Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 110721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 554(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
Stone was minding his own damn business when he witnessed a woman being beaten by a man. Worse, it was in front of her young son. With zero tolerance for woman beaters, he stepped in to teach the a-hole a lesson. Only, that lesson landed him in prison for thirteen long months.
When finally released, the woman he never expects to see again hunts him down to thank him for saving her. While no thanks is expected, he sees it as an opportunity. He needs someone to help with his own kid after his daughter’s mother got thrown behind bars herself.
They strike a deal that includes Taryn moving in temporarily to take care of his house and daughter in exchange for him protecting her and her six-year-old from her unhinged ex.
But what starts out as a mutual agreement, turns into a roller coaster ride. Because nobody f*cks with the Kings or what belongs to them. Nobody.
Note: Property of Stone can be read as a standalone. Since the KOAMC is a 1% motorcycle club, expect plenty of action, mature situations and a guaranteed HEA, but as always, never cheating
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Prologue
Cast the First Stone
With his eyes scanning side to side, Stone strode through the parking lot of The Shoppes at Susquehanna Marketplace. A busy Saturday couldn’t be a better time. But he sure as hell wasn’t there to shop.
Fuck no.
The lot was packed with the types of cages Chopper needed. Since Stone happened to be down in Harrisburg earlier today to do a “collection,” he figured he’d tool through some of the local malls to hunt for some rich fuckers’ vehicles on his way back north.
The parts for luxury rides always brought in more scratch, but they also had more anti-theft shit, making them a fucking headache to pinch. But if the model was worth it, they found a way to steal it, since it would bring in a fuckload of scratch for their club’s coffers.
Usually, Wrecker was stealth enough with either their self-loading Ford F-550, a plain, black, unmarked tow truck, or the Snatcher hydraulic setup installed in the bed of an unassuming F-350 pickup.
Either way, Wrecker was a pro on getting in, getting out, and getting the fuck going without getting pinched by the pigs or catching a bullet between the eyes from an overzealous owner. His club brother could steal a cage in under a minute, which was goddamn impressive.
Of course, all those rich motherfuckers had insurance and no doubt would be compensated fairly for their vehicle’s permanent disappearance.
Stone ducked between two vehicles and spotted a Mercedes C-Class parked right fucking next to a BMW 3 Series, two of the easiest sedans to steal and always owned by douchebags.
How about that fucking luck?
He pursed his lips and slowly walked behind them both, keeping his cell phone low and inconspicuous as he snapped photos of their license plates.
Luckily, Devil Dog’s ol’ lady worked at the Department of Motor Vehicles and had access to run those registrations, making stealing cars even easier. She provided the home or business address of the vehicles they scouted and, BOOM, Wrecker stole it, giving Chopper more cages for him and his crew to strip down.
It only took them about an hour to dismantle a four-door douche-mobile. Those high and mighty assholes probably spent more time than that at the dealership when they bought the fucking thing.
Once the VINs were rendered illegible with a torch, the parts were sold to the highest bidder. That could be either on the black market, or to a local garage or body shop that didn’t give a shit about where the part came from as long as it was untraceable. Local shops could charge their customers a premium for that OEM replacement part after buying it for a steal.
The Kings also recently hooked up with an individual with connections so they could sell high-dollar parts overseas. That had been a hell of a score for his club.
He sneered up at the sun. It was too ball-sweating hot today to be doing this kind of shit on foot. He dug into the front pocket of his jeans, pulled out a black elastic hair tie and secured his messy long hair into an equally messy knot at the back of his head.
That was better.
He scanned the parking lot again for either pigs or rent-a-pigs, AKA mall security. They were probably on a donut break. With his head back on a swivel, he worked his way down a few more rows, quickly snapping photos of potential targets as he went.
He never paused behind a vehicle for more than a second or two. He never wore his fucking cut. And when doing a collection job or other illegal shit, he always swapped out his sled’s plate with one of the hundreds of fake ones they kept on hand. Luckily, some of his brothers had learned how to make plates in prison, a priceless skill learned while being rehabilitated.
Not him, though. Those CO cucks didn’t trust him enough to allow him one of those jobs. He had no idea why.
A grin threatened to curve his lips.
Until he remembered how much being in the hole for bad behavior sucked. Being stuck in solitary confinement meant he had no one to fuck with, besides himself, or any wet-behind-the-ears screws.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a pretty slit climbing out of a cage at the far end of the parking lot. Her ride wasn’t worth stealing, that was for damn sure, but he wasn’t interested in that. He was more focused on riding the woman now opening the back driver’s side door on an old Honda Pilot.
Fuck yeah. He wouldn’t mind one long, sweaty night with that piece. Her ass in those shorts was—
Oh, fuck no.
When she reached into the back seat, she helped a whole damn nut nugget out of the cage. He might be mini-sized baggage, but still baggage Stone didn’t want to deal with. Even for one night.