teeth like she’s not sure what to say. “I don’t think Dad would deliberately hurt people, but he’s always been focused on the bottom line. On ‘making it big’ someday. So I think that maybe…maybe…he’d be willing to take cash in return for looking the other way.”
I have to hold my breath to stop myself from growling and blurting out everything I know about Summit’s real plans, their cartel connections, about how her father’s greed is helping destroy our town. But the vulnerability in her eyes stops me.
“Come here,” I say instead, pulling her close. She comes willingly, burying her face in my chest. “Whatever’s going on, you’re not alone in this. You understand?”
She nods against my shirt. “I should go. Before my brothers send out a search party to Maria’s.” She steps back and smiles. “She was my cover for tonight. Let me change clothes there and everything.”
“She’s a good woman,” I say, leaning in and pressing a kiss to her forehead, hating that I have to let her go. “Say thanks to Maria for me and get some sleep. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Love you,” she whispers.
“Love you too,” I return, waiting until she’s safely inside. I’m about to start my bike when movement in the shadows catches my eye. JJ emerges from behind a nearby trailer, glancing around before approaching me.
“Here.” He thrusts a handful of crumpled papers at me. “I heard you asking Mom to keep her eye out for anything going on at the trailer your girl lives in.”
“JJ. You shouldn’t be involved in this.”
“I’m not. Found these in the dumpster behind their trailer when I was taking out trash. Looks important.”
I scan the documents he’s given me—invoices, some print-outs of emails that had been shredded but taped back together, notes in Bennett’s handwriting. The kid’s right. This is exactly the kind of evidence we need. “You tape these up yourself?”
“Sure did.”
“Where’d you learn to spot stuff like this?”
He shrugs, but I catch the pride in his expression. “Dad taught me to pay attention. Said sometimes the most important stuff is what people try to throw away.” His eyes flick to my cut. “So... does this make me a prospect now?”
I chuckle, tucking the papers safely inside my jacket. “Give it a few years, kid. But you did good. Now get your ass back inside.” He nods and rushes off.
As I ride toward the clubhouse, guilt churns in my gut. The information about her father’s late-night calls, combined with these documents, could be crucial to our investigation. But all I can think about is the trust in Poppy’s eyes when she confided in me.
Trust I’m betraying by taking this information about her father straight to the club.
Fuck.
11
POPPY
“This is getting ridiculous,” I mutter, watching Dad pace back and forth behind the excavator, phone pressed to his ear. It’s the third ‘private’ call he’s taken this morning, and we’ve barely started work.
“Maybe he’s trying to find more workers,” Hugo suggests, inclining his head to where the two other guys assigned to our crew are taking a smoke break while Dad sorts out whatever he’s ‘sorting out’. “We’re working with a skeleton crew more often than not lately.”
“Unless you’re working on the east side of town where we’ve got everything we need—extra crews, materials actually showing up on time, even those armed security guys in their fancy SUVs making sure the job goes off without a hitch,” I retort, regretting my words the moment I see the storm light up behind Felix’s eyes.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I bite my lip, knowing that accusing Dad of doing anything outright could backfire spectacularly.
“Nothing. Just that it seems odd, doesn’t it?” I say carefully. “How some parts of town get all the resources while others are left scrambling? Like, if we putonemore road block up, we won’t even be able to get home at the end of the day.”
Felix’s eyes narrow. “You been talking to that biker again, haven’t you?”
“I don’t need a ‘biker’ to point shit out, Felix,” I snap. “I have eyes. I can see what’s happening in front of me. And these things on the side of my head”—I wiggle my ears—”are capable of hearing all the hushed phone calls on site and at home.”
“Maybe Dad’s just got a girlfriend,” Hugo suggests from where he’s leaning against a concrete barrier in the shade. Meanwhile, I’m roasting in the sun with only my stop sign for shade.
