Page 3 of Hard as Stone (Stoneheart MC #2)

I lean back in my chair, thinking of Poppy and her family working on the roads. They don’t look like a big operation, the fact Summit is providing extra workers proves that. But they are outsiders. Are they part of the council’s plans? Or just a bunch of schmucks caught in the middle?

Not that I care about Poppy’s family business. A month ago, my life was great—easy. Now, she’s a daily pain in my ass that I really don’t need.

“Duck says the same thing’s happening over on Cedar Street,” Lee adds. “Small businesses getting hit with violations, noise complaints. Summit keeps swooping in, offering to buy them out before they go under from all the fines.”

“You notice anything on your runs?” Stone asks me.

I shake my head. “Just a lot of road work. More than usual for this time of year. And it’s concentrated in certain areas.” I pause, thinking. “Mostly on our side of town, around the low-income housing. Nothing much closer to Main Street.”

Stone drags his fingers through his beard. “At what point in the last decade has the council bothered to fill in so much as a pothole on the west side of town?”

“Never,” I growl, jaw clenched. “They’ve left our neighborhoods to rot while pouring money into those fancy new developments on the south side of the national park.”

“Yeah. Club’s been keeping these roads passable for years,” Lee chimes in. “Now suddenly they care?”

Stone nods, his expression grim. “Exactly. This ‘beautification project’ isn’t about making our neighborhoods better. It’s about pushing our people out.”

A heavy silence falls over the chapel. We all know what Stone is implying. This isn’t just about road work or code violations. It’s about pushing out the working class, the poor, the people who’ve called this neighborhood home for generations. People like us.

“Cash, correct me if I’m wrong, but I doubt the club can keep bailing out the old folk and the businesses who can’t keep up with the fines,” I say, looking to our Treasurer.

Cash nods. “You’re right.”

“So, what do we do about it?” I ask, leaning forward in my chair. “We can’t just sit back and watch them destroy everything they don’t like the look of, everything we’ve worked hard for.”

This town has been our home for generations. The club has deep roots in Stoneheart, looking out for our own when no one else would. Now some suit-wearing bastards think they can just waltz in and push out the very people we protect? Not on our watch.

Stone’s eyes narrow. “We’ve been quietly opposing them up to this point. Nuisance stuff like fucking with their machinery to slow them down. I think we need to ramp up our efforts.”

There are nods of agreement around the table.

“But first, we need more information. We know the cartel is bankrolling them, but we need to find out who the politicians are behind this ‘beautification project’ and what they’re getting out of it.”

He turns to me. “Axel, I want you to keep an eye on that road crew. See what you can find out about their company, who in the council hired them, what exactly they’re working on. Something doesn’t seem right. Get friendly with them if you have to.”

I nod, already dreading another encounter with Miss Bubble Gum and her smart mouth. But orders are orders.

“Lee, you and Cash dig further into these code violations. Get copies of the fines and see if they’re using the same manufactured letterhead they used when they were trying to push Duck out of the garage.

Talk to every business on the west side.

Find out who’s getting hit and how hard.

Cash, I want you tracking every penny of those increased taxes.

Follow the money trail. See who’s making a profit out of all this. ”

With orders given, the meeting wraps up and I head to the bar with a few brothers to wind down. After the shit show of a day I’ve had—detours, city corruption, and thoughts of a certain traffic controller and her ridiculous boots—I need a drink and a game of pool.

Devil’s is quiet for a Thursday. A few regulars nurse beers at the bar while Merle Haggard croons softly from the jukebox.

The place has seen better days—peeling paint, creaky floorboards, and enough stories in its walls to fill a library.

But the familiar smell of stale beer and whiskey wraps around me like an old friend.

It’s the best bar in town as far as I’m concerned, a neutral ground where civilians and MC members drink side by side.

Summit’s suits have been circling like vultures here too, trying to add it to their collection of properties.

But from what I’ve heard, Devil isn’t interested in selling his slice of local history to some corporate developer’s ‘revitalization’ plan.

“We’ll get the drinks. You set the table up,” Lee says before he and Cash head to the bar to grab our usual round. I make my way toward the back to rack up a game. My shoulders start to relax for the first time all day.

That is, until I round the corner to the pool tables and every muscle in my body goes rigid.

At forty, I’ve seen enough corporate takeovers to recognize the signs.

Been watching Summit play the same game I saw my father orchestrate two decades ago—before I walked away from my old life of boardrooms and backdoor deals.

I should be focused on that, on protecting what’s ours.

Instead, I’m getting distracted by her .

Almost every day for a solid month, I’ve gotten on my bike and somehow I’ve managed to run into her, or at least those unfinished roadworks her family keeps dotting all over the west side.

She’s either in my way or on my mind. And now she’s here.

In my bar. Like some kind of cosmic joke the universe keeps playing on me.

Poppy Bennett is bent over the pool table wearing painted-on jeans that hug her curves in a way that should be illegal.

She’s lining up what looks like a tricky bank shot.

Her braid has come loose, dark strands falling around her face as she concentrates.

The tip of her tongue peeks out between her lips as she focuses.

This is the point when I realize I should turn around. Go find a different bar. Hell, a different town. But I don’t. Of course I fucking don’t.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.”

The words slip out before I can stop them. Her head snaps up at my voice, those bright eyes finding mine instantly.

“Well, well. Look who finally followed the yellow signs.”

This girl’s eye contact game is insane. Because she maintains it as she draws back for her shot, the crack of the cue ball echoing, followed by the satisfying thunk of the eight ball dropping into the corner pocket.

That sunrise of a smile spreads across her face—the same one that’s been haunting me all month.

My dick goes rock hard in an instant, and I can’t keep denying what I already know.

This woman is trouble. The kind of trouble that could bring a man to his knees if he’s not careful.

And I’m supposed to get close to her.

Shit.

I’m going to need something a hell of a lot stronger than beer.