Page 7 of Property of Stone (Kings of Anarchy MC: Pennsylvania #1)

Patch—even though he never confirmed that was his name, she might as well call him that—spat a stream of dark juice onto the ground, barely missing his own boot with the splatter. “James Conrad, huh? Nobody here by that name.” He jerked his chin toward her Honda. “You tryin’ to sell that ride?”

“What? No.” She would need it to escape this paradise .

“Then, you got no business here.”

That was his opinion. Taryn didn’t agree. “I actually do.”

“What?”

“What, what?” she asked.

He shook his head. “What fuckin’ business you got here?”

“I need a word with Mr. Conrad.”

“Mr. Conrad,” he repeated in an amused mutter. “Jesus fuck.”

“Does he not live here?”

“Like I said, girly, nobody here by that name.”

Bullshit. “This came up as his address.”

“That fuckin’ so?”

“Yes, but if he doesn’t live here then I’m sorry if I disturbed you.” She wasn’t. If he was going to lie, so was she.

One shaggy eyebrow rose. “He know you?”

What an odd question to ask if the man didn’t live here. More proof he did. Or at least spent time here.

“Yes.” Sort of.

She had no idea if James Conrad knew her name or if he would even remember her. The incident with Vic happened over a year ago. She did know James went to prison for his unfortunate part in it. As soon as she discovered he’d been freed, she began to search him out.

And here she was. But according to Patch, not at the right address.

“D’you even have any fuckin’ clue where you’re at?”

Another odd question. “A school?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, girly, what used to be a fuckin’ school. Ain’t that now.”

“I figured it was no longer a school solely by the amount of empty beer and liquor bottles. Plus, I can’t imagine a school cafeteria would serve up food from”—she flipped a hand toward the nearest halved steel drum—“one of those DIY grills.”

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with those grills.” He rubbed the part of this gut that extended past the leather vest. “Makes some damn good eatin’.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” She glanced to her left and eyed up the building. “So if it’s not a school and not a residence, what is it?”

Patch turned around and hooked a thumb toward the back of his vest. “Know what these are?”

A large embroidered logo of a masked skull wearing a crooked crown was sandwiched between a downward curving top patch that screamed: KINGS OF ANARCHY and the lower upward curving patch that shouted: PENNSYLVANIA.

A smaller square patch with the letters “MC” to the right of the logo completed the look.

She might as well state the obvious. “Patches?”

“Know what they stand for?”

“No.”

“Then you don’t belong here.” Patch made a shooing motion with his tattooed hand. “You best skedaddle.” With that, he spun on his heel and headed back to the school.

“Wait!”

He did not wait, so Taryn ran after him.

That could be another bad decision in her lifetime long list of bad decisions, but her gut was telling her that, between Patch’s actions and questions, James Conrad did live here.

“He had long dark brown or black hair, black facial hair, dark brown eyes. He’s six foot or so and”—from the little she could see that day—“has tattoos.”

A snort was heard from the man who continued to walk and did not slow down .

“Please! I only need a minute with him.”

“He lasts longer than a minute.”

What did that mean? Did she even want to know? “If you know that, then you know him!”

“Didn’t say that,” Patch threw over his shoulder, not slowing down.

She ran faster so she could catch him before he disappeared through a door she only just now noticed.

She got in front of him, then stopped, blocking his path. When he stepped to the right, so did she. When he moved to the left, she did the same. He shook his head. “Woman.”

“Please. He helped me. I only want to thank him.”

“Hire one of those planes that writes in the sky or somethin’.”

She tipped her head to the side. “Would I tell them to fly it over this address?”

He dropped his gaze to his boots and muttered, “Fuck.”

“Can you just tell him I’m here and only need a moment of his time? It would be greatly appreciated.” She pointed to the ground. “I can wait out here.”

“Might be waitin’ a while.”

“That’s fine.” It wasn’t, but now she was determined to see him. The more Patch tried to get her to leave, the more she wanted to dig in her heels.

Patch kept his eyes locked with hers as he slowly leaned over and spat some more of that gross dark juice onto the ground.

Taryn quickly stepped back to avoid the splash.

Yuck.

When he straightened, he pulled a cell phone from the inside of his vest, jabbed at the screen, then put it to his ear. After a few seconds, he dropped it to his side. “He ain’t answerin’. ”

“Try again, please.”

With a long, aggravated sigh, he dialed again and put the phone back to his ear.

“No, ain’t an emergency, brother. Some girly’s here wantin’ to see you.” Patch eyed her up and down. “Possibly. Says she knows you. Maybe you fucked her before since she said she’s here to thank you for your service.”

Heat licked at her cheeks. “No, I?—”

With a scowl, Patch turned his back on her. “Whatya wanna do? Want her to wait outside? Or you want me to send her up to join you?”

Join him? Doing what?

“Sure? She ain’t half bad. Hard to see her tits under whatever the fuck she’s wearin’, though. Ass looks sweet enough.”

When was he checking out her ass?

“Yep. You got it, brother.” Patch stabbed at the screen to end the call, then tucked his phone away. He turned back to Taryn. “Come with me.”

She quickly followed on his heels as he yanked open the door and went inside. Of course, not holding it for her. She caught it before it closed and quickly ducked through the doorway.

The school was definitely different on the inside, where a lot of updates had been done, versus the outside. The wide hallways remained but most of the doors to what might have once been classrooms were solid and without windows, making it impossible to see what was going on behind them.

The walls had been repainted and the floors were a polished concrete instead of tile or laminate.

She took as much in as she could as she tried to keep up with Patch. For an older, heavyset gentleman—and she was being very generous with that title—he was sure fast on his feet.

He stopped in an area that had the chained front doors to her left and a wide stairway to her right.

The huge design under her feet matched what was on the back of Patch’s vest.

Interesting.

“Stay here. Stone said he’d be down when he’s done.”

“Done with what? And who is Stone?”

“More like done with who.” Patch pointed at the floor. “Stay there. For your own good, best if you don’t move.”

Along the same vein as the no trespassing signs, his warning sounded ominous.

“Wait. I…”

Ignoring her, he continued across the foyer, if that was what it was called, and down the opposite hallway, eventually disappearing through a doorway on the right.

“Shit,” she mumbled under her breath, then glanced up the stairway. She could only see as far as the first landing, where the stairs took a turn.

Wondering how long she’d have to wait, she slowly spun in a circle.

The interior was really in much better shape than expected after seeing the unkempt and trashed exterior.

Was it spotless? No. Garbage had accumulated in some corners but nothing like outside.

Some graffiti-like writing also graced the walls.

She squinted, trying to make out some of it without moving from the spot she was assigned.

Grim was here was written in what could be a black marker.

Beware the Ogre was painted in large letters on another wall.

Grim? Ogre? Was this place turned into a haunted house for Halloween? Because from what she saw so far, it would make a great one.

She twisted her head when she detected faint music at the far end of the hall. It took her a second to recognize Van Halen’s Hot for Teacher .

Once again, she wondered about the purpose of the building and why James Conrad used it as his address. She glanced down at the design on the floor again.

Kings of Anarchy. Pennsylvania. MC.

MC…

She should know what MC stood for, shouldn’t she? She hit the side button on her phone, lighting it up. Once she unlocked it, she immediately went to the browser to search for the letters “MC.” She scanned what the search engine brought up.

McDonald’s? No, it had nothing to do with the fast food chain.

Montgomery College? She glanced around and rolled her eyes. No.

Master of Ceremonies? Sigh.

Motorcycle club?

She blinked, then her fingers flew over the keyboard, typing: Kings of Anarchy MC.

Her eyes got wider with every word she read.

“Kings of Anarchy Motorcycle Club was established in the early 70s in southern California. They started patching over other clubs and expanding to more territories by the late 70s/early 80s. They now have established chapters in almost every state.

“Warning: This outlaw motorcycle club has created mayhem for decades. Their members are far from law-abiding and should be considered armed and dangerous. They’ve even adopted the motto: ‘Nobody fucks with the Kings.’ ”

Her ears starting ringing and her pulse raced.

Holy shit. She needed to leave. Now.

Thump, thump, thump.

Shit. Someone was coming. She needed to go.

As she spun to head out the way she came in, she froze when she spotted him.

James Conrad.