Page 6 of Hard as Stone (Stoneheart MC #2)

AXEL

“ W here’s Duck?” I burst through the clubhouse doors with Lee and Cash on my heels, our cuts clutched in our hands like evidence at a murder scene.

A prospect points toward the back room. “He’s in storage. Said something about inventory before he heads back to the garage. Something about new parts coming in.”

Perfect. At least we won’t be having this confrontation in his office at the garage where we’d have an audience.

We find him surrounded by open boxes, clipboard in hand, looking way too pleased with himself.

“Duck!” Lee’s sharp call has the old-timer looking up from his paperwork. “You want to explain this?”

I slap my cut down on top of his inventory list. He peers at it through his reading glasses.

“What’s to explain? Clean lines, classic design?—”

“Spell it,” Lee demands, pointing at the offending word. “Spell out what that says.”

“M-O-T-O-R-C-Y...” Duck trails off, his face going pale. “Well, shit.”

“Well, shit is right.” I lean forward, bracing my hands on the desk. “How many of these patches did you order?”

Duck’s eyes dart to the boxes surrounding us. My stomach drops.

“Duck.” Cash’s voice carries a warning. “What’s in these boxes?”

“Remember that marketing budget Stone approved?” Duck shifts uncomfortably. “You know, for the new merch line?”

“No.” Lee starts prying open the nearest box. “Tell me you didn’t.”

“Premium merchandise!” Duck protests as Lee pulls out a stack of t-shirts. “Top quality! Do you know how much this stuff cost?”

“Apparently not enough to include spell check,” I mutter, watching Cash unearth hoodies, baseball caps, even baby onesies—all emblazoned with ‘Stoneheart Motorcyle Club’.

“Baby clothes?” Lee holds up a tiny black onesie. “Really?”

“Got to start them young,” Duck says defensively. “And look—the rhinestones on the women’s tanks really make the logo pop.”

“Rhinestones.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “You put rhinestones on our...”

“Misspelled club name?” Cash supplies with a groan.

“We can’t wear this shit,” Lee groans, still digging through boxes. “Jesus, Duck, there’s even coffee mugs. And... is that a throw pillow?”

“For the clubhouse! Maggie said we needed to spruce the place up a bit.”

“Your old lady knew about this?” I ask.

Duck suddenly becomes very interested in his clipboard. “She, uh, might have helped with the designs.”

“Perfect.” I throw up my hands. “So not only do we look illiterate, we’re going to look illiterate while drinking coffee from matching mugs.”

“Could be worse,” Cash says, reaching into another box. “Could be these.” He holds up a pair of hot pink women’s boy shorts with ‘Property of Stoneheart Motorcyle Club’ bedazzled across the ass.

“Those were Maggie’s idea,” Duck mutters. “Said they’d sell like hotcakes at the next rally.”

Lee collapses onto a stack of boxes, laughing so hard he’s crying. “Oh god. We’re never living this down. Every MC from here to the coast is going to know.”

“Look.” Duck spreads his hands. “The budget’s spent. With all the club’s money being funneled into buying properties, we’re stuck with this until we can afford to replace everything. So either embrace it or ride naked.”

The mental image of Duck riding naked has me shuddering. “Fine. But this stays between us. Anyone asks, we tell them it’s... artistic license.”

“Sure.” Lee wipes tears from his eyes. “Because that’ll work. That traffic girl’s probably already posted it all over social media.”

The reminder of Poppy’s delighted laughter has me heading for the door. “I need some air. And alcohol. Lots of alcohol.”

“Where you going?” Lee calls after me.

“To check on Maria and the kids.” It’s not a lie. I do need to make sure Jack’s widow is doing OK.

The fact that it gets me away from bedazzled underwear and Duck’s ‘artistic vision’ is just a bonus.

Folks living on the east side of town call our neighborhood ‘The Pit.’ They say it like it’s a disease, something that might spread if they get too close.

To them, we’re nothing but a blight on their precious town, an eyesore they’d rather pretend doesn’t exist. But on nights like this, when the heat of the sun has died down and the mountain air carries hints of someone’s BBQ dinner, the Paradise Trailer Park really lives up to its name.

I cut my engine near Maria’s single-wide, listening to the cicada singing as I mentally rehearse how I’ll tell our fallen brother’s widow that the club is covering her rent again this month.

She’s a proud woman with a boy about to start high school and a little girl who’s growing like a weed.

The last thing she wants is our charity, but Jack was our brother—solid backup in a fight and even better at keeping the peace.

Losing him in a rather suspicious incident a little before Summit’s goons started rolling in has hit us all hard, but none harder than his old lady and kids.

With him gone, it’s now the club’s duty to make sure they’re taken care of.

I rap my knuckles on the metal door, wincing at how loud it sounds in the quiet evening. There’s a scuffling inside, then Maria calls out, “Just a minute!”

The door swings open, and Maria’s standing there, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. Her dark hair is pulled back in a messy bun, and there are smudges of what looks like flour on her cheeks. The smell of baking bread wafts out, making my stomach growl.

“Axel,” she says, surprise coloring her voice. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

I shift my weight, suddenly feeling awkward. “Just wanted to check in, see how you and the kids are doing.”

Maria’s eyes narrow slightly, but she steps back, gesturing for me to come in. “We’re fine. Same as last time you asked.”

The inside of the trailer is small but tidy. Jack’s old leather jacket—with the original, correctly spelled patch on it—still hangs by the door, and photos of happier times line the walls. I spot Jack Jr. sprawled on the couch, engrossed in some video game. He barely looks up as I enter.

“Hey, JJ,” I call out. He grunts in response, eyes never leaving the screen.

Maria sighs. “JJ, say hello to Axel properly.”

The kid pauses his game and finally looks over. “Hey,” he mutters before turning back to his screen.

I suppress a sigh. JJ used to light up when he saw any of us, begging for rides on our bikes or stories about his dad. Now, at fourteen, he’s all sullen teenager. Can’t say I blame him.

“Where’s Rosie?” I ask, noticing the absence of Jack’s little spitfire daughter.

“At a friend’s for a sleepover,” Maria says, leading me to the tiny kitchen. “You want some coffee?”

“Coffee sounds great.” I nod, settling into one of the mismatched chairs at the small kitchen table. The smell of baking bread is even stronger in here.

Maria busies herself with the coffeepot, her back to me. “So, what’s the real reason for this visit, Axel? The club sending you to check up on me again? Making sure I’m not spilling any club secrets now my husband isn’t around to keep tabs on me?”

I wince at her tone. “Nothing like that, Mez. Just making sure you and the kids are doing all right. See if you need anything.”

She turns, fixing me with a look that could strip paint. “We’re managing just fine, Axel. Same as I told you last month, and the month before that.”

I hold up my hands in surrender. “I know, I know. But Jack was family. That makes you and the kids family too. It’s our job to look out for you.”

Maria’s shoulders slump slightly as she turns back to the coffeepot. “I appreciate the thought, Axel. I do. But we don’t need charity.”

“It’s not charity,” I insist, even as I pull an envelope from my cut. “It’s what Jack would have wanted. What he would have earned working for the club.”

Maria eyes the envelope warily as she sets a steaming mug of coffee in front of me. “Axel...”

“Just take it, Mez,” I say softly, pushing the envelope across the table. “For the kids, if nothing else. JJ’s starting high school soon, right? He’ll need new clothes, supplies.”

She sighs, sinking into the chair across from me.

“I can’t keep doing this, Axel. Every time one of you shows up, it’s like.

..” Maria trails off, her eyes drifting to the photos on the wall.

Jack’s smiling face beams back at us from a dozen frozen moments—their wedding day, JJ’s birth, Rosie’s first steps.

“It’s like losing him all over again,” she finishes softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

A lump forms in my throat as I follow Maria’s gaze to the photos. Jack’s absence is a constant ache, a phantom limb we’re all still learning to live without.

“I know,” I say quietly. “Believe me, I know. But we made a promise to Jack. To take care of you and the kids if anything ever happened. We’re not about to break that promise now. The club will always be here for you. You’re not alone in this.”

Maria’s eyes meet mine, and I see the struggle there—pride warring with practicality, grief with gratitude. Finally, she nods and reluctantly accepts the envelope.

“Thank you,” she whispers, tucking it into her pocket. “I just... I wish things were different, you know?”

I nod, understanding all too well. “The club’s not giving up, Maria.

We’re still investigating what happened.

Summit, especially after what I found in their records room last month, is going to pay for the loss they’ve caused.

” I take another sip of coffee, the memory of my own close call while doing re-con for the club still fresh.

It took a hell of a distraction from the club to get me out of there unscathed, but at least we know it’s the cartel’s money bankrolling them now.

Maria’s eyes narrow. “You think Summit’s to blame?

They’re why there’s been so much construction chaos lately, right?

One of the new residents of Paradise was just here fixing my porch steps, mentioned there’s been no end of issues with all those roadworks cropping up. They can’t get anything finished.”