Policy of Truth (Sacred Heart Continuum Series Book 1)

by Scarlett Holloway

  “They retired in Florida.”

  “Oh wow, that far away from their only son?” Durty unlocked her door, pushing it open and stepping inside to flip on the light. She tossed her keys on a table while he shut the door behind him.

  “I have a brother and sister who are closer to them than I am,” Sting admitted, brushing his hair out of his face.

  Durty wanted to run her fingers through the ivory colored tresses. His hair looked so soft and inviting. She’d never liked long hair on men, until she’d seen him. She couldn’t imagine him with short hair. His attitude and demeanor called for the long locks.

  Making her way to the kitchen, she said over her shoulder, “Are you the oldest?”

  “And the black sheep.”

  His voice was right behind her, her temperature rising at the image of his body pressed against her back, trapping her from moving away from him. Durty trembled when his fingers caressed down her arm, drawing her back to the here and now.

  “You okay?”

  “Mhmn.” Durty didn’t trust her voice as his capable hands forced her to move around and face him. The warmth of the physical contact of his hand on her forearm forced her lips to part with a quick inhale of breath. She lifted her eyes to meet his devilish gaze. “I’m good.”

  “I’m sure you are.”

  She could feel the sexual magnetism that made him so self-confident. His gaze dropped from her eyes to her mouth then to her breasts, which tightened under his scrutiny. It was hard to breathe with him gazing at her like she was his last meal. Durty cleared her throat, pretending not to be affected by the desire that threatened to consume her. “Not if you keep looking at me that way.”

  His throaty chuckle let her know the tension was taking over any rational thought. “How am I looking at you, Durty?”

  “Like a lion might look at a gazelle before he attacks it.” Her pulse beat in her throat, the musky scent of him flooding her senses.

  “I think I like that idea.” His words were whispered while he pressed closer to her.

  The counter bit into her back, forcing out a quick breath. Sting must’ve taken it as an invitation. His eyes clouded over as he dipped his head toward her. Her soft curves molded into the hard contours of his body, having no desire to back out of his embrace.

  Sting whispered with his breath hot against her ear, “I’m going to taste you now, Durty.”

  Durty’s blood raced through her veins like an awakened river. His left hand lifted to explore the hollow of her lower back, his right, tracing his fingertips up her arm, until they tangled in her hair. Her body ached; a low groan betrayed her craving for him.

  His lips feather-touched hers in gentle persuasion before his mouth covered her own. Durty’s eyes fluttered closed while her body took over. Her fingers curled into his shirt, trying to draw him closer to her.

  The tip of his tongue drug lazily over her bottom lip, enticing hers to part. Durty obliged, responding in kind, the taste of him intoxicating. She couldn’t stop herself from allowing him to consume her, wanting more than just his hands on her.

  The kiss was like soldering heat that joins metals, spinning her thoughts out of control. His tongue warred against her own, his fingers tightening in her hair, pulling her head back to allow access to her neck.

  Durty groaned in protest when his lips left her own, his teeth tenderly nipping along her jawline, making a slow trek to her throat. She tried to ignore the strange ache in her limbs, but the urge to have him fill her was overwhelming. Her body throbbed with the insatiable need to be possessed, causing her to grind against him with a whimper of delight.

  “Keep that up, Durty, and I won’t be able to stop,” Sting murmured in warning while meeting her hips grind with a roll of his own.

  Her eyes searched the harsh angles of his face when he lifted his head, his eye lit with a fire that she’d never witnessed before. He looked like he was in pain as her hand left his shirt, brushing across the apex of his jeans.

  “Get to tha choppah!”

  Durty was jerked out of the passion that threatened to consume her by Arnold Shwarzenegger’s voice. She had to be hearing shit.

  When his mouth covered hers once more, her arms lifted to wrap around his neck, lifting up on her toes to get as close to Sting as she could.

  “Get to tha choppah! Now!”

  Durty cried out in surprise when a vibration against her thigh jogged her to her senses.

  “Fucking cock blocking, son of a bitch,” Sting swore, grabbing out the phone from his pocket. “What?” he barked into the phone, his face a mask of fury, which faded quickly. “Oh, hey Dad.”

  Speak of the devil. Durty wiped her hand across her mouth, dragging in a long agonizing breath. What the fuck was she thinking? It was as if her inhibitions fled the moment Sting kissed her.

  “I’m kinda busy at the moment.” Sting mouthed an apology to her, forming a gun with his free hand and placing it to his temple, acting like he was shooting himself.

  Turning away from him, Durty took the free moment to try and gather her composure. She fumbled for a glass, turning on the faucet to fill it. Taking a sip, she watched Sting in the reflection of the glass window.

  “Yeah, okay. I’ll go home and check.” He sighed, and then growled. “Yes, right now. Bye.” He slipped the phone back into his pocket with a sigh. “May I have a rain check?”

  “It’s not a problem.” Durty plastered on a fake smile, hiding the disappointment with ease.

  His hands encircled her waste, drawing her back to him. “Let me take you out tomorrow. It’s supposed to be a nice day for riding. We’ll go out to the canyon, maybe hit the river for a swim?”

  “Sounds great.” Durty was unable to hide the tremble in her voice, forcing her to look away from his gaze.

  “Hey.” Sting placed his thumb under her chin, lifting her head to meet her gaze.

  His eyes shone like cobalt as she searched them for any hint of deception. “Yeah?”

  “I’m sorry, but he needs me to look at something he sent me. This doesn’t happen often, I swear. I promise to even turn off my phone with you tomorrow. Deal?”

  Durty rolled her eyes, feeling like an ass for being hurt over his family needing him. They weren’t in a relationship; she had no reason to be upset. “It’s fine, I promise. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”

  Chapter 20

  Hey Pretty Girl

  Thursday was an odd day for a date, but tomorrow night wasn’t an option for Durty. They were going to be cleaning up the bar and getting it ready to open on Saturday. It turned into a club wide event. The Muerte backed out at the last minute, but the Roja were on board with the cleaning.

  Too bad Sting couldn’t be there.

  It really wasn’t an option. It would reveal who he was.

  There was a tiny problem with that though.

  The longer he waited to tell Durty, the more she was going to hate him in the end. He was debating on telling her today. If he spilled the beans, he’d be placing the Roja in jeopardy, and himself. Steel would have his nuts flame broiled on a silver platter. He was loyal to his brothers above all.

  Bro’s before ho’s, right?

  Besides, he enjoyed his nuts attached to his body.

  Borrowing one of Steel’s blacked out Street Glides, he rolled his bike into one of the plants back garages. His bike was littered with club paraphernalia, so it was a smarter idea to borrow a clean bike. As for him wearing colors? Nothing wrong with the acid washed ripped jeans and python boots. Maybe the red muscle shirt and bandana wrapped around his head was a bit much?

  Nah. Sting knew he looked good in red. What did an old girlfriend say? It made his eyes pop. Whatever that meant.

  Climbing up on the single seat bike, he slid on the full-face helmet, slapped down the black visor and roared out of H&T Transport toward town. Durty lived deeper in the city of Shadow Falls, much to his chagrin. A few of the cops had it out fo
r anyone who wore colors. They acted like had some sort of secret agenda when it came to bikers. Maybe it was just old town mentality, or they were watching too many episodes of Gangland, but Sting wondered if they weren’t on someone’s payroll.

  Pulling up Durty’s drive way, she was getting out of her car, a surprised look on her face. Pushing down the kickstand, Sting tugged off the helmet and set it to the gas tank. Glancing at his watch—he was on time.

  His brow rose as he took in her state of dress, which was just that—a soft pink summer dress with white heels. “Uhm.” His hand lifted to scratch at the scruff on his chin, a slight bit confused. “Did I hear you wrong last night?”

  A tinkling of laughter reached his ears as she made her way toward him, still straddled on his bike. “No, I had to show a house today to a very important client. He wouldn’t let me switch up when we met. I honestly didn’t think it’d take as long as it did, but he took his sweet time looking the ranch over.”

  “I’d take my time too, if you looked like that every time you showed a house.”

  The blush that crept up her cheeks was endearing to him. It made her look innocent and even more inviting than she already did. The soft curls framed the near angelic face, the brown eyes lit with what Sting could only assume was happiness at seeing him.

  “Go get changed. Put on a bathing suit, too.” Sting motioned to her front door, finally standing up to remove his ass from the bike. “Want me to roll out your scooter?”

  “No, I’ll get her in a second. Come on in while I change.”

  He followed her into the house, flopping lazily down on the couch. “Did he like the ranch?”

  Durty’s head popped out from her room, part of a bare shoulder visible. “He said he was going to make an offer tomorrow on it.”

  “That’s great, good luck. Not sure how that all works, but it sounds good.”

  Her laughter floated out from her room while the sound of drawers being opened and closed followed suit. “It’s a good thing, trust me. This is the deal that could surpass all deals. You know that huge ranch out past old town?”

  Old town was shadowed by the mountains that gave the town its name. Buildings were built in the forties and fifties and were mostly abandoned and if not, were run down. The houses, on the other hand, were beautiful ranch style homes that catered to old money and a more upper-class society.

  The newer development in the town was closer to the highway, smaller with more economical buildings with chain stores and franchises. The town had grown since the fifties, once having a population of five thousand, now boasting twenty-seven thousand people.

  The home Durty talked about was an enormous cattle ranch that butted up against the mountains with a sprawling two thousand acres. The home looked like it was straight out of a magazine, refurbished but held to its original lustier of the twenties style mansions.

  Sting knew that home was worth double-digit millions. “Yeah, I know the place. You must be one hell of an agent to be able to sell that spread.”

  “Well.” Durty stepped out of her room, walking toward him while pulling back her hair. “When you’re good, you’re good. It’s worth thirty million. I’m pretty sure he’ll low ball me for around ten.”

  “Oh,” Sting breathed out, his eyes roaming over every inch of her.

  She was in a pair of jeans that hugged her in all the right places and showed off her shapely legs. Flamed out boots looked worn and weathered, easy to see they were her favorite. Red tank top with a DAMC logo on it was under her white cut that sported the Death’s Angels patches. On the right-side breast pocket was her one percent patch, on the left was her officers tab and location tab. Above her officer’s tab was a perforated spot where her heart patch would go.

  Not giving much thought to it, Sting asked, “You look like you took a patch off?”

  Her face crumbled, and Sting knew he made a grave mistake. Her voice was thick with tears as she refused to meet his eyes when she answered him. “I’ll put it back on soon enough.”

  He should’ve known better than to ask and wanted to kick his own ass for opening his mouth. He knew it was where the heart patch went, and to have it removed meant she fucked up. Bad.

  He’d just earned his own to place alongside the scythe that let other club members know he’d taken a life for his brethren. The only patch he was missing had to be given by a national member, was his Brother’s Keeper patch. The only way to earn that patch was putting brothers or sisters above one’s self—to go above and beyond the imaginable to help someone in need, even taking a bullet for them.

  Sting watched her scoop up her red full-face and motion for him to follow her. “My baby is out here.”

  He knew she’d have a small bike, but he didn’t realize it’d be as bad ass as it was. An Iron 883 Low, custom painted in red and silver camo to match the club colors. She’d moved her mid-controls to forward controls, giving her more leg room, and made her seat a single with a small sissy bar to attach a bag if need be. The dual exhaust was chromed out and sounded beast when she fired the bitch up to warm her before they took off.

  “Wow, she’s a beaute.” Sting whistled low, circling the bike. “I’m impressed.”

  Durty’s face lit up at the praise, lightly running her fingers over the tank. “She’s my everything.”

  “I know what you mean.” Sting spoke up louder to be heard over the pipes. “I’m going to go fire up Betsy and meet you on the street?”

  At her nod, Sting made his way to the borrowed bike, wishing he’d brought his own. It looked like she’d done some work on the Harley, staging it out to a higher horse powered model. Once she pulled up next to him, he motioned for her to follow—which she didn’t do.

  She rode next to him, following his cues on when to take a turn. He had yet to ride next to an Angel, having had his doubts on their ability to ride with the men. He was proven wrong. When he turned the throttle, she joined him, never falling behind or showing any form of hesitation. He hadn’t seen a Wide-Open patch on her cut, which surprised him with how well she handled the bike. Not many had that particular patch, having to roll at excess speeds of 120mph or more, for thirty plus miles with either an officer of the mother club, or with the Angels.

  Winding their way through a back canyon outside of old town, Sting planned on taking her to the river. There was a small beach he’d discovered a month or two back, secluded enough to give them privacy for a picnic and swimming.

  Once they arrived, he made sure to go with ease through the gravel. Last thing he needed, or wanted, was to lay down not only Steel’s bike, but have her drop her own because a tire broke loose. Taking his feet off the pegs, he held them inches over the ground as he let the bike creep forward to the parking area.

  Once her helmet was off and hanging on the bitch bar, Durty placed her hands on her hips with a grin. “This is epic.”

  “I’m glad you like it.” Sting moved over to his saddle bags and opened the right side. Reaching in, he pulled out a blanket and tossed it to her. “Catch.”

  Durty was quick and caught the flying blanket. “I love it, Brett. Really. I had forgotten this beach even existed. It’s been years since I’ve been up here.”

  “I found it a little while back when I went exploring. The water is actually warmer here than the stream down way, and I like the privacy.” Wrenching on another bag, Sting finally got it free from the saddle bag. It held their food for lunch. Turning the key for the left side, he snatched out their drinks and headed toward a grassy area under an old gnarled tree stacked with leaves.

  The blanket out and food freed from the duffle bag, Sting snagged the cans of soda, tossing one at Durty, who caught it.

  “So, why haven’t you tried to get with one of the local clubs?”

  Sting choked on the carbonated drink. Pounding his chest as he tried to breathe, his eyes watered, blurring Durty from his vision. Finally, able to speak, he wiped at his eyes, answering her. “I
didn’t know the Angels were looking for more.”

  “No, goofball.” Durty rolled her eyes, half swatting his arm. “The Roja’s are always looking for good members. You’d get to hang with some pretty awesome guys.”

  He had to be careful, knowing if he said the wrong thing, he’d either be lying or revealing who he was. Damn it, why couldn’t he just be a douche to his brothers and come clean to Durty? It wasn’t in him to lie to the woman he was in love with, or in this case, falling for. Steel warned him against this, but he never listened, and now look where it got him.

  “I hang with some pretty awesome guys, ride with a bunch of them. Speaking of which, one of their wives gave me the recipe to this chicken spaghetti, so I hope it’s good.” Nice change of subject on his part.

  Durty picked up her bowl and sampled a taste of the pasta, nodding as her eyes grew big. “It’s freaking delicious. Wow, I’ve never tasted spaghetti like this before.”

  “It’s a southern thing.”

  “I want this recipe for the girls. They’d freak if I cooked something like this for them.”

  Sting smiled with a nod, brushing a stray strand of blond from his eyes. “I can do that. It’s not that hard to make.”

  Chapter 21

  I Feel a Sin Coming On

  “A guy who rides, cooks, and looks as good as you? Are you sure you’re not gay?” Durty couldn’t help but tease him. She knew he wasn’t, but it wasn’t every day a girl found a perfect man like him.

  His face was a sheer look of horror, followed by realization. His head tilted back when he laughed, wagging a finger at her. “No, I’m just that damn perfect.”

  That he was. It had taken everything she had not to move that errant strand out of his eyes, thankful when he moved it on his own. The folded bandanna that graced his forehead and kept his hair back seemed like a natural look for him.

  “Wow, someone is full of himself.” Durty teased, putting down her now empty bowl. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was. The showing of the house took two hours longer than needed, and she wondered if the client knew she was needed somewhere else, and was being an ass by keeping her there.