Viper frowned and lightly punched her sister’s shoulder. Looking up, she gave a shrug. “Lots of reasons. If I had to pick one?” She bounced her brows, leaning forward, keeping her weight on her hands. “Murder.”
Jenny’s jaw dropped at Viper’s admission, quickly looking to Durty, who busted out laughing, unable to keep a straight face.
“No, but seriously.” Viper laughed with everyone, waving a hand in the air. “I was in the military, and I’ve known Lace a long ass time. She helped me through some rough patches of PTSD.”
Durty shook her head, finishing her coffee. Viper had indeed murdered someone, but that was a secret locked away and buried deep within the club.
“What’s Lace’s story?” Jenny glanced around then looked back to Durty.
That wasn’t something Durty wanted to talk about. No one but Viper knew the real reason behind Lace forming the club. They all speculated, but if Lace wanted them to know, she’d have told them.
“Lace is just,” Durty crinkled up her nose, looking to the twins for help on this one.
“Lace,” they said in unison.
“She’s kinda intimidating.” Jenny chewed on her inner cheek as she listened to the others.
“Don’t let Lace fool you.” Durty snorted, rising back up out of her chair to refill her coffee. Grabbing the pot, she started to pour, quickly looking in Jenny’s direction. “She has one of the biggest fucking hearts you’ll ever come across. But you tread on it wrong, and she’ll gut you and not think twice about it. She’s very straight forward.”
Viper and her sister nodded, though it was Viper who spoke up. “I’ve known her for over ten years. She offers women a chance to rebuild their lives. She won’t put up with bullshit.”
“Or drugs.” Durty raised a single brow as she looked directly into Jenny’s eyes. She had seen the strategically placed needle marks. She wasn’t stupid.
“He forced me to take them. Once you’re addicted though, you can’t stop,” Jenny whined as she slumped into her chair.
Durty felt a moment of pity for the woman. How could she not? If he was force-feeding her drugs, Jenny had no say or the will to fight. That pity would only go so far. “You have to have the want, the drive to be in this family. You’ll have to detox, Jenny. What have you been on, and when was your last dose?”
“Heroine,” Jenny sniffled, rolling her bottom lip between her teeth as she shrugged. “Sometime that night before dinner. It’s worn off. I can feel it. My stomach is starting to cramp.”
“How long?” Stiletto quizzed her.
“Maybe a month.”
Durty almost sighed in relief. It’d be much easier for Gipsy and Curby to handle Jenny since she hadn’t been hooked that long. It’d still be hell, but not what she thought it’d be. Not like it had been with Stellar. “I think she needs to bunk down with Gipsy and Curby until it’s out of her system.”
Viper nodded, hopping off the bar. “Ayup. Then Chico can’t find her. Maybe this shit will settle down.”
Jenny lowered her eyes to her hands, her fingers currently in a tangled mess.
Durty cocked her head to the side, eyes narrowing as she studied the now apprehensive Jenny. “Look, if you don’t want help. Say it. We’ll make sure you’re in the abused women’s shelter by nightfall.” She couldn’t keep the bite out of her voice, not understanding how someone couldn’t want the help they were offering.
“It’s not that.”
“Out with it then,” Durty snapped at the girl, growing impatient with the games she was obviously playing.
“He’s out bad with the Muerte Roja. There’s an SOS on him. Last night was the first night he’s come out of hiding in almost six months. He’s going to come for me, and he’ll kill to get me.”
Chapter 9
Somebody Like You
Durty thought Viper was going to kill a bitch. To have a ‘shoot on sight’ order placed on your head from the Muerte Roja’s, was usually a direct order from their mother club, the Santa Muerte MC.
The Santa Muerte wasn’t a club you messed with. Durty wasn’t scared of much, but the President and Vice President of the club scared the ever-living shit out of her. The Reverend, or Rev, was the President—tall, angry, and drop dead gorgeous. He was brutal, ruthless, and didn’t take shit from anyone. Rumor had it the VP, Bones, got his name because he was a Redbone—his heritage was straight up voodoo, and he wasn’t afraid to use it. He was built like a brick shit house and was just as vicious as his name.
Viper lost her mind, knowing if the mother club heard that Chico had come out of hiding, they’d be making a trip from Vegas to make good on their order.
Once Gipsy got Jenny out of the building, Viper unleashed her fury. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Her dual colored eyes opened wide as she pointed toward the front door. “We’re looking at being in the middle of a fucking war!”
Durty threw up her hands in defense, holding them out in front of her, warding off the angered female. “It’s not my fault, Viper. Take a chill pill. We’ll go to Lace and tell her. Let her figure out what to do.”
A voice came from behind Durty. “Tell me what?”
Durty’s eyes fell closed, a soft, defeated sigh slipping out as her head fell into her hands, her fingers clutching at her hair. “Uhm, we’re fucked without lube or a proper reach around?”
Lace blew an errant strand of pink bangs out of her eyes as she made her way toward the trio. “Uhuh. And who’s fucking us and why?”
Viper and Stiletto took the same pose, hands on their hips, jutting out and to the right, two pairs of eyes staring a hole through Durty’s head─hard, flinty eyes full of ‘I told you so’, one brow raised up in silent expectation.
“Well,” Durty coughed and finally looked up, right into the four eyes staring directly at her Sticking her tongue out at the twins, she turned her head toward Lace as she stepped behind the bar to make herself a drink. “It was brought to our attention that Chico has an SOS order.” Pause for effect. “From the Muerte Roja.”
Lace’s head snapped up, her mouth, making a perfect ‘O’, eyes darting between all three girls.
Durty could see Lace’s mind in overdrive, processing the information. Her facial expressions went from ‘Oh shit’ to ‘OH SHIT’. Shaking her head, Lace bit down on the corner of her bottom lip. “We’ll deal with it as it comes.”
Durty nodded, not really sure she liked that solution. “This will bring a war to our front door step.”
Viper crossed her arms over her ample chest, her head moving from side to side as she offered up her own suggestion. “Maybe it’s time to go to Steel?”
“Yeah,” Lace nodded, and then snorted. “No.”
Durty rolled her eyes, throwing her hands up. “Then we better batten down the hatches and get ready for Santa Muerte to tear this place apart, unless the Warriors get to it first.”
“I want everyone carrying and riding in their personal vehicles for now. Let’s lay low for a couple of days and see if Chico went to Vader about it. Chico might not have told him he got the shit kicked out of him by a chick.”
No cut.
That blew.
One thing Durty loved just as much as her 135i, was her cut. Death’s Angels stood out, that much was true. Red and silver were their colors; the center patch was a pair of wings surrounding a beautiful sugar skull girl with an Immortal Heart of Mary inked on her bare shoulder. Every member of the club was required to rock the three-piece patches on a white tactical vest with a gun compartment in it for their own safety.
With that order in place, Durty left the club in search for food. She was starved and wanted to go over some real estate anyway. She had several houses closing in the next few days and needed to make sure her office was handling matters properly.
After swinging by her office to grab her work tablet, she decided to go to one of her favorite spots—a hole in the wall, mom and pop’s diner downtown. They had the be
st pastrami burger she’d ever tasted. Talk about delicious comfort food.
Finding a parking spot over two blocks away, she walked over to the diner, groaning at the business crowd that left for lunch early and decided the diner was the happening spot.
Ugh.
Stepping into the air-conditioned building, Durty frowned—no empty tables. Even the bar was a solid wall of business suits.
“Poo.” Her shoulders fell as a frown marred her features, her belly complaining at her mental disappointment of no pastrami burger in its future.
It was then her eyes met a pair of crystalline blues.
Her heart skipped a beat as she lowered her lashes demurely, taken by surprise at her body’s reaction to him. Lifting her eyes back up, Sting tilted his head to the side, sweeping his hand to the seat opposite of him.
Shit, he wanted her to sit with him!
Her belly flip flopped as her feet rebelled against her brain, walking toward him. It should be illegal to be as good looking as he was. His blond hair was naturally highlighted and wavy. Durty had already imagined what it’d be like to run her fingers through it. High cheek bones were covered with whiskers that were carefully shaved to the right length, not quite a beard, but not a five o’clock shadow either. His lips screamed danger; full and oh, so kissable.
It was his eyes that captured her the most. They were unlike any blue she could remember. Durty doubted the color even registered on the color chart. They were crisp and clear, framed by long black lashes most women paid for. The hue of the blue wasn’t a color easily describable in Durty’s mind. She couldn’t say they were gray or blue, but somewhere in between. His eyes were bright and held a guarded edge to them, causing her to wonder if he’d been hurt before, or if it was how he was raised.
“Hi there. Fancy meeting you here.” The corner of Sting’s lips lifted in a half-cocked grin. “Care to join me?”
“Please? My stomach is starting to think my throat’s been cut.” She smiled, pulling out her chair to take a seat. If she’d known she’d be running into someone, she wouldn’t have dressed down in a pair of ripped jeans, boots, and a purple razor back tank top, showing off the set of wings that covered her whole back, kissing the edges of her shoulders.
“I just ordered, so it’s not like you’re late or anything.” He raised a hand, waving over a waitress, who quickly took Durty’s order.
His hands were clean, but held telltale signs of smudges of grease on them, along with his dirty shirt and filthy jeans. He was a blue-collar working man, which thrilled Durty even more.
“I appreciate it. Thank you.” She nodded to the waitress as she dropped off her soda, leaning back in her chair. “What do you do for a living?”
Brett glanced down at his hands chuckling. “I promise, I washed before I sat down. I work out at the heavy equipment barn, H&T Transport, working on the trucks.”
“Mechanic by day, bouncer by night.” Durty’s voice borderline teasing him. She knew the place he was talking about. Hell, half the guys in Steel’s club worked there. They were major players in the shipping business.
“Look who’s talking, Miss Durty T. I’m no superhero, though.”
Her eyes strayed to his hands as he cupped his glass of water, curious as to what they’d feel like on her body. Were they calloused or soft? Would they be rough or gentle? Jesus, she could feel her breasts growing heavy, her nipples hardening in her bra at the very thought of him touching her.
“Hello? Earth to Durty.” Sting snapped his fingers in front of her face, bringing her out of her reverie.
“Huh? Sorry.” Durty shook her head, silently scolding herself for acting like a school girl in heat. Taking a sip of her soda, she regarded him once more. “I was thinking about work.”
“What? Your next famous drink?”
Durty laughed, shaking her head. “No, realty. I’m a real estate agent by day.”
Sting’s brows shot up in surprise. “Damn, not only are you beautiful, but smart too? How’d I get so lucky?”
Durty snorted, wagging her finger at him. “Uhuh, good one. Anyway.” Waving off his compliment, she continued, “Tell me about yourself, Mr. Superhero.”
“Not much to tell really.” Sting lifted his shoulders and let them drop. “I grew up all over the place. Military brat and all. I ended up in a military college, shipped out during the war. Came home and was stationed in the desert. I liked it here, so I stayed. I’ve met some pretty great guys, established myself, and here I am. You can quit calling me, Brett. The guys call me Sting, I’ve grown accustomed to it.”
“Sounds pretty simple and quaint.” Durty leaned back as the waitress dropped off their plates. “Well, except for the war part. I’m sorry to hear you went, but at least you’re home in one piece. I can do that, Sting.”
“I lead a pretty simple life. I work hard and play harder. Not much to it.”
“I can so see that.”
Sting took a bite of his cheeseburger, then asked, “What about you? You’re not like other girls I’ve met here. Most are either princesses that want to be taken care of or mega-bitches that have bigger balls than I do.”
Durty almost choked on her pastrami in laughter. “No, I’m neither of those.”
She had been a Daddy’s girl… once, but that was of no one’s concern but her own. “There’s not much to tell about me really. I was born, I grew up, I graduated. I got married, divorced, and here I am.”
“Oh, come on. There’s more to you than that, Durty. I wasn’t born yesterday.”
Durty really hated talking about herself—especially about her past. It brought up feelings she’d buried away and was afraid to face if they resurfaced. Her stomach knotted, forcing her to shift uneasily in her seat as she picked up a fry and pushed it around her plate.
“You don’t cuss, you dress down the best way you know how, but it’s still top of the line clothing. There’s never a hair out of place, makeup is always perfect. You hide your intelligence behind a mask of uncertainty and doubt. You’re all woman, but you can be a tomboy as well. Quite the enigma really.”
Durty was taken aback by his observation. He’d hit the nail on the head with several things. She was a bit of a socialite, she hated to admit it. Durty wasn’t above swearing, but she had to be pretty angered for it to come spilling out of her mouth. She was raised better than that. Not that she was any better than someone like Lace or Viper, whose favorite word was ‘fuck’, but it wasn’t in her to be as blunt as they were.
“I was raised by a Southern gent, and swearing wasn’t a part of it.” All girl schools, debutante balls, and high society had been her life. “I got married at an early age. It was one of the biggest mistakes in my life. He was heavy handed and loved his alcohol more than me.” Popping the fry into her mouth, the hairs on the back of her neck rose, sending a shiver down her spine.
Glancing behind her, she scanned the diner, unable to shake the feeling that someone was watching them. Maybe it was just talking about the past that made her feel creeped out.
“He hit you?” Sting’s voice was laced with a hint of disbelief.
Durty nodded, biting her upper lip. She hadn’t spoken a word about her past to someone in so long, Durty wasn’t sure how she liked the emotions that rolled her stomach. It brought back that underline fear he’d find her and beat her again, though she knew he was remarried and not interested in finding her. Then there was the fear of judgment—that she was weak and allowed someone to abuse her.
“He wanted the perfect trophy wife. I fell short of that, I guess. I, uh—” she swallowed down the bile that surfaced in the back of her throat. “He was a bit perverse and I wanted no part of it.”
Her discomfort must’ve been outwardly visible, as Sting changed the topic. “How about those Dodgers? I hear they’re supposed to win the Superbowl this year.”
Durty blinked, and then burst out laughing. “That’s horrible, Brett.”
“It ma
de you laugh and not look like death was choking you. That’s all that matters.”
Crinkling her nose, she looked down at her plate, quietly laughing. “Yeah, well…” Durty lifted her head, gazing out from strands of hair that fell over her eyes. “Sometimes the past is better left buried, kinda like the Dodgers.”
Chapter 10
Hangin’ Tough
“There had better be a pot of coffee brewing at the warehouse,” Lace muttered, slamming the cash register closed with her hip.
Sting snorted, flipping the last chair up and onto one of the tables. “What do we get to do to them if there isn’t?”
He was dog ass tired. It’d been a long night at the club. His eyes felt like sandpaper and his head was pounding. Too bad the night wasn’t over yet. There was still his shift at the Battleground. He hated to admit he was actually looking forward to seeing how the girls cornered the market. As far as he knew, only Steel and Butcher had been to the warehouse—both of them agreed it was a wicked time.
“I’ll tell you what,” Lace chuckled while putting money into a bank bag. “If there’s no coffee made, all of their names are going into the lineup.”
Sting joined in laughing. “I’m sure Durty will love that.”
“Then I might suggest you text her and make sure there’s a pot being made.”
“Touché.”
Sting shot Durty a quick text and put his phone away just as the lights dimmed in the bar. As he waited by the door for Lace, he called out to her, “Want me to follow you in the truck?”
“Might be a good idea. I need to swing by the bank and drop off the deposit, and then we’ll head toward Painted Rock.” Lace ventured out from the back, carrying the aforementioned bag.
Once the door was locked and she’d climbed into her car, Sting ventured to his truck and started the beast up. It was a twenty-minute drive toward the reservation, the warehouse just on the outskirts, but still placed on Native American land.
The building was surrounded by vehicles of every kind. Sting hadn’t expected anything so old school to be so damn popular. Sure, the masses loved UFC, but this took fighting to a whole new level.
Policy of Truth (Sacred Heart Continuum Series Book 1) Page 5
