Ice Skates
Stone sat back in his chair and let out a slow sigh. Was there a part of his job that he hated and loved in equal measure? Yes. And this was it.
He drew his Glock and, with deliberate slowness, began twisting the silencer into place—less because he needed to, and more because he enjoyed the message it sent. The anticipation always did more damage than the bullet ever could.
“I-I swear to you, Tuff, I only met with the police one time!” the man stammered. “It was just to tell them I didn’t know anything!”
The poor bastard clung to his lie to the very end.
Stone glanced toward his number two, who stood guard by the steel door. Logan was handsome in the same sharp, ruthless way Stone was—sandy-blond hair, a tall, powerful build, and a face carved like it had been chiseled from stone. What else would his brother look like? They shared the same father, after all. The gods had simply molded them from the same violent clay.
“What do you think, Logan?” Stone asked mildly. “Is he telling the truth?”
He did not need his brother’s opinion. He never did. But moments like this gave the victim something to cling to—a foolish, desperate hope that there might be a way out.
Logan’s mouth curved into a cold, amused smirk. He crossed his arms and stared down at the trembling liar. “Not even a little.”
Logan shifted the gun in his hand, loose and casual, as if he were only pointing at a mark on the wall. Then he aimed at the boy’s kneecap and fired.
The scream came a heartbeat later—louder than the gunshot, because silencers did not erase sound. They only softened it.
Stone exhaled through his nose, as if inconvenienced. “All right,” he said. “Let’s go over this again.”
He leaned forward slightly, voice flat and patient.
“You were seen entering the station just after seven in the morning. You didn’t leave until nearly noon.” Stone tilted his head. “So tell me—what were you doing in there? Catering a party?”
Jack—young, sweating, bound to a chair that dug into his wrists—shook with pain. He understood one thing with perfect clarity: he did not want to be shot again.
This was not how he had imagined his life would go when he was recruited to work for the Tuff family.
Before them, he had been a street-corner thug running with friends and selling whatever he could move. Slinging dope was quick money, and quick money bought the kind of life Jack thought he deserved. When the Tuff family’s men first noticed him, they had called it potential.
What they had really found was a man with no loyalty at all.
Jack would have sold out his own mother if the price were high enough.
Cash and relocation—that was what the detective had offered. Who wouldn’t take it?
Now, with his knee burning and his stomach turning, he realized exactly who would not.
“I met with a detective,” Jack sobbed, as if honesty might suddenly become armor.
“I see.” Stone nodded once. “And what did he want?”
“He’s new,” Jack blurted. “He said he was looking into the crime families here in Oregon. He asked me to be an informant.” His voice cracked. “Then he threw a file down on the table in front of me. Inside were pictures of me while I was running business errands. He told me he had enough to put me away for years if I didn’t cooperate.”
Stone’s gaze flicked to Logan—brief, sharp, and loaded—before he leaned in closer to Jack.
“Think carefully,” Stone said, his tone suddenly softer. More dangerous. “What was the detective’s name?”
A thin strand of drool clung to the corner of Jack’s mouth as he fought to breathe through the agony. His words came out wet and ragged.
“Detective Robinson,” he managed. “He already knew a lot about you. He told me your family’s been around for decades.” Jack swallowed hard, eyes glassy with fear. “He said you were the deadliest man in Oregon—maybe the entire West Coast.”
Stone chuckled and glanced at his brother. Logan stood with one brow raised, laughing under his breath as well.
“Well,” Stone said lightly, “it seems Detective Robinson got at least one thing right.”
He rose from his chair and pressed the barrel of the gun to Jack’s forehead.
The laughter drained from his face as his voice dropped low and cold.
“I am the deadliest man in Oregon.”
He pulled the trigger.
The report was dull and contained, swallowed by the suppressor. Jack’s body went slack in the chair.
Stone didn’t spare him another look. He slid the Glock back into the shoulder holster beneath his jacket with practiced ease.
“Have Tiger get the clean-up crew in here,” he said calmly. “I want the body parts scattered along the terrain between here and Bend. Send his mother a dozen black roses with a condolence card.”
He paused, glancing back at the corpse as if reconsidering something.
“Take off Jack’s watch and include it in the bouquet.”
“You got it,” Logan replied, already pulling out his phone and firing off a quick message.
Stone checked the time and swore under his breath.
“We’ve got twenty minutes to get to Gemma’s house. She’ll kill us if we’re late.”
Logan snorted. “You say that like it’s a joke.”
Of course, he didn’t mean it literally.
…Probably.
Then again, this was their sister they were talking about.
Death wasn’t entirely off the table.
“Nugget would never let that happen,” Stone said proudly.
At birth, their niece had been named Jewel, but both uncles had shortened it to Nugget. A nugget was just a small piece of something precious—and right now, she was the smallest, most treasured piece of the Tuff family.
Years ago, Gemma had dated a low-ranking thug who worked under her brothers. When Stone and Logan discovered the man had hit her in a fit of rage, they had invited him to dinner on the family yacht.
Unfortunately for him, he never made it back to shore.
Not long after, Gemma revealed she was pregnant. Logan had sworn to hunt down the man who had abandoned her for another woman.
Five years later, he still hadn’t been found.
Speed, their driver, pulled the SUV up in front of the five-bedroom mini-mansion they had purchased for Gemma and Jewel. The engine had barely died before the front door flew open.
Out burst a little blonde blur of energy.
“Uncle Stoney! Uncle Logan!” Jewel shouted as she sprinted toward the car.
Gemma hurried after her, carrying a pink duffel bag with a small pair of ice skates tied together and slung over her shoulder.
“Well, it’s about time!” she called.
“We still have three minutes before we’re late!” Logan protested, grinning. His arms stretched wide, ready to scoop Jewel up and toss her into the air.
“Well, if you don’t get her to the rink on time, Charlie will cancel the lesson, and her slot will be forfeited!”
Stone stepped out first and swooped Jewel out of Logan’s reach.
“Hey there, Nugget,” he said, smiling down at her. “Ready for your uncles to take you to practice today?”
“Yep!” she chirped, her tiny voice bright enough to chase away every dark thought in his head. “You get to see me twirl!”
“Twirl?” Stone gasped dramatically. “Like this?”
He spun in slow circles on the lawn, arms wide.
“Stone Xavier Tuff!” Gemma yelled. “You’re going to make both of you throw up if you don’t stop!”
“Sounds like someone’s jealous,” Logan teased.
He darted forward, caught Gemma around the waist, and spun her until she squealed in protest. From the driver’s seat, Speed watched the chaos unfold, laughing at the family’s antics.
For a moment, it was almost impossible to believe that the same men who had just executed someone without blinking were now playing in the grass like kids.
Realizing the time, Speed gave a short honk of the horn to pull everyone’s attention back to reality.
“We have to go,” Logan said, steadying their very dizzy sister before setting her back on her feet. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
Stone stepped in next, brushing a quick kiss against Gemma’s cheek before scooping Jewel into his arms. “Have fun, Sis. You deserve some time with the girls.”
As the car pulled away from the curb, they rolled the window down and let Nugget wave wildly at her mother, who was still trying to regain her balance on the front lawn.
“I’m so excited!” Jewel squealed, scrambling into Stone’s lap as soon as the door shut. “Charlie’s gonna teach me to go backwards today!”
“Backwards?” Logan echoed, reaching over to tickle her sides. “I can show you how to go backwards. Uncle Logan’ll push you and you’ll definitely go back.”
“No, silly!” Jewel giggled, twisting around on Stone’s lap. She stuck her little feet out and began shuffling them in demonstration. “You gots to move like this.”
Stone chuckled, tightening his arm around her small waist so she wouldn’t topple over. The sound of her laughter filled the car, bright and careless—so different from the screams that had echoed in the warehouse less than an hour ago.
Fifteen minutes later, Speed eased the car to a stop behind the ice rink, pulling up near the service entrance Gemma had told them to use. Apparently, Charlie kept the front doors locked during training hours, so all students had to enter through the back.
The cold air bit at their faces as they stepped out.
Logan shut his door and scanned the quiet lot before nodding toward the building.
“You see that?” he asked his brother quietly.
Stone’s gaze followed Logan’s line of sight and landed on a gray Audi R8 parked alone beside the dumpster in the back lot.
He gave his brother a small, knowing nod but said nothing.
Instead, he took his niece’s tiny hand and let her tug them toward the entrance like an overeager tour guide.
The heavy metal service door was cracked open just enough to slip through. Stone pushed it wider with one hand, the hinges groaning softly as they stepped inside.
The corridor beyond was dim and narrow, lit only by flickering fluorescent lights. Their footsteps echoed faintly against the concrete walls.
Then they heard it. Yellow by Coldplay drifted down the hallway, the melody low and haunting, pulling them forward like a thread.
They followed the sound until the corridor opened into the rink.
Stepping out beside the small stadium seating, Stone barely had time to adjust to the brightness before a blur of motion swept past.
A woman.
Graceful. Fast. Effortless. She glided across the ice like she belonged to it.
Stone moved to the white half-wall that separated the walkway from the rink, Logan and Jewel beside him. All three watched in silence.
The woman skated with her eyes nearly closed, surrendering completely to the music.
“Nugget,” Logan murmured, unable to look away, “who is that?”
“That’s Charlie!” Jewel chirped excitedly. “My teacher!”
The slow, aching part of the song began to build, the instruments layering and swelling.
Charlie moved with it. She didn’t just skate—she floated.
Her arms rose and fell like gentle waves, each motion flowing seamlessly into the next. She spun across the ice, then leapt, landing so softly it barely made a sound. Every turn felt instinctive, practiced a thousand times until it became muscle memory.
Logan found himself torn between watching the brunette beauty putting on her own private performance and keeping an eye on his brother.
Because Stone—
Stone wasn’t blinking.
His gaze was locked on her like she was the only thing in the world worth seeing.
She moved effortlessly, as if the music lived inside her bones. Each glide, each twirl, each jump felt less like choreography and more like emotion made physical. Her hair fanned out behind her as she spun, catching the lights overhead like a halo.
Stone figured she must have skated to this track countless times. Her eyes stayed half-lidded, like she didn’t need to see the ice at all. She trusted it. Trusted herself.
She seemed to be completely lost in the romance of the song.
As the final notes of the song faded and the last few lyrics drifted through the rink, Charlie glided toward center ice on a single blade. Her free leg extended behind her in a perfect line, toes pointed, arms lifted gracefully toward the ceiling as though she were reaching for the sky itself.
She came to a slow, controlled stop.
The pose she finished with tugged unexpectedly at something deep inside Stone.
She was, without question, the most picturesque woman he had ever laid eyes on.
Beside him, Jewel began clapping enthusiastically from Logan’s arms, her tiny hands smacking together in loud, uneven applause.
Charlie turned at the sound, a soft flush blooming across her cheeks as she pushed off and skated toward them.
“How long have you been standing there watching me?” she asked playfully.
She planted her hands on her hips and made an exaggerated, suspicious face at Jewel, crossing her eyes just enough to make the little girl burst into giggles.
Logan waited for Stone to speak—for him to introduce himself like a normal human being.
Instead, his brother just… stared.
For a man who could order executions without blinking, Stone suddenly looked tongue-tied.
With an easy grin, Logan stepped in and extended his hand. “Hi! I’m this little nugget’s Uncle Logan, and this here is my brother, Stone.”
Charlie shook Logan’s hand warmly before glancing at Stone, amusement flickering in her eyes when he failed to offer his.
“Stone?” she asked, tilting her head. “Is that a nickname?”
Her voice caught his attention immediately.
There was only the faintest trace of an accent—so light and Americanized he couldn’t quite place it—but it was there, softening her words in a way that made them linger.
It took Stone a second too long to snap out of whatever trance he’d fallen into.
Finally, he cleared his throat and held out his hand for her to take.
“Not at all,” he said quietly, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Not like Charlie…”
He let the implication hang deliberately between them.
Stone didn’t finish the sentence. He wanted her to.
Wanted to hear her say it.
Wanted her full name.
“Touché,” she laughed, catching on immediately.
The sound was light and warm—easy.
She bent and held out her hand to Jewel. “Ready, my little Nugget?”
Jewel grabbed her fingers without hesitation and allowed herself to be guided onto the ice, her tiny skates wobbling as Charlie steadied her and began their lesson.
“Wow,” Logan muttered beside him. “You are smitten.”
Stone didn’t respond right away. His eyes never left the instructor as she moved slowly backward, coaxing Jewel forward with patient encouragement.
“Did you hear her?” he asked quietly.
“Yes,” Logan said dryly. “She called her Nugget. She must’ve heard me say it and liked it.”
“No,” Stone corrected, his voice low. “Not that. Her accent. It’s barely noticeable, but it’s there.”
Logan shook his head. “Didn’t hear it. You sure?”
Stone finally tore his gaze away from the ice and turned, climbing a few steps to the seating area. He chose a spot with a clear view of the rink and sat down, elbows resting on his knees.
Logan followed, watching his brother more than the lesson.
It wasn’t often Stone looked… distracted.
“Why don’t you just ask her out?” Logan said.
Stone’s jaw tightened.
“I don’t do that,” he replied flatly. “You know why.”
Logan clicked his tongue, dismissing the excuse immediately.
“Oh, right,” Logan said dryly. “Because any woman who gets into a relationship with you is basically doomed to meet an early demise—either by your hand or one of our enemies.”
He rolled his eyes, sarcasm dripping from every word.
Stone ignored him.
It was a tactic he had perfected over the years. Silence saved time. Silence avoided arguments. And when it came to Logan—who had been pestering him since childhood—it was often the only defense that worked.
If there had been an award for the most irritating little brother on the planet, Logan would have taken the trophy home decades ago.
A sharp squeal echoed across the rink.
Jewel hit the ice hard, her tiny skates slipping out from under her.
Stone instinctively tensed, half-rising from his seat.
But Charlie didn’t rush to scoop her up. Instead, she skated lazy circles around Jewel, smiling, clapping once.
“Come on,” she called gently. “You’ve got it. Up you go. Try again.”
No coddling. No panic. Just encouragement.
Stone settled back down, watching closely. He appreciated that.
There was just enough guidance to help, but not so much that Jewel would grow dependent on it. Charlie wasn’t teaching her to be rescued—she was teaching her to stand on her own.
That mattered. In their world, no one came to save you. You either got back up… or you didn’t.
When Jewel pushed herself to her feet, wobbling but determined, pride swelled in his chest. He wanted to clap, to praise her, to tell her she was doing good. But he stayed quiet.
Instead, he watched as Charlie skated backward, grinning, coaxing Jewel to follow and catch her.
Charlie’s long brown ponytail swayed with every glide, catching the air behind her like a ribbon. The lights overhead glinted off the strands as they moved.
Stone found himself staring longer than he meant to.
He imagined undoing the band, letting that hair fall loose over his hands. Pulling her closer. His palm wrapped around the back of her neck and claiming her soft lips.
The thought lingered—warm, distracting, and entirely inconvenient, starting to make his pants a little uncomfortable.
He shifted slightly in his seat and exhaled through his nose, dragging his attention back to the ice.
“Uncle Stone?”
He didn’t move.
“Stone.”
Nothing.
“Hello? Earth to Stone,” Logan sing-songed, waving a hand directly in front of his brother’s face. “Did you hear what they asked?”
Stone blinked hard, dragging himself back to the present like surfacing from deep water. “No. Sorry.”
Charlie giggled.
The sound was light and bright—like tiny glass chimes caught in a breeze—and it hit him square in the chest.
“We asked,” she said, smiling, “if it was okay to give your Nugget a popsicle for the drive home.”
Stone glanced down.
Jewel was bouncing from one foot to the other, practically vibrating with excitement, her grin wide enough to split her face. She looked between her uncles like this was the most important decision of her young life.
He couldn’t help it.
He nodded.
“Yeah, Nugget. That’s fine.”
She clapped her hands. “Yay! I go with Charlie!”
Stone straightened slightly, his brows pulling together. “Where exactly is this popsicle?”
He hadn’t meant for the question to sound so sharp, but it did.
Charlie didn’t seem bothered.
“In my apartment,” she said easily, as if it were obvious. “I live upstairs.”
Stone stared at her. “You live… here? In the rink?”
The idea didn’t sit right with him. Living where you worked. Sleeping in the same building strangers walked through all day. It felt exposed. Unsafe.
“Of course,” Charlie said with a small shrug.
But when she noticed the subtle tension in his posture—the guarded look in his eyes—her expression softened.
She crouched down in front of Jewel instead.
“How about this,” she said gently. “You let your uncles help you out of your skates while I grab your treat. That way you don’t have to walk all the way upstairs in those.”
Jewel considered this very seriously.
“I have strawberry and lemon-lime,” Charlie added with a playful whisper. “Which would you like?”
“Lemon-lime!” Jewel suddenly corrected herself, as if the decision carried great weight.
Charlie laughed softly and disappeared toward the back hallway to retrieve the treat.
On the drive back to Gemma’s house, Stone sat rigid in his seat, staring out the window with a permanent scowl etched across his face.
“Uncle Logan,” Jewel whispered loudly, leaning forward between the seats, “Uncle Stoney no like Charlie.”
Logan snorted. “Oh, I think it’s quite the opposite.”
Jewel’s brow furrowed. “What is op-op-tist mean?”
“Opposite,” Logan corrected gently. “And it means that instead of not liking Charlie, your Uncle Stoney actually does like Charlie.”
Stone’s eyes shifted to the window, catching Logan’s smirking reflection in the glass.
He growled low in his throat.
If Jewel hadn’t been in the car, he would have given his brother a proper tongue-lashing.
Before he could respond, his phone chimed sharply in his jacket pocket.
Stone pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and his expression darkened further.
Without a word, he handed the phone to Logan.
“Well,” Stone said flatly, “it looks like Babka is going to have to watch you on her own tonight, Nugget. Your uncles have a meeting to get to.”
“Nooo!” Jewel wailed dramatically. “I want to show you my new dolly!”
Stone’s jaw tightened. He hated disappointing her.
“I think we have time for that,” Logan said smoothly, ignoring his brother’s sour mood. “Five minutes won’t kill anyone.”
Stone shot him a look.
Logan just grinned.
For a man who dealt in violence and blood without hesitation, Stone Tuff had a very specific weakness.
And she was currently pouting in the backseat over a doll.
After being forced to stay for dinner by their mother, Logan and Stone—along with their entourage—finally arrived at their private club downtown.
Every Saturday night, they opened the doors to the general public. The line inevitably wrapped around the building and stretched halfway down the block. For one night a week, those who could not normally afford entry showed up to try their luck.
It was generous in theory. In reality, it was lucrative. Tonight, however, was not about hospitality. Tonight was about business.
One of Stone’s shipments—courtesy of a trusted associate in a Mexican cartel—had been hijacked. Word on the street was that some of his men had tracked down a low-level runner working under one of the family’s biggest rivals. The man was currently tied up in the basement of the club.
On a night like this, no one would hear him scream. And no one would hear the gunshot that would eventually end him.
Speed pulled the car up to the front entrance. Before the engine fully stopped, Tony—the bouncer—was already jogging toward them, pulling the door open.
Stone stepped out first, his presence alone enough to make the nearby crowd lower their eyes. Without lingering, he and his crew moved quickly inside and bypassed the main floor, heading straight for the private staircase that led to the VIP tower.
The bass from the music vibrated through the walls as they climbed.
Once upstairs, a couple of shots were poured and downed in quick succession—just enough to take the edge off.
Stone drifted toward the balcony and rested his hands on the sleek glass railing. From above, he surveyed the sea of bodies moving in rhythm below him.
A woman in a tight white mini dress stood out against the shifting crowd. A delicate headband with a small veil rested in her hair, and a Bride to Be satin sash draped across her torso.
She was at the bar, throwing back a drink when she stumbled. The woman next to her, clearly part of the bridal party, reached out and grabbed the bride’s arm. Stone’s breath caught when he realized who she was.
Charlie was laughing and talking with several women. Her thick, long brown hair looked even softer than he had imagined. She was dressed similarly to her friend in a tight, short dress with plenty of cleavage showing and tall heels. She truly looked like a model.
“What are you looking at?” Logan nudged, leaning over the edge to get a better view. “Holy shit. Is that Charlie?”
“Who’s Charlie?” Nick asked.
As far as Stone was concerned, Nick stood near the top of the hierarchy, right beside Logan. The three boys had grown up together. Even though Nick was Italian, he fit right in with the Tuff family. A Polish mafia in America with Italians helping to run it—who would have thought?
As Logan explained who Charlie was, Stone continued to watch her and her friends at the bar, his gaze steady and possessive. He crooked a finger at Pete, one of his private bartenders, and waited until the man stood in front of him before speaking.
“Stop charging that group,” Stone said evenly. “It’s on the house for the bride.”
His eyes never left Charlie.
“And send them food. They’ve had enough to drink without anything in their stomachs. Make sure it’s done.”
“Yes, sir,” Pete said with a quick nod, already pulling out his phone to relay the order to the bar.
“Hey, Pete,” Logan called after him. “Set them up with a private booth too. Kick someone out if you have to.”
“Of course.” Pete nodded again before hurrying off to make it happen.
From the balcony, the men watched as the girls were escorted across the floor and settled into one of the private booths. Plates of finger foods were already waiting for them when they arrived. They couldn’t hear what the bride was saying over the music, but the women around her kept smiling and shaking their heads while she pointed excitedly up toward the VIP level.
The band that night matched the crowd’s energy perfectly—a solid mix of rock and country rock. Hit after hit blasted through the speakers, loud enough to rattle the glass and make it nearly impossible to hear yourself think.
When the current song ended, one of the bridesmaids rushed the stage and grabbed the singer’s attention. He laughed, nodded, and stepped up to the microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he called out, “it looks like we’ve got a bride-to-be with us tonight. Miss Stella, why don’t you stand up and take one of the last bows you’ll ever take as a single woman?”
The crowd erupted in cheers.
Stella climbed onto the booth seat and gave an exaggerated, theatrical bow, soaking up every second of the attention. Then she started bouncing in place, waving her arms and shouting for someone to sing for her.
The other girls immediately turned on Charlie.
Laughing, they grabbed her hands and arms, dragging her toward the stage while she shook her head violently and tried to push back against them the entire way.
The lead singer helped Charlie onto the stage, steadying her by the hand as she climbed up. He held the microphone away while they spoke quietly to one another, then turned back to the crowd.
“My fellow clubbers,” he called out, grinning, “it seems our friend Charlie here is a little shy. But I think we can help her out. Does everyone here like a good Evanescence song?”
The crowd exploded at the name.
Cheers. Whistles. Stomping feet.
One of the band members passed Charlie a microphone. The singer leaned in close, talking to her again, his mic just high enough to barely catch his words.
“Just close your eyes or look at me. We won’t even start playing until you finish the entrance of the song.”
Charlie nodded and closed her eyes.
“Well, this can either be a shit show or—”
Logan’s comment was cut short as the lights dimmed at the band’s request. The club fell into shadow, the stage illuminated just enough to outline Charlie’s silhouette.
It was harder to see now. Logan had a feeling they’d done it for her.
They heard her inhale. Then she began. The female lead-in to Bring Me to Life poured out of her like silk over steel.
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. No one had expected that voice to come from her.
Even the lead singer took an involuntary step back before recovering himself. He stepped forward again, gently lifting her chin so she faced him, guiding her into the song.
The moment the band kicked in and the singer layered his backup vocals over hers, the crowd went wild. Cheers and whistles erupted, drowning out half the music with pure appreciation.
“Fuuuuck,” Nick drawled. “That’s Charlie? She’s your woman?”
“She’s not my woman,” Stone growled.
His irritation had less to do with the question and more to do with the interruption. Nick had broken his concentration, and right now Charlie had every ounce of it.
“Cool,” Nick said easily. “Then you won’t mind me going down there and asking her out.”
Stone didn’t think. He reacted.
In one smooth motion, he drew the gun from beneath his arm and leveled it straight at Nick’s chest.
“You won’t fucking touch her.”
Nick didn’t even flinch.
Instead, he laughed and leaned forward until the matte-black barrel pressed into his shirt. “Fine, I won’t,” he said, still chuckling. “But what about them?”
Stone followed the direction of Nick’s finger.
The song had ended. The stage lights brightened. And Charlie was trying to step down—only to be immediately surrounded.
Men closed in from every side, crowding her space, talking over each other, reaching for her attention as she attempted to make her way back to the bridal party.
Stone slid the gun back into its holster.
From the balcony, he watched helplessly as Charlie was swallowed by a swarm of interested men.
_____________________________________________
**IF YOU WOULD LIKE A SOUNDTRACK TO GO ALONG WITH THIS BOOK, VISIT MY PAGE! I HAVE PINNED THE YOUTUBE LINKS TO GO ALONG WITH YOUR READ! ENJOY!!**
