19. Stanleys Move
nineteen
Stanley's Move
Jax
The high-pitched, screaming whine of the angle grinder dies down, leaving a high-frequency ring trapped straight inside my skull. The heavy vibration stays locked in the bones of my wrists long after the wheel stops spinning.
I yank off my welding visor, tossing it hard onto the iron slab of the workbench. I grab a rag soaked in mineral spirits and rip it across my forearm, smearing the black grease into the hair on my skin just as my phone goes off on the tool chest.
The ringer is maxed out, and the harsh, drilling sound makes the muscle in my jaw lock instantly. I don’t even look at the screen before I snatch it up and jam it against my ear.
"Talk," I growl, already annoyed at whoever is on the other end.
"That little fucker Stanley just put a goddamn freeze on the deed," Rafe spits, sounding as if he wants to kick a wall down.
I freeze in the center of the concrete floor. The grease rag drops out of my hand, hitting the grease-stained dirt. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
"He was at the courthouse ten minutes ago," Rafe lines out, his breath hitting the mic hard. "Janie texted me from the clerk’s desk the second the paper got stamped.”
“What?”
“The prick filed a fake-ass affidavit under oath. He’s claiming Nora’s old man signed a verbal agreement five years back, taking a fat cash payout for some personal liability shit. It gives the Hargroves first right of refusal on that eastern parcel."
"A verbal agreement?" A dark, vicious laugh rips out of my throat.
I squeeze the phone until the plastic casing groans under my palm. "Nora's dad would’ve spit in his father's face before he took a dime from them. It's total bullshit."
"Doesn't matter if it's total bullshit, Jax. It puts a cloud on the title. The county computer locks the transfer automatically the second a prior claim gets logged.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Means until a judge looks at it and throws it out as fraud, Nora doesn't legally own a square inch of that dirt. She can't touch it. She can't build. She’s locked out."
"Son of a bitch." I slam my fist down onto the heavy steel plate of the drill press. “I guess it’s a good thing the land was never in her name or father’s”
“Thank the fuck.” Rafe says. “But we can’t leave him alone.”
"I didn't squeeze the bastard hard enough when he was last here. I should’ve broken his fucking jaw right in front of his old man."
"You touch him now, and you give their lawyers the leverage to say we're using muscle to force a sale," Rafe barks back. "Don't be a dumbass, Jax. I’m calling the boys."
"How long does the freeze last?"
"Weeks. Months if they drag the hearings out. He wants to starve her out until she gives up and takes whatever pity check Victor throws at her."
"He's a dead man," I say, my voice dropping into a flat, quiet baseline. "Get your ass over here."
"Already on the highway."
The line goes dead. I shove the phone into my denim pocket and start pacing the length of the bay, my heavy work boots grinding the loose rust into the concrete. My chest feels tight, a hard, burning pressure locking down behind my ribs.
The sheer goddamn balls on this kid.
He sat in that wooden chair at Priest's bar, sweating through his expensive charcoal suit, shaking like a dog under my shadow, and the second he got a mile away from where I could see him, he ran straight to a clerk's office to hide behind a stack of legal paper.
I don’t know how long I pace the yard, but minutes later, the quiet of the marsh grass is completely torn to pieces.
The heavy, structural roar of three customized V-twins and two diesel exhaust pipes tears through the driveway. The gravel in the yard crunches violently as the bikes and trucks swing into a tight perimeter around the shop.
The side door bangs open, hitting the iron frame with a loud echo, and in the next second, the men fill the bay.
I feel myself breathe easier immediately at the sight of them. There isn't a single drop of shared DNA between the six of us, but the scars we carry under our shirts tell the real story.
We’re brothers because we’ve bled on the same asphalt, pulled each other out of burning steel wreckage, and stood on the line when the rest of this goddamn state was trying to bury us.
When one of us calls, the rest show up. No questions. No timeline. That is the only law that matters between us.
Reed walks in first, his sharp, analytical eyes tracking the corners of the shop before he even pulls his sunglasses off. Behind him is Colt, broad-shouldered, massive, his face set in a hard, unreadable mask.
Knox and Rafe follow them close, their boots heavy on the concrete, their bodies vibrating with an identical, quiet fury. Priest brings up the rear, his pale gray eyes instantly locking onto mine from beneath the brim of his dark cap.
"Did Janie get you the printout?" I ask Rafe before he can even close the door.
Rafe shoves a folded piece of paper into my chest. "Fresh off the county database. Signed and stamped."
"What’s the play?" Knox grunts, leaning his frame against the drill press. He’s already pulling a heavy folding knife out of his pocket, thumbing the blade open and shut with a rhythmic, metallic click.
"Rafe mentioned he moved from the motel, but we know where his rental house is. It takes five minutes to go over there, choke the shit out of him, and make him sign a withdrawal."
"Shut up, Knox," Reed says sharply. "A forced withdrawal under duress ruins us if Victor gets his corporate sharks involved. We handle the paperwork legally first."
"Legal takes too fucking long," Colt rumbles from the shadows by the big rolling garage door. He crosses his tattooed arms over his chest, his eyes fixed on the entrance. "The longer that paper sits on the deed, the more that little prick thinks he’s got leverage over her."
"He's right," Rafe agrees, pacing a hard line near the tool chests. "Stanley’s trying to squeeze her. He wants her desperate enough to pack her bags."
"We don't do a goddamn thing yet," Priest says.
The entire bay goes dead quiet. Knox stops clicking the blade. Every man in the room shifts his weight, turning to look at Priest. He hasn't moved an inch from the frame of the door. His voice didn't rise above a rough whisper, but the gravity of his presence lands heavily across the room.
"We don't move a finger until we talk to her," Priest says, his pale eyes steady on mine. "It’s her name on the paperwork, Jax. She needs to see the paper first."
I look down at the folded sheet in my hand, my knuckles turning white against the margins. "Yeah. Hold tight."
I turn on my heel and walk out the side door, my boots digging deep into the hot gravel as I cross the blinding glare of the yard toward the Beckett cottage. The noon heat is thick enough to chew, but my eyes are locked on the small wooden porch.
I hit the screen door with the side of my fist three times, hard enough to shake the frame.
The brass lock clicks in the next second, and Nora’s grandmother opens the door. Her sharp, faded eyes take in the rigid line of my shoulders, the grease on my hands, and the white-hot rage I’m trying to keep from spitting across her clean porch.
"Jax," she says quietly.
"I need Nora, Ms. Beckett," I say dryly. "Now, please."
She doesn't ask a single damn question. She knows the look on my face. She turns her head back toward the dark hallway. "Nora! Jax is at the door."
A second later, Nora steps into the living room. She’s wearing a pair of loose cotton shorts and a soft, thin tank top, her dark hair pulled up in a messy, loose knot. The sight of her bare shoulders instantly makes the knot in my gut twist tighter.
I don't wait for her to walk across the threshold. I reach straight through the open doorway, my large, grime-streaked hand wrapping securely around the delicate curve of her wrist. The heat of her skin makes me react immediately, but I force down the feeling.
I pull her gently but entirely out onto the porch, slamming the door shut behind her.
"Jax? What the hell is going on?" she asks, her blue eyes scanning my face as I pull her down the wooden steps into the gravel. "What are these trucks and bikes about?"
"The boys are here," I say, keeping my grip tight on her wrist, guiding her straight toward the wide, dark bay doors of the fabrication shop. "Stanley made his move."
She says nothing; the only response is quickening her steps and allowing me to pull her forward.
The second we step into the cool, shadowed interior of the garage, Nora stops dead. She takes in the sight of the five men standing in a hard circle around the heavy steel workbench.
I keep her tucked tight against my right flank. "Nora, this is Colt and Reed. You’ve met the rest of them."
Colt gives her a single, sharp nod from the shadows.
Reed steps forward, his face serious as he gives her a tight nod. "Miss Beckett."
"What did that bastard do?" Nora asks, skipping the polite bullshit completely. She looks directly at the paper crumpled in my left fist.
I shove the printout into her hands. "Read it."
She takes the page, and her eyes move fast across the typed county lines. I track the physical feedback across her skin and see the moment her shoulders lock up.
I don’t miss the rapid, shallow heave of her chest beneath the thin tank top, and the way the flush leaves her cheeks, leaving her completely pale in the amber light.
"A verbal agreement?" she whispers, her voice shaking with a sudden, dark venom. "Five years ago?”
"We know it's a fucking lie, Nora," Rafe spits from the side of the bench. "But the county clerk doesn't know that. The second it's logged, the deed is frozen. You can't legally claim the inheritance until a judge strips the lien off."
Nora’s fingers dig into the paper, tearing the edge of the margin as she wrinkles it into her palm. "He's been planning this shit since he saw my name in the paperwork. The second he realized I wouldn't take his money, he ran to the records office."
"Yes," I say.