Stone was the name on my father’s patch, hence the reason my brother and I got the names we had. We were all cold, hard sons of bitches. But we were a fucking family, and in this gym, we took care of those who needed it the most.
It always amazed me how the world stereotyped us as being criminals pretending to be backyard grease junkies. We didn’t run a mechanic shop or deal with motorbike parts in order to hide what we really did.
My dad and fellow founders weren’t angels. They didn’t make this club what it was today with love and charity. Sometimes, when you wanted to do some good, you needed to get your hands dirty with the bad. And our sins ran deep. No one knew that better than me. Trading in illegal firearms and selling weed to our own special circle of customers wasn’t exactly a tax-paying, nine-to-five job. I always wondered if that was the reason behind my father’s decision to work with the police commissioner. Maybe it was his way of atoning for all the wrong we did—that, and to keep the PC turning a blind eye to our business affairs.
When the old man died and I became president, I continued his legacy by doing the work we did. Now, with this new threat over our heads as the Pythons kept closing in on our territory, we had no choice but to rethink all our shit and come up with a plan to ensure the wellbeing of the club. But with this plan came a huge risk. If anything went wrong, we would risk losing our most important ally. Yet if this all played out the way we planned, the reward would be far sweeter. For the club…and me.
Yeah. I was one selfish son of a bitch, and it was my own personal greed for something money couldn’t buy that gave birth to this plan of ours. And I knew any plan that entailed taking down the Pythons, my men would be on board with. It was a double-whammy.
The gym started to fill with people, and I took that as my cue to bounce. Crowds weren’t exactly my thing—especially troubled teenagers who’d rather come here in the morning than be at school where their asses should be.
Dutch came walking in, fists already wrapped, ready to fight. “Yo, Granite. You good?”
“Yup.” I wiped the sweat from my face.
“Wanna stick around and check out some of the talent we got here?”
“Nope.”
Dutch scowled at me. “The students know you run this place, Granite. They know you’re in charge, and they want to meet you.”
“Well, I don’t want to meet them.”
“Don’t be such a hard-ass.”
I snorted. “You can thank fuck I like you, or I’d have to kick your ass for dissing me like that.”
“I’m serious. You can’t always run from shit.”
My nostrils flared. “I’m not running.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
I brushed past him when he called out, “And the girl?”
Exhaling, I stopped but didn’t turn. “What about her?”
“You sure she’s just part of the plan, nothing more?”
“What the fuck do you mean?” I turned to face him.
He looked me in the eye without blinking. “I’m not stupid, Granite. I can see the connection.”
“What connection?” I hissed through my teeth, not liking where this conversation was heading.
Dutch kept my gaze. “She reminds you of someone…doesn’t she?”
“Do not.” I clenched my jaw and held up a finger. “Do not fucking go there, my friend.”
“I loved her too. But I don’t go around avoiding shit because of it.”
To walk away was the best option at that point. I’d hate for my anger to get the better of me. The topic of conversation was something that would make me do shit I’d regret, like planting my fist in Dutch’s face. So I walked.
“Yo, dude,” he called out. “Stop. I’m sorry, man.”
I stilled, wiping the towel down the side of my face.