Page 39 of Hard as Stone
“Yeah, right.” I snort. “Unless her name is Money, and she’s really high maintenance.”
“Careful,” Hugo warns, his eyes darting to where Dad is still pacing. “You know how he gets when anyone questions how he does business.”
I bite back another retort, knowing Hugo’s right. Dad’s temper has been on a hair trigger lately, especially when it comes to anything related to the construction contracts.
“He’s just stressed about keeping the contract on track,” Felix says, but there’s a hint of uncertainty in his voice.
“Is that why we’re sitting around with our thumbs up our asses making it almost impossible for anyone to travel along Iron Way?” I press. “The supplies that were supposed to be herelast week still haven’t shown up, the permit paperwork keeps ‘disappearing’ at city hall, and somehow we’re still tearing up more of the street even though we can’t finish what we’ve already started. Since when do road repairs work like that?”
“Drop it, Pops,” Felix warns, flipping his safety helmet over in his hands. “You’re getting paranoid.”
“Am I?” I shift my weight, adjusting my grip on the sign. “Or are you both just refusing to see what’s right in front of you?”
Before either can respond, the rumble of motorcycles has me looking up from where I’m directing traffic around our latest excavation. My heart does a little flip thinking Axel’s come to see me, but this isn’t a social call. I can tell by the way they ride—a deliberate formation that screams power play.
The biker in front wears a cut with a ‘President’ patch prominently displayed. But the authority that seems to roll off him makes the patch almost redundant. Axel and Lee flank him like royal guards, their ‘Road Captain’ and ‘Enforcer’ patches marking their rank. Even watching them approach, I can see how different this hierarchy is from my father’s brute-force control—there’s respect in how they move, trust in how they position themselves. Behind them, at least six more bikes fall into formation, their riders all wearing the Stoneheart MC cut with various other patches I don’t understand yet.
I’m learning, though. Starting to recognize what different patches mean, how the hierarchy works. The way they arrange themselves around the President tells its own story about rank and respect.
Axel’s eyes meet mine as they approach, and there’s a warning there that makes my stomach clench. This is club business, notboyfriend business. I can tell by the rigid set of his shoulders, the way he positions his bike slightly behind the President’s, showing deference to rank, even though all I want is for him to ride up and kiss me like he did last night.
“What the hell?” Felix mutters at my shoulder. The bikes have everyone’s attention now. “What are they doing here?”
Before I can answer, Dad strides out from behind the excavator. “Bennett Construction is here by order of the City of Stoneheart,” he announces loudly, moving to intercept the President. “We don’t need whatever protection racket you’re selling.”
“Not selling anything.” The President—Stone, going by the patch above his rank—kills his engine but stays mounted, the authority in his bearing making it clear who holds the power here. “Just here to discuss some concerns about this…” He pauses and does a slow scan of the torn-up road. “Beautification project.”
Dad snorts. “Any concerns can be brought up at the town hall meeting next week.”
“Oh, we plan to,” Stone says, staring Dad down to the point where my father looks away and acts as though he’s swatting a bug to cover his discomfort. “Formal complaints will be lodged.”
“Everything we do is above board.”
“That so?” Lee leans forward on his handlebars, and I see Axel’s hand twitch at his side, near where I know he keeps his gun. “Because we’ve been hearing some interesting things about Summit Development’s real plans for this town.”
My father’s laugh is cold. “And what would a bunch of bikers know about development plans?”
“More than you think.” The President’s eyes narrow. “Like how they’re using road work to force people out of their homes. How they’re targeting the west side with their ‘improvements.’”
“This road was full of holes with no storm drainage. We’re fixing it.”
“At the expense of people’s livelihoods,” Stone counters. “We’ve got folks who can barely get their cars out to make grocery runs. Duck’s garage lost business last month because customers can’t reach him. You’re tearing up streets with no materials on site, no crews scheduled, and no plans to repave for weeks. Seems like a funny way to ‘improve’ things.”
I watch the exchange with growing unease. Dad’s shoulders are tense, his hands clenched at his sides.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dad snarls. “We have permits, contracts. Everything’s legal.”
“Legal don’t always mean right,” Lee says, and as torn as I am between wanting to believe everything my father is doing is OK, I have to agree with the club’s Enforcer. This work we’re doing is making life harder for the residents of Stoneheart who struggle the most.
Dad’s face flushes red. “Get off my work site before I call the police.”
“Your work site?” Stone raises an eyebrow. “Last I checked, these were public roads. We’ve got as much right to be here as anyone.”
“Not if you’re interfering with official city business,” Dad snaps.
“We’re just having a friendly conversation,” Stone says, his tone deceptively mild. “No interference here.”
I can see Dad’s temper fraying. His hands clench and unclench at his sides, and there’s a vein throbbing in his forehead. I’ve seen that look before, and it never ends well.
