Policy of Truth (Sacred Heart Continuum Series Book 1)

by Scarlett Holloway

  Excuse her while she puked a little in her mouth. Bile rose up her throat as the creep tried to get all sexy with her. She gagged it back down and swatted away his hand.

  Angrily, he snapped. “Don’t touch me, fucking whore.” The man reached toward her face as he spoke once more. “I’ll teach you some manners.”

  Durty growled as she stepped toward him, grabbing his right hand with her left, squeezing the thumb pad and twisting his hand back away from him in a wrist lock. As he cried out, in a mixture of shock and pain, Durty swung her right fist directly into his Adam’s apple, sending him careening to the ground on his back

  Lighting tore across the desert sky as he lay coughing and choking, clutching his throat.

  “You bitch!” The girl screeched at Durty, trying to wrestle free of the hold she was in. “Leave him alone!”

  Durty laughed. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Cutting her glance away from the sprawled-out male, her attention diverted to the she-bitch yowling at her. “You’re not a punching bag, believe it or not. You’ll thank us later.”

  The male staggered to his feet, lurching toward her.

  He missed.

  Durty was fucking with him now, dodging his feeble attempts to grab her.

  “Quit playing with your meal, Durty, and just get your fill so we can get her out of here.” Lace sighed.

  “Fine.” Durty pouted as she took a hold of his wrist once more when he made another feeble attempt to lunge at her. She easily swatted him on the back of the head, and then planted her right foot square on his ass and gave it a nice shove, sending him tumbling to his knees on the parking lot gravel, backhanding the male as he made another attempt at grabbing her.

  Durty straddled the man to put him in a choke hold, but yelped in surprise as she was tackled off him, rolling on the wet asphalt. “What the hell?” she yelled in confusion as Curby ran over to yank the hell-cat off her. “Are you fucking crazy?”

  She scrambled to her feet to slap some sense into the girl, but Lace’s voice, filled with venom, stopped her in her tracks. “Move your hand away from the gun.”

  The male reached for a gun in his waist-band, but by his now swelling cheek bone, Durty could only assume Lace kicked him in the face to protect her. The heel of Lace’s boot, with a spur on it, was at the base of the male’s throat, the sharp edges of the wheel digging into the flesh of his neck.

  The man refused, forcing Lace to press harder with her heel, an edge pricking the skin of his throat. The trickle of blood must’ve been the trigger because he moved his hand away from the butt of the gun.

  “Get the girl into the car, get on the bikes, and roll out before it gets any worse. Durty.” Her voice held a warning. “Now.”

  Durty nodded and ran for her bike, an Iron 883, as Stellar and Curby struggled to get the girl in Lace’s Roush and ran to their own bikes. The girls fired up their bikes, pulling out of the parking lot as a pack, followed by Lace in the chase car, leaving the wounded male where he lay.

  Chapter 2

  Click, Click, Boom!

  Brett ‘Sting’ Jackson was still straddled on his Road King with a half-smile as the women took care of business, one in particular handing the low-life male his ass.

  “Sting, man,” Jet growled low as he sat beside the Road Captain, straddling his own bike.

  “No. It’s not our fight.” Sting pulled off his skid plate, setting it on his gas tank, rolling his shoulders back, adjusting his cut as the events unfolded.

  “But that’s—”

  Sting turned his glacier blues on Jet and shook his head. “Lace has got her shit under control.”

  “Steel will have our asses if anything happens.” Jet looked pointedly at Sting.

  Running his fingers through his unruly, sandy blond locks, he had a fleeting thought of getting a haircut, but it was gone as quick as it came. He’d spent a year growing it out to a medium length, he just got tired of it now and again. “Lace is a big girl. Literally. Plus, she has Viper and Stiletto. She won’t need our help any time soon.”

  If the girls needed help, and that was a big if, Sting would allow the boys to jump in and kick ass. Steel, the Muerte Roja MC President, and Lace had some history no one knew about, but he watched over the Death’s Angels without her knowledge. He’d own Sting’s ass if anything happened to the women, but Sting knew their reputations, and they could handle their own.

  As the girls left, they dismounted the bikes and headed into the restaurant, not glancing to the groaning male, writhing on the ground.

  Once inside, Sting hiked his thumb over his shoulder, toward the door. “Hey doll? You might want to call the cops for that drunken bastard in your parking lot.”

  The girl nodded, grabbing for the phone. “Go ahead to your usual table. Darcy’s waiting for you guys.”

  Nodding to the hostess, the guys strode past the stand into the bar, waving to the tender as they made their way to the back. No male was less than six foot one. Sting was six-five on his own. Jet and Falcon were six-two, and Rusty six-six.

  That didn’t even begin to cover the other brothers, ranging from six-seven down to six-one. Steel was the smallest in height, but no one, including their Samoan brother, Octane, at six-seven, fucked with Steel. The man felt no pain and didn’t know his own strength.

  “Hey, guys!” The bubbly Darcy flitted out from the back, coffee cups already being filled as the men sat at their usual table. “What will it be tonight?”

  Sting smiled at their preferred waitress and gave her a solicitous wink. “Are you on the menu yet?”

  A blush deepened her cheeks as she waved off his flirtatious banter. “No, I’m not. Quit trying so hard.”

  “Good girl.” Sting had got to know Darcy since he had arrived into town, and took an immediate liking to her. That was why he was teaching her to look available, but never be available and she’d get tips like no tomorrow in the food industry.

  Blowing a zerbert his way, she rolled her eyes. “I’m not a dog, Sting.”

  “My bad, Darcy.” He held up both hands in defense. “Just coffee and those fried donuts you got us last time.”

  Nodding, she wandered off put their order in.

  Jet shook his bald head. “I feel sorry for the poor fucker who ends up trying to get with her.”

  “Why?” Sting quirked a brow, scratching at the close shaved scruff he called a beard.

  “Dude, she’ll kill the fucker. You’re teaching her to be mean.”

  Sting laughed rather loud, shaking his head. “She needs to learn to defend herself and keep it real. I just did her a favor to protect herself against pervs like you, old man.”

  Rusty and Falcon joined in on the laughter as they took their seats at the table. Rusty was obviously a ginger, with coppery colored hair and boyish freckles. His green eyes stood out against the pink toned skin, his Irish heritage prominent by his rugged good looks. Falcon, on the other hand, had black hair with amber eyes and caramel kissed skin. Marinara coursed through his veins, and his temper proved as much.

  “I know Lace can handle her own, but, bro, Steel may want to combine forces with the Angels. He wants us to grow, what better way than to support one another?” Rusty took a sip of his coffee, looking expectantly at Sting.

  “They don’t need to get mixed in with our shit, Rusty.” Sting shook his head, eyes narrowing as he thought about the suggestion.

  The Angels ran an underground fight ring; the Rojas ran an underground bookie system and gambling ring. The two could end up rolling hand-in-hand.

  The Muerte Roja had been around for a few years, a support group to the famed one percent club—The Santa Muerte MC. The ability to keep under the radar was getting easier by the day. The red and silver were known, but they were like ghosts and stayed invisible to most. A few cops in their pockets, a judge or two with freshly greased palms, the mayor—who occasionally looked the other way—one of their biggest clients.
r />   Worked out pretty damn good.

  Maybe Rusty had a decent idea after all.

  Chapter 3

  What It’s Like

  Durty roared into the parking lot of Domino, followed by Lace and the unnamed female, who’d withdrawn into a coma-like state of shock. Bringing the bike to a stop, she yanked off the full-face and scrubbed her hair free of the makeshift pony-tail as she glanced in the rearview. Lace opened the driver’s side door and unfolded her long body from the Roush.

  “Come get her and take her inside, quickly.” Lace quipped at Durty. “Go through the back. I’ll meet you on the flipside.”

  Durty wondered why Lace was so secretive about this particular female. She wasn’t usually a backdoor ma’am.

  Opening the passenger’s door, the blonde turned her head to look up at Durty, her voice barely above a whisper. “Where are we?”

  “You’re on a need to know basis, and right now, you don’t need to know. Let’s get moving.” Durty grabbed the blue-eyed girl’s hand and pulled her from the car, chuckling to herself at the humor of the age old saying.

  Tear-filled eyes reflected sheer terror as she shook her head, sinking back into the seat. “He’ll find me. Don’t you know who he is? You’re not safe either. Why did you have to interfere?”

  Durty jerked her head back in surprise. She’d thought the same way once. What in the hell had the man done to this girl? “You’re welcome for saving your druggie ass. You want to get abused and possibly end up dead because he got overzealous using you as a punching bag? That’s your fucking business. But as of right now? Get the fuck out of the car and get inside before Lace kicks both our asses.”

  The girl blinked rapidly, but did exactly as instructed. She got out and followed Durty to the back of the building.

  Once inside, Durty maneuvered through the back hallways, leading the girl to a metal door. The walls were covered in pictures of the girls in their cuts or motorcycle vests, each female smiling in pride at the personal accomplishment it took to receive the important piece of leather. It was like a Hall of Fame for the sisters, a constant reminder they were each special in their own right.

  Durty couldn’t help but bob her head to the thumping beat of the music coming from the other side of the walls. The bar was open, and the DJ played some great tunes, by the sound of it. Finally reaching the metal door, she knocked on it, and a window slid open. A pair of vibrant blues stared at Durty, then the speak-easy clanged shut, the echoing sounds of several locks rang out, before the door swung open.

  “Come on in, Durty. We’ve been waiting.” Stiletto swept her arm wide, nose wrinkling slightly as she caught sight of Durty’s sidekick.

  Ushering the nameless female into the room, the door slammed shut behind them. The room was decorated in a clean, minimalist fashion—white walls with decorative pictures of underwater sea life, sea shells on the tables, sea foam colored carpet, and ocean blue colored fabric-covered chairs. Lace sat in a leather high-back behind a mahogany desk, her fingers interlaced as she watched the girl.

  “Sit down.” Lace motioned for the timid girl to take a seat.

  “I need to get out of here. He’ll kill all of us if he finds me here.” The girl looked around the room in a state of panic, her voice full of desperation. Her chest heaved like she was about to hyperventilate.

  “I know who your ol’ man is and he doesn’t scare me.” Lace turned her cold hazels on the girl, single brow rising up.

  “Who’s her ol’ man?” Durty slid onto the couch next to Flames, glancing toward Viper, Stellar, and Stiletto. “Someone want to fill me in?”

  “His name is Chico, and he runs with the Painted Warriors.”

  “Excuse me? What did you say?” Durty froze. No wonder she was almost in full-blown hysterics. The PWMC were beyond ruthless. They were savage killers and didn’t blink when it came to breaking the law. They used their women as mules or prostituted them out. There were very few who were above that station in their world.

  Lace frowned, kicking up her booted feet onto her desk, leaning back in her chair as she looked between the women, then back to Durty. “You heard right. Rumor has it he’s out bad from another club for this same shit. I got a call while we were coming back here from a concerned civilian.” Glancing to the girl, she sighed. “What’s your name, Blondie?”

  “Jenny. Jenny Green.” She sniffled, leaning toward the desk to pluck a tissue from a box. Blowing her nose, she wadded up the snot rag and tossed it to the garbage can.

  Durty cleared her throat, angling forward to rest her elbows on her thighs. Tucking a lock of wavy hair behind her ear, she drew in a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “How long has he been doing this, Jenny? Why haven’t you left?”

  The girl went from Sad Jenny to Angry Jenny in less than ten seconds.

  She glared at Durty, her voice shaking with a mixture of fear and anger. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to be in fear of your life from the moment you wake up until you go to bed? Or what it’s like to sleep so lightly the tiniest of sounds or movement jolt you awake because you think you’re about to get the shit beat out of you? Or how about praying every day that something will happen to him and he won’t walk through the front door and you’ll have your first night of peace in years?” Tears started trickling down her cheeks, her blue eyes growing wild as fear settled in again. “I tried to leave once.” She nodded quickly, drawing in a shattered breath. “He found me. I woke up in the hospital two weeks later. He was so sweet and kind. He promised he’d change.”

  Durty’s eyes watered, her heart slowly breaking for the woman. Wiping them quickly, she cleared her throat. “Yes, Jenny. I know exactly what that’s like. I’ve been in that exact same spot you’re in. Lace helped me when no one else could, or would, for that matter. If you want help, we can give it to you. But you have to really want it.”

  Stellar nodded, her faded black-to-red hair in a ponytail, her Bette Paige bangs perfect. “That was the honeymoon phase, Jenny. How long did it take before he hit you again? I bet he claimed it was all your fault too?”

  “Yeah. He did,” Jenny whispered, sinking further into her chair.

  “Not trying to be insensitive, but suck it up, Blondie. What’s done is done. Now it’s time to put your big-girl panties on and tell him to fuck off. Like Durty said, you want the help? We’ll give it to you. That’s what we do.” Lace lowered her feet to the carpet, turning her chair to face Jenny.

  “If I let you help me, he’ll hurt one of you, if not all of you.”

  Stiletto snorted, lifting the front of her baby-doll t-shirt, revealing a band of knives secured to her body. “Let him try.”

  Viper giggled at her twin’s show of badassery. “You’ve totally waited too long to do that.”

  Stiletto grinned and winked at her mirror image. “Was it too much?”

  Viper shook her head. “It was scary enough, I think I might’ve pissed a little.”

  “Bitch.”

  “Hooker.”

  “Slut.”

  “Okay, okay, you two.” Durty chuckled, knowing their insult game could last for hours. “Curby, Gipsy? Would you take Jenny to the house and get her set up? Showered, change of clothes.”

  “Sure thing. Come on.” Gipsy stood up and offered her hand to Jenny, her fingers wiggling. “You’re gonna love the house.”

  Once the trio left, Durty leaned back, rubbing her temples and closing her eyes to try to find a moment of peace. “If we do this, it’ll start a war.”

  Lace puckered her lips, popping them as she patted the desk with her hand as if she were playing the drums. “Yup. It will. But we’ve got people on our side. I’m not too worried about it.”

  Viper rolled her bottom lip with her teeth. Releasing it, she spoke up. “We’ll hide her just like we have with others. This isn’t our first rodeo.”

  “Probably won’t be our last,” Stiletto chimed in, lifting a single shoulder and letting it
drop.

  Chapter 4

  Dirrty

  Sting privately filled Steel and Butcher, the President and Vice-President of the Muerte Roja, on what happened that night in the parking lot.

  “Jesus, I wish Tilly would fucking find nice, sweet girls to mother. She always finds the ones who have baggage,” Steel grumbled, running his hand over the top of his bald head.

  Sting wasn’t aware Steel and Lace knew one another on a first-name basis. Chantilly “Lace” Beck, moved to Shadow Falls several years ago, and made fast friends with a few of the Muerte Roja. She’d never met Sting or some other boys, which would prove beneficial.

  Sting transferred into the Shadow Falls chapter a couple of weeks prior.

  Butcher let out a long breath, getting up from his stool and walking around the bar to grab himself a beer. “Lace has always had a thing for strays, but Chico won’t allow this girl to stay with them long. He’ll go in and either kill the bitch while she sleeps or kidnap her, then kill her.”

  “He’d have to find her first.” Sting was hopeful the Warriors had no clue where the women stayed.

  “The house is hidden, sure. But how hard is it to follow someone? Not very,” Steel grumped, motioning Butcher to grab him a water from the other side of the bar. “I want you to go to Domino and make sure they’re safe for the night. Butcher and I’ll talk over what we want to do. Lace won’t accept our help outright, I can tell you that much. Run sixty-six. Cage it.”

  No colors and in the truck.

  Joy.

  “Take Copper, Duke, and T-Rex with you.” Butcher handed Steel his water. “Since Chico is out bad with us, he won’t try anything with the boys there, but we need to know if he cases the joint or any of the Warriors show up.”

  Copper and Duke were average-sized in height, but their attitudes were large and in charge. Copper was a veteran of Operation Spirit, currently working with Steel at the H&T Transportation Plant. It kept him in shape, though Duke kept them all fit, since he was a personal trainer by day. T-Rex was the muscle, and his name fit him—to a T. He was built like a monster, tatt’d like a beast, close-cut Mohawk, and the Navajo lineage to boot—and MRMC’s Sergeant at Arms, also working at H&T Transport.