Copyright
Policy of Truth is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
POLICY OF TRUTH: A NOVEL
Copyright © 2018 by Scarlett Holloway
All rights reserved.
Editing by KP Editing
Cover design by KP Designs
Published by Kingston Publishing Company
The uploading, scanning, and distribution of this book in any form or by any means—including but not limited to electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the permission of the copyright holder is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized editions of this work, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Epilogue
Prologue
“Chokeahoe.”
“You into strangling prostitutes now, Viper?” Lace glanced sidelong at the female sitting next to her, the corner of her lip curling just enough to mimic a slight smile.
“No, smartass. I’m about to create a new Navajo Tribe if this bitch doesn’t get here soon,” Viper muttered.
Lace turned to look at Viper, her black brow cocked as she gazed out from under her pink and purple bangs. The two had known each other for several years, so it was easy to see the irritation growing in her friend. That’d be a new one for the history books. Lace chuckled inwardly. Chokahoe. Good Lord. “She’ll be here. No strangling today, Boston.”
“Boston?” Viper crinkled up her nose in confusion.
“Yeah, the Boston Stran—nevermind.”
Viper blew a strand of copper hair out of her two-toned eyes, sticking out her tongue as she turned her head to bat her lashes at Lace.
“It’s too fucking hot to be sitting in this damn Jeep, waiting for what?” Flames sucked down more of her slushie, the slurping reverberating through the space.
Movement caught her attention from outside the vehicle, forcing Lace to look up. “There she is.” Lace pointed with the uplift of chin as she fumbled with the door handle.
The girl making her way toward them wasn’t what Lace expected. She’d done her research into Tamra Simons of Simons Realty, and her picture did no justice. Tamra was five foot five inches, five foot eight in her three-inch heels.
Medium length, wispy auburn hair with dark red highlights, hid the round face from view, as did the aviators covering her eyes. She wasn’t skinny by any means, but healthy and she had a glow about her that was almost infectious. A pale pink suit skirt showed off short shapely legs, and a white silken blouse with a lighter cotton blazer completed the ensemble.
“Tamra?” Lace leaned her jean clad hip against the hood of the Jeep, crossing her arms over her chest.
“That’d be me, Ms. Beck.” Tamra stuck out her hand.
“Lace, please.” She shook the realtor’s hand and motioned toward the building. “I’m ready if you are.”
Viper swung open the passenger door, almost falling as she rolled out of the cab. “Oh my god. It’s about damn time. We were about to roast in there.”
Flames followed suit, hopping out of the back, smoothing down the front of her shorts. “You ought to know by now, chica, wear shorts when you know we’re going somewhere with Lace.”
Lace glanced over her shoulder at the two, rolling her eyes. “Suck it up, ladies. We have a building to look at.”
Following Tamra to the warehouse, Lace studied her silently. There was something not quite right with the girl.
“This is about ten thousand square feet.” Tamra glanced to the trio, and then unlocked one of the splintered wooden doors, swinging it open as it groaned loudly in protest, and motioned them inside. “It’ll work out perfectly for a quaint little bistro.”
Lace chuckled as she stepped past the realtor, cringing as her boots crunched on broken glass when she passed through the doorway, the sound echoing through the empty building. She waved a hand in front of her face as a foul, dank smell assaulted her nose. “This won’t be a quaint bistro.”
Viper snickered as she hip-bumped Lace, placing a Blo-Pop into her mouth. “This is a fucking dump. We really had to drive over thirty minutes and wait an hour in the blistering heat, when there were plenty of abandoned shit holes closer to town? I mean, seriously?”
Leave it to Viper to lay it out there.
The inside of the building looked like it had been ransacked by a group of ferocious rioters that belonged to the spray paint club of the year or gang banged by a box of crayons. Tables were broke—some looking as if someone was pile-drived into the middle of them; mirrors shattered, the tattered pieces strewn about the warped wooden floor appeared to have taken on the Biblical flood. The bar looked like it had been lit on fire, charred and split apart in several places. The trailer park paneled walls were scrawled upon with various obscenities and the roof needed help as well.
Lace thought it was perfect.
Flames groaned.
Clicking her tongue ring against her teeth, Lace settled her hands on her hips as a slow smirk formed. She had no clue what Flames was groaning about, this place was abso-fucking-lutely perfect, and no, it wasn’t quaint—at all.
“Shit.” Flames nudged Viper. “She’s doing that clicking thing. We’re fucked.”
Viper snorted and tossed her hair over her shoulder, raising a single brow to Lace. “Yup. I can see the wheels turning. We’re screwed worse than an altar boy at confession.”
Lace came close to bursting out in laughter when Tamra’s jaw dropped. Sighing, Lace frowned, turning toward Tamra. “You answer a question truthfully, and I’ll buy this place.”
“Excuse me?” Tamra stuttered the words out. Clearly, she wasn’t used to dealing with clients like Lace. “We haven’t even discussed a price. Or what you want to do with the place. I thought you wanted a bistro.”
Lace waved her hand dismissively. “Something like tha—”
“Money isn’t shit when it’s something Lace wants,” Viper added.
“So, just answer the question already. Oh shit! I think I just saw a fucking roach wielding a machete.”
“Deal?”
Tamra nodded, rolling her bottom lip between her teeth.
She hadn’t taken off her sunglasses but even without eye contact, Lace could read the woman’s face. No time like the present to confirm her suspicions. “So, how long has he been hitting you?”
Chapter 1
Smack My Bitch Up
Unable to stop the wistful smile, Tamra shook her head, bringing herself back to reality and the restaurant she sat in to celebrate with her ‘sisters’. It was five years ago today Tamra “Durty” Simons met Lace, Flames, and Viper in a ruined building. Her life changed for the better that day.
Lace opened up avenues Tamra never knew existed and she fucking loved it.
Tamra was a graduate in Krav Maga and lived to spar with Viper and her twin, Stiletto. When she wasn’t throwing down with the twins or at the office, she worked at the café-slash-nightclub, Domino Effect, which she’d sold to Lace, President of the Death’s Angels Motorcycle Club, that fateful day.
Tamra?
Yeah, she was riding Road Captain—loud and proud.
Tamra gained a family that day—and a cool road name— and dear God had it grown. Lace was so much more than met the eye. Sure, she was one bad bitch, but that woman had one of the biggest hearts she’d ever seen. She picked Durty up off the ground, dusted her ass off, toughed her up, and welcomed her with open arms. Lace walked Tamra through the steps of not only getting a divorce, but also retaining the money she’d worked so hard for when she got rid of the ex.
How could Tamra not love such a patient and kind woman?
The Death’s Angels MC wasn’t only a one hundred percent, hardcore motorcycle club—all female, of course— but in spite of that or maybe because of it, they supported charity like no one’s business, mainly domestic violence safe houses. They were very well known in Shadow Falls, California—perhaps too well known.
No member of the MC was a saint. They were ex-drug addicts, abused women, rape victims, or who-knew-what—some shit was too deep to mention. But Lace took them in, turned their asses straight, and toughened them up so they wouldn’t stand for being bitch slapped anymore.
She gave them their damn self-respect. Built their confidence up, not just too where it had been pre-shitty-relationship, but took it to a whole new level. The only wife beaters in these women’s lives now were the ragged ones they used to buff out their Harleys after a good waxing.
Clearing her throat, Durty looked around the large table where several of her sisters were seated—Lace, Flames, Viper, Stellar, Stiletto, and Curby. They weren’t only celebrating her fifth club birthday, but also discussing the latest charity event they wanted to partake in.
“I’m telling you girls; the Roaring Twenty’s theme will go over big in this town.” Curby sat back in her chair, looking around the table.
Lace crinkled her nose up and shook her head. “That’s so overdone though. If all else fails, people resort to that theme.”
Durty studied Lace as she talked. Lace was an Amazonian. End of Story. Statuesque, at just a hair over six feet tall, the pink and purple short haired femme fatale wasn’t tiny by any means. At a hundred and eighty-five pounds, she carried her weight like a beast from hitting the gym on a daily basis, and had the gumption to back it up with her ‘in-your-face’ attitude. Her hazel eyes were rather unusual, the color of aged whiskey but flecked with emerald green. Tattooed and pierced, she didn’t give a shit what the surrounding Holier-Than-Thou community thought of her, Lace held her head high and with pride.
“Think about it, Lace,” Durty spoke up, pushing around her vegetables with her fork. “You’ve got amazing wooden floors and a great dance area. Hold a Saturday Night Fever party. People can wear their disco clothes, their skates with their knee-high socks, and dolphin shorts.”
“Glitter!” Viper gasped as she set down her beer.
All the girls groaned with laughter. Lace and Viper loved their glitter and God help anyone who stepped out of line. They’d get a baptism of sparkling proportions for their stupidity.
Tamra nodded with a chuckle. “Tons of glitter. The late seventies and early eighties were all about the bling and bedazzle.”
“I admit, I like the idea. I haven’t seen anyone around here, especially in the crew, have a party like that.” Lace nodded, leaning back in her chair.
Curby’s southern accent was something to get used to, but everyone loved it. “I call bullshit. That one fartknocker from Painted Rock tried.”
“Epic fail.” Stiletto rolled her eyes, waving around her fork. “The dude is a douche.”
The sharp sound of a fork clattering against a plate caught Durty’s attention as Stiletto droned on about the party.
“I thought I fucking told you to order me a rare steak while I was in the bathroom?” A male voice barked from behind the girls and slightly to the right.
“I did, I swear,” a timid female voice answered. “If you wouldn’t drink so much and have to go pee every five minutes, you’d know that.”
Durty leaned slightly to the right, to gain a better view of the booth disrupting their meal and fellowship. A scrungy looking male with greasy black hair and a half-assed beard was glaring at a woman Durty could only see the back of.
“You always fucking swear, you dumb bitch. Now I’ve got to wait for my damn steak and I’m fucking hungry.” The grease-ball snarled at the cowering female.
The fair-haired girl whimpered, her voice shook as she said, “It’s not my fault.”
Durty’s brows shot up as she looked to Lace, who grew red in the face.
Lace shook her head and pushed her plate away. “We’ll go with the disco theme.” She cleared her throat rather loudly, took a sip of her coffee, and exchanged a look with Viper, scooting her chair away from the table.
Shit was about to get real.
One single look. Those two needed no words between them. Viper and Stiletto should add Lace into the mix and call themselves triplets—three peas, one pod. And Flames was right up there with them, though she held herself back a little. Maybe that’s why she and Durty were closer as friends.
The male jumped up, slamming his hip into the table, nearly knocking it over onto the woman. “What the fuck! Look what you made me do, bitch!”
“Seriously?” Stiletto snarled as she gripped her steak knife, her cold blue eyes turning flint grey as anger crept over her visage. “Lace, we need to bone out before I wear that fucker’s scalp as a hat.”
“Heard.” Lace pushed up out of her chair now, scooping up the check. Durty stepped in behind her, followed by Flames, then Viper and Stiletto, Stellar, and Curby bringing up the rear.
Just as they started to move, the manager of the place blocked Lace’s avenue of escape. He glanced apologetically to the girls, and then cleared his throat as he spoke to the aggravated male.
“I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you two to leave.”
Durty could barely hear Lace’s mutterings, but she swore she heard, “About fucking time.” Following Lace as she cut a path through the tables, Durty listened to the man talking back to the manager.
“No way, Tommy. I haven’t paid my fucking bill. I ain’t no fucking welcher. I pay my debts.”
The manager shook his head as he expertly guided the couple toward the door. “No worries, boss. It’s on the house.”
Durty snagged the check from Lace’s hand while she was distracted, passing it off to Flames. “Nice try, Lace. We’ve got this one.”
“It’s your birthday celebration.” Lace shifted her weight, leaning against the wall as the hostess rang them up.
“And the treasurer will pay for it.” Durty stuck out her tongue playfully at Lace, trying to lighten the mood from the previous episode at the tables.
“On second thought, go ahead. I’ve got something to do outside,”
Lace grunted, pushing off the wall, turning on her booted heel to make her way outside.
Durty followed suit with the other girls, leaving Curby and Flames behind to handle their bill.
That was a mistake.
“Thanks to you, now we’re fucking banned from here. You’re such a worthless piece of shit. I don’t know why the fuck I put up with your sorry ass.” The male reached out and shoved the woman by her shoulder.
A light drizzle was starting as a crack of lightning streaked across the sky, illuminating the parking lot as the man struck the girl across her face, sending her spinning to the ground.
Lace released an exasperated sigh and hung her head, hands on her hips.
“Lace?” Durty’s voice cracked in sheer anger as the man pulled back his leg, kicking the girl in her ribs as she laid there, a cry of pain echoing in the night.
“Go.”
That was all she needed. Her sisters had her back, but she had doubts she was going to need their help. Durty was next to the male before he knew what hit him. Not a single thought went through her head as she faced the man—or was it her past?
Seeing the man strike the girl, who was cradled in Curby’s arms, was enough to send her reeling into the past and her ex taking out his bad day on her.
Not. Gonna. Happen.
Durty grabbed the man by his forearm and spun him around to face her. “Did that make you feel like a real man? Huh? Did your little prick get hard thinking you’re so strong?”
“Who the fuck are you?” He jerked his arm away, baring his un-brushed snarl at her, flashing the full effect of his moldy teeth.
Oh joy. A meth-head.
Curby and Stellar scrambled to get the wounded girl up and out of the way. It wasn’t going to be this asshole’s day.
Durty flashed her own, much whiter snarl his way. “As cliché as it sounds, you dumbass, piece of shit motherfucker, I’m your worst fucking nightmare.”
“A woman.” He chuckled. “Yeah right. What you gonna do to me, huh? Tickle me to death?” He stepped one inch too far into her personal space. Lifting his hand, he took a hold of one of the auburn waves of hair, rubbing it between his fingers. “Or maybe…” He pumped his brows as he ran his filthy finger down her throat toward her chest. “Just maybe, I’ll just have to lick you to death, hmmm?”
Policy of Truth (Sacred Heart Continuum Series Book 1) Page 1
