Page 39 of Burned in Stone
“On it,” Cash says, but he doesn’t move away from me immediately. Instead, he leans down, his lips near my ear. “We’ll talk later, angel. Get you properly settled in.”
After the men file out—Stone to his office, Cash reluctantly to deal with the books—the kitchen feels lighter somehow.
“So,” Ginger says, sliding into the seat beside me. “How does it feel? The cut?”
I run my hands down the leather. “Like I just joined something I don’t fully understand.”
“None of us did at first,” Andi says gently. “But you learn. The rules, the traditions, the family dynamics. It becomes second nature.”
“Plus,” Kya adds, “now Nitro and any other idiots will see that patch and know to keep their distance. Cash’s name carries weight around here.”
“Because he’s the treasurer?”
The women exchange glances, then laugh.
“Because he’s got a reputation,” Poppy explains.
“Because it’s known he doesn’t back down. Ever,” Ginger finishes, sipping her coffee. “He once rode to a rival club’s clubhouse alone to get Tank out of a…situation. Didn’t even hesitate. Just walked in, picked up Tank like a toddler off the playground, and told their president he’d return with backup if they tried that shit again.”
“Did they?”
“Nah.” Ginger shakes her head, smirking. “They thought they were flying under the radar. But no one wants to openly take on Stoneheart—not if they expect to live to tell the tale, anyway.”
“Cash is so—” I struggle for the word. “Controlled. Patient.”
“With you,” Maggie says pointedly. “That man’s been a saint waiting for you to come around. But with threats to the club? With anyone who might hurt the people he considers family? Different story.”
I think about how quickly he moved to hit Nitro. No hesitation, no warning. Just decisive violence. And I should be scared. I should be seeing warning signs. Gabriel was violent too—with me, with suspects who ‘resisted.’ I’d heard the stories about what happened in interrogation rooms. Violence was always his answer to feeling disrespected.
But this feels different. Cash just... ended the threat and walked away. There was no satisfaction in his eyes afterward, just a grim acceptance of what he’d had to do.
I’m probably rationalizing. Making excuses for him the way I used to make excuses for Gabriel. That’s what the critical voice says, anyway. But Kya and Ginger and all these women aren’t running. They’re not making excuses. They’re just... living their lives without fear of their men. Maybe that means something.
“Is knowing this supposed to scare me?”
“I don’t know. Is it working?” Ginger asks, looking slightly amused as she studies me.
I knit my brow as I consider it. Wait for the spike of fear that should come. “No. Weirdly, it makes me feel... safe.” I let out a somewhat hollow laugh. “Or maybe I’m just really good at lying to myself about dangerous men.”
Ginger’s expression softens. “You’re not. Cash isn’t Gabriel, Mercy. I know you’re still figuring that out, but trust me—we’d know.”
“We’ve all got radar for that shit,” Maggie says firmly. “Now, who wants to give her the real tour? Show her where everything is, introduce her to everyone properly?”
“I’ll do it,” Kya volunteers. “I need to stretch my legs, anyway.”
As we head out of the kitchen, my new cut feeling foreign but not unwelcome on my shoulders, I catch my reflection in the hallway mirror.
PROPERTY OF CASH.
A year ago, those words would have sent me running. Hell, twenty-four hours ago they might have sent me running—when I was packed and ready to flee to god-knows-where.
But Gabriel showed me something when he unpacked my escape bag. He showed me that running doesn’t work anymore. He’ll always find me. The only way through this is forward, with people who’ll stand beside me like a family instead of me trying to stand alone.
So these words—PROPERTY OF CASH—they mean something good.
The letters are a brand-new map where my old scars used to be directions.
They mean belonging.
