Page 30 of Stone: The Precursor

After stretching the skin and leaving it to dry in my barn, I drove back to the city, needing to seeher. To watchher. I parked outside the studio where she works late, waited for my countess to appear, but she never showed. It irritated me not knowing where she was. The tracker on her car showed she was parked at her high-rise, and I needed to see her. I wanted to go up to the top floor and knock on her door, but I couldn’t do that.

The burst of feminine laughter has me looking out the window above the street. I spot the realtor who sold me the shop walking back and forth on the sidewalk outside the shop doors. She looks tightly wound, her movements jerky. I remember that frenetic energy when I met her to discuss purchasing the tattoo space. As soon as my signature was dry, she cornered me and invited me out to dinner, but I knew she meant more. Her phony smiles seemed too practiced, too predatory for my liking. Shewasn’t happy when I refused. I don’t mix business and pleasure. As far as I know, she hit on Riggs, too, and I’m not sure if he took her up on his offer. The man is a flirt and enjoys women more than any man I know. I know she was probably more thrilled about fucking a biker than anything else.

Who the fuck is moving in upstairs? I would have bought the space myself and knocked down the wall my apartment shared, but I didn’t need any more space. My apartment was for sleeping.

A young father and his son lived there a few months back, but he found housing that was better suited for him and his young child. I ensured this by working with an organization that offers discounted housing to single parents. Maybe if my mother had access to something like this, I would have happily paid for him to be anonymously bumped to the front of the line for the next apartment in a building with a playground, gym, and daycare. I found out later that the building the man and his child moved into belonged to Silas Kenzington. It made me respect him more. The man wasn’t my biggest fan after he found out that I had flirted with his woman. Not the case, but what the fuck do I know about how men in love think? The only man I ever knew to be in love is Onyx, and that fucker doesn’t share a damn thing.

I listen as she talks on the phone, smiling and nodding her head. Guess I’m getting a new neighbor. Just as long as they leave me alone. I only use my apartment to sleep and spy. Riggs sleeps at the clubhouse most nights, or in hotels, and Onyx has bought an old warehouse and converted it into an apartment. It’s a fucking monstrosity, but the bastard hates being hemmed in. He roams the 4,000 square foot building like a damn ghost.

I pull up the feed of Camryn’s location. She’s at the penthouse she shares with the blonde, Kingsley. Her high-profile roommate has tight security. Too much security for me to get a camera into the penthouse. Damn shame. From the feed Ican see that Camryn’s car hasn’t moved from the parking garage. It’s been there for days, and I don’t think she’s stayed inside for the past week. She’s always on the move, going to her studio or her father’s mansion. She hasn’t been at the apartment in days. Making a cup of coffee, I light a cheroot, needing it to calm me down. Where the fuck is she? I dial Riggs, and he picks up immediately. “I can’t locate her.”

“Hmmm. Did you check the feed?” His gruff voice comes through, and I can hear the sounds of the club in the background.

“Of course I fucking checked the feed. Her car is still parked.”

“Then she’s in the high-rise.”

Pulling in another inhale I growl. “I doubt it. I want cameras in there.”

“That will be tricky, Stef.”

“I don’t give a fuck, Riggs. You’re tracking the biggest drug lord this side of the country. You can track one fucking woman. Do it.”

“Fuck’s sake, Stef. You know this is different. She’s a civilian. You need to figure this shit out.”

I don’t let up, drawing in another lungful. “There’s nothing to figure out.”

His silence speaks volumes, but I don’t respond. “Fine. Play it your way, I’ll see what I can do.”

I don’t like his indefinite answer.

“But right now we have bigger issues.”

“What?”

“Scout says there’s another shipment.”

My fingers clench around the handle, and I slowly set down the cup. The urge to smash it against the wall is strong. “That’s impossible. One just went out two days ago.” Two days ago, we stopped a caravan, and I’ve spent the last few days destroying any evidence of the drivers.

“They’re changing the pattern. El Jefe is changing the pattern. This is one of the biggest. It’s making me itch. Something is off. It feels like a trap.”

Just hearing the name, my body reacts, wanting to find him and kill him. Kill him and drink his blood before burning him to ash, smearing the dust of his death all over my body, letting it soak into my skin, my mouth. “When does it go out?” I calculate how fast I can set up a watch on the routes they usually use.”

“They are supposed to be offloading in 48 hours. And I think they are getting smarter, avoiding us. They are switching routes, using new trade routes.”

Fuck. Exhaustion weighs heavily. I need to kill the bastard leader of the Mestizos, initiate the dismantling of their growing hordes, but their leader is good at hiding and amassing new recruits like a fucking Pied Piper. In a few years, their numbers could reach the thousands rather than the current hundreds. And they outnumber the Legion Lords, the only group willing to go against them. The other clubs tolerate their cruelty and crimes in exchange for being left alone.

“As a whole they are getting bolder and my stupid ass brother is co-signing it.”

Riggs has had suspicions for the last year that his half-brother, the new leader of the Legion Lords, is in cahoots with the Mestizos, but we have no proof. Yet. The gang that we’ve been hunting for a decade. “I’ll meet you tonight,” I say, heading to my closet and pulling out my weapons case. Most of my weapons are at my cabin, about an hour from here.

Heading down the stairs, I find Onyx sketching a unicorn of all things. “That’s not your usual.” I lean against the wall, watching him.

He shrugs, and I wonder who the drawing is for. Most of our clientele tends toward macabre and Gothic designs. I wonder who the cartoonish artwork is for.

“There’s a shipment tonight.”

He stops drawing and closes his sketch book. “How many?”