Stone: Motorcycle Club Romance (Savage Saints MC Book 9) Read online

  Given that Lacy had another table to help, I took the opportunity to make myself useful. I walked over.

  “My, you cleaned that off with ease!” I said as I stacked plates.

  I giggled, looked at him, and giggled some more to hide how I felt about his stare at me.

  “You’d be surprised what I can do with ease.”

  I laughed, but I didn’t know what else to say. He smirked at me and went back to his phone, staring longingly at something. As I took the plates back to the kitchen, I had a feeling of one thing.

  If this guy came back to Egg in the future, he was not someone I was going to keep my eyes off of.

  The only question was, would it be the only thing that I couldn’t keep off of him?

  Chapter 1: Marcel

  With more food in my belly than a typical man ate over the course of a whole day, I headed to the man who’d given me the means to feast.

  My brother, Jack “Biggie” Stone. The good brother.

  Admittedly, the walk over to the shop he was working at was something akin to hiking with a hundred-pound backpack over my gut. I’d gotten so used to just eating shit in prison that to now have the chance to eat real food, food that had to be good for the sake of business, was somehow emptying. My body craved whatever preservative bullshit they’d put in the prison food to keep us fed.

  But when I saw my brother cracking a joke outside the shop with a cigarette in his hand, drawing laughs from two of his colleagues, I knew that I was in my happy place. I was with the family that cared about me.

  “Hey yo, Biggie!” I yelled, referencing Jack’s ironic nickname, considering I probably had about forty pounds on him—something that was true even before my prison stints.

  “Get a load of this wiseass,” Biggie shouted, smiling. “You break my credit card limit, Marcel? You eat the entirety of the Brooklyn breakfast scene?”

  “Just enough to last me a week. I really appreciate you making sure that I won’t go hungry until next Wednesday. You’re a real gentleman.”

  “And you’re a real jackass, hah!” Biggie said as he hugged me tight. “How ya feelin’, buddy? Life’s treatin’ you well now?”

  “So far, so good,” I said. “No run-ins with the police. No planting of drugs. No run-ins with Kyle.”

  Biggie’s smile immediately faded at the mention of our other brother. It always did. Frankly, he might as well have been fuckin’ Voldemort to our family, someone we needed to never mention.

  “But I wanted to ask you about something, just an idea I had.”

  “Hmm, does it involve giving me a raise and some food?”

  “It might, actually,” I said with a knowing laugh.

  I looked around as if the suggestion I was about to make was something that the world could not know. Given how the news reacted to the Savage Saints out west, I didn’t think this was exactly a wrong assumption.

  “You know about motorcycle clubs? Like the Savage Saints?”

  “Yeah, who doesn’t?”

  “Well, what if we started our own chapter out here?”

  Biggie’s jaw slacked. He followed that up with a dramatic laugh as if he had planned to look shocked before he followed it up with riotous laughter. But my face remained unchanging.

  “You’re fucking kidding me!” he said with more laughter. His coworkers behind him, none of whom I recognized, also joined him in laughter. “You’re… fucking kidding me?”

  He slowly started to get the hint that no, I wasn’t fucking kidding. I was serious.

  “Shit, you’re fucking kidding me.”

  He looked over his shoulder, waved his coworkers away, and walked me to the side of the building.

  “Are you out of your goddamn fucking mind?” he said. “You know what those clubs are known for, right?”

  Oh, God. Don’t tell me they turned you into a bitch while I was inside, Biggie.

  “They’re basically fuckin’ terrorists, man! Shootings, violence, taking and raping women. I mean, fuck man, do you really want to go back—”

  “Biggie, shut the fuck up.”

  I put a firm hand on his shoulder.

  “Do you really think I’m going to risk going back to jail without at least seeing my little girl?”

  He knew better than to argue with me. There was nothing that mattered more than that—nothing. Maybe if I found a woman worth having around, she could come a little close, but nothing in this world would ever match the care I had for my daughter.

  “I wouldn’t do anything that would put that at risk. And besides, everything that you’re saying? That’s just pussies being pussies. Of course there are some bikers who get into some bad shit. You know what other groups get into bad shit? Literally every single fucking group in the world. Priests get into fucking trouble, OK? A man who uses a gun is not a criminal until he points it at the innocent. This is our fuckin’ chance to start something. To own something. To fucking be something. Do you really want to be a car mechanic for the next five years in Brooklyn?”

  Biggie took a deep breath. He was well past the point of making some stupid-ass joke. But I wasn’t sure if I’d flipped him over to my side or not. So, I made up something of a white lie.

  “Uncle’s already agreed to fund it.”

  Biggie’s eyes went wide. Bingo.

  “We have to work out logistics, obviously, but the core of an agreement is there. We’re on the same page. We want to make this happen. The only question is, do you?”

  “You’re asking me to commit to something like this here?”

  I nodded. Truth be told, I hadn’t planned on coming in and busting his balls for an agreement. I’d just wanted him to know what I was doing. But now that we were here and having this conversation, why the fuck not? There was no one I wanted in the club more than Biggie; he was the only family I could trust.

  “You’re fuckin’ crazy,” he said, shaking his head. “Goddamn out of your mind, fucking batshit crazy. You were warned not to do anything that got your ass back in jail, and now you’re one rung below the Blood and Crips. And I know, Marcel, I know what you’re gonna say. Oh, it’s not a gang; it’s a club. Motherfucker, a club that makes headlines for shootouts and violence is gonna be charged like a gang! It’s just fuckin’ pedantic at that point!”

  My nostrils flared. Nothing Biggie was saying was wrong. But what the fuck else was I supposed to do? What the fuck else could I do?

  “I don’t know how else I can say it, Biggie. I am not going back to fucking jail. No matter what it takes. Lilly is going to have her father.”

  Biggie checked his phone.

  “Break ends in two,” he said with a sigh. “Are you meeting Uncle later?”

  “That’s the plan,” I said. “I think he wants to meet at Egg at four-thirty. What time you get off?”

  “Fuckin’ hell,” he said with a laugh. “Four. Guess I’m not getting my ass out of this one, huh?”

  “You’re my brother,” I said, patting his arm. “If you tried to get your ass out of this one, I’d kick it first.”

  I then rubbed his head and scratched at what little hair he had left, a flashback to our goofier, care-free days when we weren’t adults, weren’t teenagers, when Kyle was nothing more than the brooding, moody kid who thought he was better than us and not the reason for so many of our problems.

  “See ya at four, Biggie. Oh, and come with an appetite. They love me, and they’ll love you.”

  “The fuck did—”

  But I just ignored him, flashing him a smirk as I walked away. I supposed a part of me should have had some concern about getting Jack to actually agree to join, but I mean, come the fuck on. He was my brother, and he and I had never let each other down before. If Jack had been able to take the fall in any way for me this last jail time, he probably would’ve. Unfortunately, he was in another state when the crime took place, so it wasn’t exactly something he could help with.

  And in any case, even though Biggie had no kids of his own, he wasn’
t someone who had fucked himself over like I had. The most recent arrest was just one of many. Biggie was too sweet of a man to land his ass in jail. Odds were he probably would at some point, just because he was a Stone, but if anyone was going to make it from the cradle to the grave without winding up behind prison bars, it was him.

  * * *

  I spent the rest of the afternoon leading up to four-thirty just wandering the streets of Brooklyn. Did I do anything else? Nope. Did I talk to anyone else? Nope.

  But you know what? Those steps were steps I could never have taken before. That freedom to say “I’m just going to meander and see where the road takes me” was not something I was about to take for fucking granted. It wasn’t like I was going to walk into a bad neighborhood; there weren’t any ‘hoods worse than jail.

  Eventually, though, as it always did, reality had a way of catching up. I had to meet my little brother at that Egg shop. I just wondered if that cute blonde girl who had walked in near the end of my meal would be there. Maybe she’d serve me. Maybe I could have something nice to look at.

  Hey, just because you couldn’t pet animals at the zoo didn’t mean that you couldn’t enjoy your time there. People paid to go there, after all, so why wouldn’t I pay to look at the pretty lady?

  I walked into Egg, and sure enough—she had her back turned to me, but the flowing blonde hair and the perfect legs gave it away—that cute girl was there. She was much more my style than the green-haired gal, anyway; I suspected that Greeny would say something about me needing to respect her as a woman or some other nonsense I didn’t much have the time for.

  She approached me with what she probably thought was a professional smile. Too bad for her I was king at reading what was and wasn’t bullshit. I knew she was both intimidated and aroused by what she saw.

  “Back for another set of eight plates?” she said with an attempt at a smile.

  “Good news for you, I’m bringing my brother, and he’s nicknamed Biggie. So you’re about to get yourself a nice tip if you treat us well.”

  She tried to hide her blushing. She tried so hard. God, she wasn’t good at it.

  It was so fucking cute, really.

  “Well, I was planning on spilling your coffee, dropping your food, you know, the usual?”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “I mean, that’s good service, right?”

  “Shit, it wouldn’t be too far off from where I came from.”

  I chuckled at the confusion across Blondie’s face. She didn’t need to know that I’d just come from jail, but that sure as shit didn’t mean I couldn’t fuck with her a little bit. Have some fun with me later, and if you’re good, I’ll tell you the truth.

  “Well, do you want a table or a stool?” she said, clearly unsure of where else to take it.

  “Give us a table,” I said.

  She turned around without a word in an almost too-sudden fashion, like she remembered someone was watching her very closely. I didn’t much care; I was here to talk shop with my brother, not hit on waitresses, but as much as I prided myself on being able to read people, this was one I couldn’t quite figure out.

  Naturally, giving the dog a bone only to pull it away and hide it somewhere said dog couldn’t even sniff to find it drove that dog only crazier.

  “Two of you, you said?” she said as she poured me water.

  “Two and only two,” I said with a smirk.

  She just nodded, still somehow distant and removed. She walked away to the counter to take care of something. I found myself unable to peel my eyes off her.

  And it had nothing to do with that long blonde hair or those sharp, sexy legs.

  When she looked back at me, I looked at my phone. Yeah, it was a little middle schooler-ish, but what could I say? She was less of a waitress now and more of a curiosity.

  And then, as if to fuck with me further, she approached, leaned on the table, and smiled. Her dress didn’t allow for any cleavage to show, but the positioning of her body suggested that if she were wearing something a little more low-cut, it wouldn’t have left much to the imagination.

  “Have you figured out what you wanted?”

  Do you know how fucking tempting it was to say “you?” Do you know how fucking hard it was to resist that and be a gentleman?

  It didn’t have anything to do with being a gentleman or not, to be frank. It was more like my brother was going to be here any minute now, and I’d already promised myself I wouldn’t be chasing any tail for the time being, and a whole multitude of factors that had nothing to do with me being a civilized human being or anything of that nature. God knows I was the furthest thing from that.

  And the young girl seemed to recognize that, because she soon stood right back up as if being seen this close to me would somehow be unprofessional. The poor girl didn’t seem to have any control over herself or her hormones, but I’d learned a long time ago not to assume anything. Though all of the inmates I ran with were men; maybe it was different with the ladies.

  Or, maybe not. My baby’s momma had shown complexity was the norm.

  “Gimme a few minutes,” I said, turning my eyes back to the menu.

  “Of course,” she said, but it was more reflexive than it was engaging.

  The blonde girl left, paused, and then came back. This shit still?

  “I forgot to mention,” she said with a look that suggested a smile she was attempting to smother very poorly. “My name is Christine if you need anything.”

  “Christine,” I said, liking how the name sounded as it rolled off the tongue. “I’m Marcel. Pleasure to meet you.”

  What is this, the bar? Jesus, Marcel. The place fucking closes in an hour!

  “Likewise,” she said again before walking away.

  I can only assume she’s as conflicted about flirting as I am. That’s literally the only way any of this makes an ounce of goddamn sense.

  The door swung open to the restaurant. I didn’t look up; I could already recognize Biggie by the sound of his gait. He had a constant shuffle to him, almost like someone trying to chop their steps out of fear of bumping into someone. I think it was because he was always trying to walk on eggshells around Kyle.

  I didn’t blame him, being younger. The only difference between us was I was born first, and thus I could kick Kyle’s ass in our youth to set him straight. These days…

  “Sup, Biggie,” I said as Jack sat across from me. “You come with an appetite like I asked?”

  “You do know that I didn’t get that nickname for nothing, right?”

  I rolled my eyes. To pretend that he had earned the nickname Biggie in my family was eye-roll inducing.

  “I’ll take it that the answer is yes, then.”

  “To more than just the question of food,” he said, followed by an exaggerated and emphasized groan. “You asked if I’d be in. I worry this is fucking stupid; I can’t lie.”

  So you’re in. Just say your spiel and let’s get on with it.

  “You can’t go back to jail, Marcel. If you wanna see your little girl, you can’t. If you want to make something of your life, you can’t. If you want, fuck, man, you know what I’m saying. But goddamnit, you’re my brother. But more than that, you’re a friend. It’s a fucked-up world where I trust my friends more than I trust my family, but…”

  That’s what happens when you have a middle brother like Kyle.

  “In any case, fuck it, man. I’m in.”

  “Good man,” I said, leaning over and patting him on the cheek. Biggie laughed as he moved away.

  “You owe me, by the way.”

  “For what? Keeping an eye on my ex and my kid?”

  “Well, yes, but more than that!” he said, finally able to go back to his laughing ways. “I got my buddy to join. Name’s Lane Bentley, but everyone calls him Niner. Former cop. Won’t take any shit. He can help us.”

  “Huh, already currying favors with me,” I said as Christine came over.

  Briefly, we dropped our conversatio
n. I went silent, letting Christine engage Biggie about the menu options. She was noticeably less flirtatious and smiley with him than me. I suppose I could have let a little arrogance creep in about how I was normally the favored one, but really, what good was having an advantage if you weren’t going to let yourself embrace it?

  But as he and Christine spoke, something about what Jack had said concerned me a little.

  “You said former cop?”

  “Yeah.”

  “If a man went from being a cop to being a mechanic, I don’t imagine it’s because he was honorably discharged. Is that going to help us, or draw suspicion?”

  Jack shrugged.

  “We get cops dropping by the store, and he has a nice rapport with them. If something did happen, it probably happened with the senior staff and not the cops on the streets.”

  Good enough for me.

  “Well, in that case,” I said, grabbing my cup of water. “It ain’t alcohol, but it probably shouldn’t be right now. To the Savage Saints, the Brooklyn chapter.”

  Jack laughed, bowed his head, and drummed the table.

  “We’re really doing this, huh?”

  I nodded.

  “Fuck me,” he said. “I suppose it’ll be a story if nothing else.”

  Hopefully, it’ll be a hell of a lot more than just a story, Jack. It’ll be a hell of a lot more than just a mere story.

  It’ll be a lifesaver for me.

  Chapter 2: Christine

  Be professional, Christine.

  Marcel. I would not forget that name. It didn’t help that Marcel had now shown up twice today.

  It made sense for me to have taken notice the first time he showed up. It wasn’t every day that you began your shift and saw someone eating eight plates worth of food. It definitely wasn’t every day that the same person came back, hungry for more. Hell, even our devoted customers didn’t come to Egg more than once a day.

  It was all just cover, though. The bald, stern face. The muscular body. The gruff but honest voice. The banter.