Page 8 of Property of Stone (Kings of Anarchy MC: Pennsylvania #1)

Chapter Three

His unbrushed hair looked like he just rolled out of bed.

He wore a white tank top under a black leather vest similar to Patch’s.

The difference between the two was that James could close his, if he chose.

Which he probably didn’t, since his jeans were unfastened and his hand was jammed down the front. Was he scratching his balls?

Her feet remained frozen in place while his brown eyes sliced past her like she was invisible.

Until he did a double-take.

His eyes now bore into her as he continued to descend the stairs. The closer he got, the more a recognizable smell filled her nostrils. Someone had been—or still was—so pickled that the alcohol was seeping through his pores.

He wasn’t the only one descending the stairs.

He was followed by two half-dressed women with just as messy hair.

Though, calling them half-dressed was being charitable since one only wore a see-through panties and bra set and the other had on a tight mini-dress that barely covered her coochie and showed so much cleavage her nipples played peek-a-boo as she moved.

Now what Patch said made sense. “More like done with who.”

When James stopped at the bottom of the steps, both women paused by his side and each planted a kiss on his cheeks at the same time.

“Later, baby,” the brunette murmured.

“Repeat tonight?” the blonde purred, combing her long nails through his beard.

“Will let you know. Might got a job to do.” His voice sounded as rough as he looked. He squeezed their asses before giving each one a stinging slap. “Get goin’. Got business to attend to.”

The women’s attention turned toward her. Taryn gave them an awkward wave, causing the blonde to roll her eyes. Both continued down the hallway in the direction of where she and Patch had entered the school.

Only, they didn’t exit out that same door. Instead, they continued past it. She lost track of them when she heard a clearing of a throat and a grumbled, “Had a rough night.”

She had no idea why he was giving her an excuse. She guessed it was best not to ask.

Not my circus, not my monkeys.

Say what you have to say and go. You are way out of your element here.

She awkwardly threw her hands up at her sides and grimaced. “Remember me?”

With pursed lips, his narrowed gaze slowly and thoroughly slid over her. “Since I ended up in a concrete box for over a year with no wet pussy and only my dry fuckin’ fist, yeah. Hard to forget you.”

She could safely assume he wasn’t joking. “That’s why I’m here.”

“For what? Can’t get that fuckin’ time back.”

Shit. Her apology would never fix that.

“I wanted to thank—” The look he shot her made her swallow the rest. She pressed her lips together and once again glanced down the hallway in the direction the women had disappeared. “Well, since you’re busy…”

“Done bein’ busy.”

“I’m sure you have other things to…do,” she finished weakly. “I’ll give you your privacy. I only came here to thank you for intervening. And apologize for your arrest.”

He snorted and shook his head.

Now that she did what she came to do, it was time to follow Patch’s advice and skedaddle . “Well, it was… uh …nice…meeting you.”

He snorted again. “Really?”

Taryn blinked. “Really, what?”

“Said was it nice meeting me. Why was it nice?”

Nobody had ever pressed her on that pleasantry before. She wasn’t sure how to answer. “ Uh …”

“Don’t gotta feed me bullshit. Know you’re only here ‘cause of your guilt.”

He nailed it. She felt horrible when he got arrested and ended up doing time on her behalf. She’d actually spent plenty of sleepless nights over it.

“Again, I only wanted to thank you for stepping in and stopping Vic from?—”

“Beatin’ the fuck outta you? Shoulda stepped in earlier.”

“You didn’t have to get involved at all, but you did. Unlike other witnesses.”

“Buncha fuckin’ pussies. ”

Okay, then. “Anyway, I said what I came here to say and now I need to go.”

When Taryn turned to escape, he grabbed her wrist and stopped her. “Don’t gotta leave.”

Was he using the hand he just had down his pants? “I think I do. Patch was right when he said I don’t belong here.”

“Like a broken fuckin’ clock, that fucker’s right twice a damn day.” He turned to face her. “Said you don’t belong here. Where do you belong? With that asshole?”

“No.” More like, hell no. If she didn’t share a child with Vic, she’d never want to deal with him again.

He jerked his chin toward the hallway where she had come in. “Let’s go.”

If he planned on escorting her to the door, she’d gladly go with him.

As he set off down the long corridor, he groaned and pressed tattooed fingers to his temple.

“Hangover?” she asked as she followed behind him.

She’d take his simple grunt as a yes.

When he passed the exterior door she and Patch used earlier, she paused. This was where they parted ways.

He stopped abruptly, twisting his head to look over his shoulder.

“Well, thank you again.”

“No.”

No? “No, what?”

“Comin’ with me.”

Sure, sure. She’d get right on that because she had nothing better to do except hang out with an outlaw biker like they were besties. An everyday occurrence for her, right?

Wrong.

“Go with you where? Is there another exit that’s closer to my car?” Please say yes .

“Need coffee.”

That sounded like a personal problem and not one she needed to deal with. She already had her caffeine limit earlier. “I appreciate the invite, but I really need to get going.”

“Came here to thank me, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then, come with me.”

Umm. How exactly did he want her to thank him? She already expressed her gratitude in words. She certainly wasn’t going to do it a second time with action.

Going with him wherever he was headed would be a dumb idea. But then, so was coming to this place. Or insisting he meet with her. “I’m good. I don’t need coffee.”

“Stepped in to help you. Spent thirteen months in a cage like a fuckin’ animal. A few more minutes of your time don’t even compare.”

Damn it. He was using her guilt against her.

What was one more bad decision?

He came closer, wrapped his long, tattooed fingers around the nape of her neck, gave it a gentle squeeze, then steered her down the hallway.

She took a last parting glance at what could’ve been her escape. “Just coffee, right?”

“Yeah,” came his deep grumble.

“Are you hiding a Starbucks somewhere in this building?”

He snorted and kept moving. At the end of the hallway, he hooked a left and into what turned out to be the school’s former cafeteria.

Similar to outside, the garbage cans were overflowing, and trash, like cigarette butts, were strewn all over the floor and the old brown folding lunch tables with the attached round, red seats.

Those were a flashback from her past. She remembered those dinosaurs from when she was in school.

“Juicy, get me some fuckin’ coffee!” he shouted, then winced. “Gotta get the taste of your pussy outta my mouth.”

Nice. “Mouthwash would work, too,” Taryn mumbled under her breath.

“Don’t forget to add the Jack,” he ordered.

The brunette who had come down the stairs with him ducked into the kitchen behind the school’s original serving line. Juicy was nothing like the lunch ladies Taryn remembered.

“Sit.” James, or Stone, or whatever he was called, pointed at one of those round, uncomfortable seats she remembered turning her ass numb during lunchtime.

“Thank you but I’ll pass since I’m not staying long.”

With a shake of his head, he huffed out a breath. But before he could respond, Juicy came over and handed him a chipped Harley Davidson mug. “Here you go, baby.”

Stone eyed the steaming coffee. “This shit fresh?”

“Windy made it about ten minutes ago.”

Stone grimaced. “For fuck’s sake. She’s not allowed to make the fuckin’ coffee.”

Juicy shrugged, placated him by patting his chest, then went over to another man, also wearing a black leather vest, casually leaning back against the cafeteria wall.

Those vests seemed to be popular around here.

“I’m assuming that Juicy isn’t the name she was born with.”

In a flash, Juicy was on her knees at the biker’s feet and his cock was filling her mouth.

Taryn’s jaw threatened to drop but she somehow managed to keep her mouth shut. Probably because she was clenching her teeth .

Don’t stare. Don’t stare. Do not stare.

“Don’t matter what name she was born with. That’s the name we gave her.” He took a long sip of the coffee, then pushed out a long sigh. “Guess it ain’t gonna kill me.”

Trying not to be too obvious, Taryn flipped a finger in Juicy’s direction. “You just had sex with her, right?”

“Yeah?”

That “yeah” clearly meant, “So? What about it?”

Okay, then. She turned her back to the action along the wall. Otherwise, she’d lose the battle on not gawking. “So, you’re a biker.”

He chuckled and swallowed another mouthful of coffee. Of course he laughed. Her assumption was stupid because James Conrad was wearing the same type of vest that Patch had been. The same as the man getting head against the wall.

Don’t look.

When he fingered her chef’s jacket near her name embroidered over her heart, that pounding organ leapt into her throat. “Taryn.”

That finger was too close for comfort. Especially when he rubbed that same finger directly over the letters while repeating her name in a low whisper.

Good lord. The way he said it sent a shiver shimmying down her spine and caused her nipples to pop like turkey timers.

That reaction wasn’t due to nerves this time, but now was not the time to explore what caused it.

“Reminds me of a cut.”

She took a step back, breaking the contact. She shook her head, not understanding what he meant.

“A cut, babe.” He tugged on his leather vest. “Our colors. Who we are and what we represent. Our brotherhood.”

He pointed to a rectangular embroidered patch with the name Patch had called him.

STONE . Below it, another similar patch said VICE PRESIDENT.

The right side of his chest included another rectangular patch with DEAD MAN’S HOLLOW and right above it, a yellow diamond-shaped patch simply had “1%” embroidered on it.

Of course, she noticed on their way to the cafeteria that the back of his vest had the same large patches as Patch.

“Is Stone a nickname?”

“Road names are earned.”

Semantics. She could say the same about nicknames. “How did you earn yours?”

He shook his head. “Story for another time, babe.”

Taryn doubted she’d be staying for that story time. “What does that yellow diamond mean?”

“Means we live by our own damn rules.”

That was no surprise. “I have to ask…is everyone here a biker?”

“You see anyone with a dick wearin’ a cut like mine, then yeah. You see pussy wanderin’ ‘round wearin’ a cut with rockers on the back statin’ they’re property of the Kings, then no. They’re a club whore.”

“Juicy isn’t wearing a cut.” She wasn’t wearing much of anything.

“‘Cause I just got done fuckin’ her, babe. She tends to lose track of her shit.”

“If you don’t mind not calling me?—”

“Babe.”

“Yes, that.”

One corner of his mouth pulled up. At least she could see his mouth, unlike Patch’s.

He lifted a wait-a-minute finger and took his now-empty mug over to Juicy and the guy with his cock in her mouth. He handed it to Juicy. Did he want her to stop what she was doing so she could get him a refill?

“Case you need to spit. ‘Cause Grim’s cum’s probably hard to swallow.” He headed back in Taryn’s direction. “Unlike mine,” he added.

The creases at the corners of his eyes deepened with amusement and his grin totally changed his face. It made him look approachable and actually pleasant to look at. Unlike when he was scowling.

He pulled a pack of Marlboro’s from inside his vest— cut —and tucked one between his lips. After putting away the pack, he patted his vest— cut —until he found a lighter. After a few flicks of the Zippo, the tip glowed red and he sucked the smoke deep into his lungs.

It escaped his mouth when he asked, “Why’s it that color?”

“My chef’s coat?”

“That what it is? Thought chefs wore white.”

Today she had worn turquoise, but she had one in every color of the rainbow. “Some do. Some like a little more excitement in their life.”

His brow dropped low. “How’s wearin’ that color excitin’?”

It wasn’t to him, apparently. His excitement came from handing a mug to a woman on her knees while she gave head. “I guess I live a boring life.” After comparing hers to Juicy’s, she was perfectly fine with boring.

“Got a restaurant?”

“No.”

His eyebrows pinned together. “Where you work, then?”

“I’m a personal chef. I cook in people’s homes or at their events. Like for a family Thanksgiving, an anniversary, or birthday party. I travel to my clients. They don’t travel to me. I also teach cooking classes sometimes when asked. There’s a coffee shop in Camp Hill that requests me a lot.”

Teaching those classes gave her some much-needed extra cash since Vic was so far behind on his child support payments.

“Bet they make better coffee than Windy.” He took another drag on his cigarette and shot the smoke out of his nostrils. “So…like…whaddya make?”

She frowned. “What do I make? Food.” Was he dense? And why was he asking all of these questions? Did she have to tell him outright that she wasn’t interested in being his bestie?

He huffed, “Yeah, no shit. Like what?”

She wanted to roll her eyes at him but wasn’t sure if he’d get offended. “Do you want me to run down my full menu options?”

He blew another long stream of white smoke over her head. “Grilled cheese?”

“I can handle that.”

“Mac and cheese?”

Was this guy for real? “I’ve pulled it off before.”

“Some of those”—he waved around the hand holding the cigarette and his forehead creased—“deep fried cheese sticks?”

Was this a test? “Do you have a thing for cheese?”

“It’s all right. But ain’t for me.”

“Are you having a party that needs catered?”

“No. My kid.”

“Your kid is having a party that needs catered?” Could this man give her actual answers before she screamed? It was like pulling teeth.

“No, my kid needs food.”

“Most do.” She shook her head. “Just a hint here…when yo ur lips form words they should make sense to the person hearing them. I know English is a difficult language to learn but you’re off to a good start. Keep practicing.”

The hand holding the cigarette paused halfway to his mouth and he stared at her. Not amused, not angry, nothing.

The smoke bellowed out from his nostrils like an aggravated bull. “Someone’s got a smart mouth.”

She guessed he didn’t like her smart answers to his dumb questions, but she kept that tidbit to herself. She didn’t know this guy and she should be careful. He could very well have a temper like Vic.