Drawing in a deep breath, Sting picked up his red bandanna, snapping it open. He prayed Durty would listen to him and not shut him down. If she was anything like she portrayed herself to be, he was doomed. Wrapping the cloth around his forehead, Sting tied it off under his hair, making sure the fabric covered his ears.
“You got this.” Sting nodded to his reflection, trying to reassure himself.
Scooping up his helmet, he headed for the front door. Slamming it closed, his boots crunched on the asphalt as he made his way to his bike, a classic red Street Glide. The only work he’d done to the bike was added the stereo system and speakers, and of course, the club related stickers.
Turning the ignition knob, music from the 80’s blared out of the speakers. Nothing like good hair metal to set the mood. Slipping on his blacked-out helmet, his left foot knocked the shifter into gear and he was gone.
The ride was nice for once. The California desert sun wasn’t threatening to cook them all, a small breeze to off-set the heat. It allowed him to clear his thoughts, or what little he could.
Sting hadn’t expected Steel to call an officers only meeting with the Angels and Revelations. It meant shit had gone down and they were about to be informed of the next move. He felt sick to his stomach, an ache he couldn’t describe, deep in his bones, an almost foreboding sensation.
Pulling in next to his brother’s bikes, Sting yanked off his helmet like a man possessed. He’d worked himself into a near panic attack. He hadn’t experienced anything remotely close to this since Iraq. Closing his eyes, he breathed in through his nose and out his mouth, silently chanting a mantra he’d learned to try and calm that rising monster he kept locked in a cage. He had a temper and since the skirmish overseas, it flared at the most inopportune times. Sting learned how to keep it in check, but right now, it was threatening to rear its ugly head.
Squaring his shoulders, smoothing down the black leather of his cut, he headed for the clubhouse doors. “Yo, Rusty.”
“How’s it hanging, bro?” the Mick bumped wrists with Sting in an ‘X’ formation, a common greeting between the club brothers.
“A little to the right, today.” Sting winked, brushing past his comrade, pulling open the front door. “Ready for some fireworks?”
“Go big or go home, bruh.” Rusty nodded, landing a light punch to Sting’s arm.
“I have a feeling this will be huge.” Sting let the door swish closed behind him, pausing for a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting.
Sting was clearly one of the last officers to arrive judging by the fourteen other bodies in the main house. It was unsettling to see a room full of bikers dominated by women, the white cuts outnumbering the black, two to one. Everyone was drinking and laughing, mixing it up, not caring that it was unusual to see such a paradox in the world of men.
It was easy to pick out the two top dogs in the house—Steel and Lace. Steel was in his typical jeans and t-shirt, leather cut open, his twin .45’s in the double shoulder holster. It was the air around Lace that was electric. Her vibe screamed that she wasn’t someone to be fucked with.
The white cut sported several patches, two he didn’t know. One was a tab under the famed diamond that read a single word, Sicaria. The other patch was nestled under the tab, the Virgin Mary holding a sacred heart with the letters MIMO strategically placed in the Virgin’s robes.
Staying in a dim corner, Sting looked to the other women in the Angels and Revelations, noting that Lace, Nytemare, and Chaos were the only three that sported the Virgin Mary patch. Durty and Curby were the only females that didn’t sport the Sicaria tab.
Steel and Butcher stepped away from the women, heading toward the bar, giving Sting ample opportunity to quiz them about the patches. Curiosity was killing the cat.
Sting pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to his president to look over his shoulder. Once Steel acknowledged the message, Sting motioned for him to come over to the table.
After he spoke to Butcher, Steel scooped up a bottle of beer and strolled over and took a seat opposite of Sting. “Hiding?”
“For now,” Sting muttered, not looking forward to the confrontation that was inevitable. “I’ve got a question.”
“Chicken shit. I warned you not to get involved.” Steel shook the bald head, his eyes roaming the clubhouse before he looked back to Sting. “Yes.”
Sting blinked and gave a short laugh. “Yes? Huh?”
Steel grinned, extending his legs out from under the table, crossing them at the ankles. “Yes, if you let another man suck your dick, you’re still gay.”
Sting couldn’t help but laugh at the age old joke many men still carried on through the years. “It’s just a mouth, bruh.” Rolling his eyes, he motioned for a beer from a passing Shade. “On a serious note, I noticed a couple of patches I’ve never seen before.”
Steel was quick to cut him off, gathering his legs under him, moving his body forward enough to lay his arms on the table. His voice lowered, and his eyes grew hard as they narrowed. “Anyone who wears the Sicaria tab? Don’t feel safe if one of them sits behind you in a car. You have a fifty-fifty chance of making out alive. Loosely translated? They’re for hire. As for the other?”
Steel shook his head, taking a long drink from the bottle. Setting it down, he looked back to Sting, “Those three are the only women who will ever have that patch. It was given to them by The Reverend of the Santa Muerte. The MIMO is pretty self-explanatory. Quitting isn’t an option for them. There were five women offered a once in a lifetime challenge to prospect in a male club. You know it’s forbidden for women to take any part in this world. Rev wanted to see if they had what it took to start a sister club. Needless to say, the three you see in this room? The only survivors. There’s no quitting for them.”
Murder In, Murder Out.
It now made sense why Lace acted like she did.
“Damn,” was all that Sting could give in response. “That’s brutal.”
“I would suggest you never point out or question anyone about those patches.”
Sting nodded, thanking the Shade for the beer she set down in front of him. “Roger that.”
“Let’s get this show on the road.” Steel pushed up from the seat, raising his voice. “Chapel room, now. Phones on the pool table, turned off.”
Everyone complied, the phones being dropped to the velvet table the only sound in the clubhouse as they all made their way into the room. Sting was the next to the last one inside, T-Rex closing the door behind him.
Moving over to the table, Sting felt her eyes on him before he saw her. He didn’t want to meet her gaze, but he wasn’t a chicken shit, as Steel put it. Sighing when he pulled out his chair, Sting lifted his baby blues and met a pair of brown eyes that screamed of anger and betrayal.
Her face said it all. Jaw was clenched, lips twisted in a cynical smile. Durty’s hands clenched, then unclenched, her eyes narrowing then looked away from him, toward the head of the table, where Steel, Lace, and Nytemare sat.
Taking his seat, he turned his brain onto the business at hand. Sting needed no reminder of his duties to the club. That had to come first, for now. He’d deal with Durty later.
“I call this meeting to order,” T-Rex barked out.
“Thank you, Rex.” Steel offered a nod in thanks to the Sergeant-at-Arms. “Lace has the floor. I suggest you all give her the respect you give me.”
The warning was clear in Steel’s voice about Lace. The threat wasn’t needed, her little diamond held more weight, as did the MIMO patch. Most everyone respected the woman anyway, simply because she’d done what most women could never achieve—run a successful all female MC.
“Seems a war may be brewing with the PWMC over a female we acquired. They’ve been given a warning, but we doubt they’ll heed it. The Angels voted down the idea of allowing the Rojas access to our Battleground, but in light of the events the past couple of days, we’ve decided it mi
ght be a good idea to have you guys around more often.
“We’d like some extra bodies around us, and we like the man candy anyway. We’ll need to discuss terms though. This is our club, our business we’re allowing you to subcontract from. After talking to Reverend, he’s in agreeance with me that you guys can give us the kickback, since it’s our deal. They won’t look for payment.”
There was a low buzz in the room, several men speaking low among one another. Sting took a chance to look at Durty, who refused to look toward him. Just great.
“What’s going on?” Rusty spoke up, asking what was on everyone’s mind.
Steel glanced to Lace, who returned a nod. “Lace’s girls have been attacked and have been threatened with death and kidnapping. Their VP is currently in the hospital and will remain there for a few weeks because of the Warriors. Setting up shop in the Battleground will ensure extra protection for them, but also allows us to expand our betting circuit.”
“Not to be a dick here, Steel,” T-Rex said, motioning to the women with his right hand. “But Lace, your club is a fucking one percenter. Why should we step up and get involved when you have your own support group?”
“You’re right, we do have our own thirteen crew. Don’t make me remind you, Rex, that not only do you support the Muerte, but us as well. We’re their sister club. If you were being attacked like we are, we’d be the first to saddle up and be right in the fight with you,” Lace replied, her voice holding a steely edge to it.
“Look,” Sting pushed his chair back, placing his hands on the table, looking around to his brothers. “Steel had me step in as a civilian to the girls, since I’m a transfer from El Cajon and no one would know me. These girls are tougher than they look, I ought to know. I had my ass handed to me by Viper.” Sting grinned at the red head, taking a quick sidelong glance at Durty, who still refused to act like he existed. “We all wear a patch under the Muerte, we wear their colors. We’re all family. It doesn’t matter if they’re female or not. We’d help if it was another chapter or the Muerte, why the fuck do you think we’re called a support club?”
“Point.” Rex bowed his head.
Steel rubbed the back of his head while he leaned back in his chair. “Twenty percent kick down to the girls, plus we take turns bouncing at the Battlefield. Sting keeps his job at the Domino. Deal?”
Sting watched the way Steel and Lace interacted. He’d only seen the two of them together when Viper and Stiletto were attacked, and they were at the hospital. The ease the two had with one another was something Sting craved to have with Durty. Hell, they acted like they were married.
Lace looked to her girls, no words uttered between any of them. Taking in a deep breath, Lace gave her approval. “Deal, but you have to go by our rules. People will still make side bets between themselves. They’re off limits. They’re allowed. We won’t meddle in your shit unless we think it’s becoming a problem or becoming unfair. You don’t step into our business. We run everything but the betting, is that understood?”
“Completely.” Steel nodded. “It’s settled then. Just let us know when we can come in and set up.”
“Our next battle night will be in two weeks. I’d say to come over in the next couple of days, map out an area where you want to hold the betting and start getting set up,” Viper said.
“Sounds good. Anyone have anything else to add?” Steel looked around the room with a slow nod. “Meeting adjourned. Don’t forget church will be held the day after tomorrow, three pm.”
Sting didn’t wait for the room to empty. He was out the door and waiting for Durty to make her exit.
The moment she stepped out of the room, his hand snaked out and wrapped his fingers around her wrist, pulling her behind him as he made his way to the other side of the clubhouse. He ignored her trying to yank her wrist free, tightening his hold, though he was careful not to hurt her.
Coming to a stop, he spun her around to face him. “Let me explain.”
Her face was a sheer mask of fury. “Fuck you,” she hissed out as the flat of her hand made contact with the soft flesh of his cheek.
His head snapped to the side, the slap making his eyes water from the throbbing pain that nearly took his head off. Swallowing down the urge to react harshly, he cleared his throat. Looking around the now silent room, he turned his focus back on Durty once the others got the message to mind their own business.
“You need to let me explain, Durty.” His voice was strained, trying to keep his emotions in check.
“What’s there to explain, Sting?”
His name sounded like filth with the way she spat it out. He knew she’d be angry, but damn. This took the cake. “We weren’t supposed to happen.”
Her head jerked back followed by a sardonic laugh. She pointed between the two of them. “We? We won’t ever happen. You just made sure of that, buster.”
“Durty, no one knew about me being a club member in your club, until yesterday.”
The hurt that registered on her face was enough to break his heart. “The girls found out yesterday?”
Shit.
He really needed to learn when to keep his damn mouth shut. “Rex told me it came out yesterday in the meeting with Vader, and Lace all but kicked Steel’s ass for not telling her. I’m pretty sure they didn’t tell you because they felt it was none of their business.”
Durty shook her head, taking a step back from him. “Fuck you, Brett. And fuck them too.”
When Durty turned away from him, his only thought was to stop her. She was upset and talking out of anger. She couldn’t mean everything she said. Sting lunged forward, grabbing at her wrist once more, trying to pull her to him.
That was a mistake.
All it got him was slapped again.
That shit was getting old and quick. “Enough already,” he snapped at her, allowing her to jerk away from him and storm out the front of the building. Sting started in pursuit, but was pulled up short by Lace.
“You might want to let her have some cool down time, Brett.”
“No offence, Lace, but stay the hell out of our business. This isn’t club related.”
Lace lifted her hands up, taking a step back from him, a low chuckle rolling from her. “I’ve known her a lot longer than you. She needs space right now. Take it or leave it.” Lace turned away from him, but paused. “By the way, you might want to remember that you made it club business when you got involved with her. You could’ve waited until the truth came out.”
Shaking his head, he muttered some sort of thanks and darted for the door, pausing long enough to let Steel know he was gone. He needed to go fix what he’d broken. Durty had a way of reacting to things before she gave it much thought. Her words and the look on her face told him she was about to take some drastic measures.
Chapter 25
How Did You Love?
There were no words that could accurately explain how Durty felt. Her emotions were nothing more than a maelstrom. It was bad enough she couldn’t think straight. One thought bounced to another, then bounced off that, landing in the lap of another.
Seeing Sting walk into the meeting, his head held up high, his eyes frosted over in a blank slate, was enough to send her in a downward spiral of self-loathing. How could she have been so fucking stupid? He’d done nothing but lie to her from the beginning.
And the girls lying too?
That was the icing on the cake.
She wasn’t going to be a part of something that held no value. Lace preached about honesty, no matter the cost or how much it hurt.
Bullshit.
They withheld the fact Sting was an officer in the Rojas. It was their responsibility to tell her she was being used. The Angels were just like everyone else in her eyes—everything hindered on their convenience. Fuck everyone else.
Not today.
Throwing open her front door, Durty headed for the kitchen. There was a stitch ripper in her junk drawer. She was go
ing to take the club patches off and make Lace eat them for dinner. Viper had taken her heart patch, ripping off the rest would be a piece of cake.
Digging through the random items of the drawer, she finally spotted the sharp instrument, plucking it out of the mess. Stomping back into the living room, she was stopped in her tracks by the shadowed frame that filled her doorway.
“Leave, before I call the cops.” Moving to the couch, Durty shrugged out of her cut, tossing it to the sofa. Removing the cap from the ripper, she let it drop to the coffee table.
“Really? So that’s it? You’re not going to allow me to explain?” His voice was harsh but controlled, sending shivers down her spine.
“What’s there to explain, Sting? Huh?” Yanking up her cut, she threw it at him, a satisfied feeling running through her when it smacked him in the chest. Once it hit the floor, she chuckled sarcastically. “You lied, just like everyone else.”
Sting snatched up the vest, knowing, just like she did, the vest hitting the floor was something that could get Durty in more trouble than slapping Lace in the face. It was a disrespect to the patch, to the club of sisters, metaphorically stating they were all a pile of shit, dirt under her feet. “Yes, Durty. I lied. We’ve established that.” He set the vest on the couch, stepping toward her. “I didn’t want to, Durty. I hated every minute that I was.”
“Bullshit,” she choked out, lifting the hand that held the ripper, pointing it at his chest. “You could’ve told me. Just like the girls could’ve when they found out.”
“Really? My president puts me on an assignment, tells me no one is to know I’m there to keep you all safe, and I’m to turn against my brothers and my loyalty to the club to spare your feelings? Isn’t that calling the kettle black?”
“Whatever, Sting. You could’ve told me.” She wasn’t going to let him weasel his way out of the lies. “I’m sure your policy of truth depends on who you’re lying for, right?”
“Oh my god! Are you not listening to a fucking thing I’m saying to you?” Sting yelled at her, reaching out for her. “My loyalty is to my club, just like yours. I lied about being in a fucking club, whoop-de-do. I had no choice, my president ordered it. You’d have done the same for Lace if she’d asked you to do a job.”
Policy of Truth (Sacred Heart Continuum Series Book 1) Page 17
