“No, we can take care of it once we get there.”
Durty puckered her lips and nodded, brushing an errant curl from her face. “Alright.” She had to cut the tension in the car, maybe even make Lace smile. She couldn’t handle seeing Lace so distraught. “Oh, did you hear the Alabama Governor’s mansion caught fire?”
Lace finally turned to Durty with a confused expression. “Huh?”
“Yeah, it pretty much wiped out the whole trailer park.”
Lace blinked, and then blinked again. In a calm voice, she said, “Yeah, that was a good one,” and turned back toward the window.
Well, shit. Durty sighed in defeat. “Steel knew what he was doing, Lace. It wasn’t your fault. You can’t blame yourself for what happened.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Lace scrunched up her nose, looking back to Durty. “It doesn’t make it any easier. It’s my fault. The same shit that cost you your patch, I did. Vader set a trap and we fell into it, hook, line, and sinker. We even hired a Warrior to protect us for God’s sake!”
Durty let Lace vent, knowing it wasn’t a good time to say anything. She knew what Lace was going through, struggling with the knowledge her temper got to the better of her and almost cost her everything.
Lace continued ranting “Are we really that weak and predictable? We’ve got too comfortable and aren’t paying attention to things like we should. We didn’t become a one percent club by making stupid mistakes. Take Xander for example. No one fucking noticed that son of a bitch was never around when shit went down. I’ll tell you one thing for sure, I’m going back to my roots. I’ll be damned if I’m going to have to go to Rev on my knees to keep fixing our mistakes.”
Durty grimaced, not knowing what to say. Lace was being hard on herself, even if it was true that they’d become lax in many ways. The look in Lace’s eyes and her tone made Durty vow to herself that she wasn’t going to be the next person to deal with Lace after fucking up. She felt sorry for whoever did though.
The light bulb clicked with the sudden dawning of what Lace meant by going back to her roots. She was going to tighten the reigns and treat them like they were in the Santa Muerte. They may be women, but if you wanted to sport the diamond, you’d be treated like a man, to an extent. Lace believed in beat downs only if it was something so heinous that was the only way to handle the situation. In the day and age, they lived in, a woman showing up looking like she went nine rounds with Tyson would have the cops called.
The limo slowed to a crawl when they entered the cemetery grounds. It wasn’t easy going through a funeral and will reading in a single day. She wasn’t sure how Lace was even keeping it together. Maybe it was the anger inside that kept her going. Durty could take a few lessons from her in the emotions department. Lace was normally a stone-cold bitch, her only weakness was Steel, and Vader exploited that like a pro. There’d be no way Durty would be able to let Sting go, because he was her weakness. They’d come too far in such a short time to just up and drop everything.
Once they came to a stop, Durty drew in a deep breath. This was going to be difficult. She wasn’t even going to think about the last funeral she was at.
The door opened, a blinding light and blast of heat hit her in the face. The change of brightness was painful, even with sunglasses on. Squinting, there was a voice just outside the vehicle.
“It’s hot at hell out here,” Sting grumbled.
Snatching up a cold bottle of water from the small fridge in the side console of the limo, she held it out to his silhouette, trying to exit the car. “How about to some ice water?”
He laughed as his hand took hers, guiding her out. “Now I understand what they meant by that saying.”
Durty looked behind her to see if Lace was following suit. She almost jumped when Sting leaned into her, whispering in her ear, “How is she?”
Durty could feel a bead of sweat already trickling down her lower back. “Jesus, even my sweat is sweating.” Shivering in disgust, she nodded in answer to Sting’s question. She couldn’t answer out loud since Lace was within ear shot.
Sting frowned, taking hold of Durty’s hand to escort her toward the grave site, which already had people gathered under one of the canopies. Chairs for relatives and close friends were set in a row, which was where Durty was now being led.
Sitting down in the offered chair, it amazed Durty at how quickly life could be taken away and how many people it affected. Just glancing around, she was shocked at the turn out. All she could see were leather cuts. Sure, there were a few people in suits and ties, who were staring at the club family like they were trash. Unfortunately, with the previous events that lead them all here, there wasn’t a club brother, or sister, that was going to let anyone out of their site. Especially Lace.
It didn’t go unnoticed, with that absence of Stiletto and Viper, Lace would be left unprotected. That was quickly rectified by the presence of Nytemare and Chaos, sitting directly behind her. Durty wasn’t sure who was being protected though—Lace from Vader or the rest of the world from Lace.
Durty’s mind wandered as the preacher took his place across from where she sat. As he started speaking, she tuned out his voice when he preached about what a great man had passed from this world, how his life was cut short, and the sadness they all felt.
Her thoughts turned to how much her life had changed and moved in unexpected directions. It could’ve been cut short and been completely different if she hadn’t of met Lace when she did. She might have been in jail, or the next one in a casket.
Warmth flooded her at the thought of the rag tag bunch of women that came into her life that day. They’d all saved her life in one way or another.
Her eyes watered when Sting took her hand and gave it a tender squeeze. Thank God crying at funerals was expected, so no one questioned her tears. She gave a squeeze back as a signal she was alright, unable to fully pull herself back to reality.
Sting had been a savior for her in many ways. Durty didn’t trust men and hadn’t allowed herself to care this deeply for anyone since her failed marriage. She’d treated him like shit, and yet, here he was, sitting next to her, giving her the support and love she needed.
Durty shook her head, snapping herself out of the self-absorption she had a habit of falling into. Focusing once more on the preacher as he rambled on with the eulogy, Sting placed his arm around her shoulders.
He tilted into her, turning his head slightly, his lips brushing her ear as he spoke softly. “Are you okay?”
In a broken voice, she replied, “I’m okay.”
He nodded in resignation, wiping sweat from his low brow with a red handkerchief. A smirk formed with a cut off chuckle. “I know it isn’t fair. Your father gets buried and we’re the ones getting cremated.”
Durty couldn’t help but burst out in laughter, having to adjust it into a mixture of a cough and sob to hide it. The high society people surrounding her disapproved of any laughter.
She recomposed herself by following her actions with a few more coughs and dabbing of eyes. Looking up with her full attention forward, she’d have to get payback for that, even though she appreciated his sense of humor.
Chapter 37
By and Down
“I can’t say thank you enough for coming with me, Lace.” To her dismay, Durty’s voice broke slightly.
A sense of strength exuded from Lace, causing Durty’s despair to lessen. “It’s no problem, Durty. Sting needs to spend time with the brothers right now. Steel needs to rest some before I smother him.”
Durty laid her head on Lace’s shoulder briefly, showing her some affection. Eyes drifted close while Lace tenderly petted her head. “I totally get it. I’d be smothering Sting if the roles were reversed.”
“I’m glad they weren’t,” Lace mumbled, her hand lowering to her lap. “I wouldn’t wish this feeling on anyone.”
Durty’s head lifted when the office door opened, her family lawyer stepping o
ut of the conference room. “I’m sorry this is taking so long. Please, come in and make yourself comfortable.”
“Thank you, Mr. Ranier.” Durty’s face lit up with the dazzling smile she’d been taught to use, whether she meant it or not.
“Would either of you like coffee while we wait?” Mr. Ranier stepped back to allow the two women to brush past him, the door clicking shut behind them.
“That’d be amazing, Chuck,” Lace stated with what seemed to be absolute relief.
Durty’s eyes flicked between the two, her left eyebrow quirked in question.
Lace must’ve caught the inquisitive glance and lifted a shoulder, saying offhandedly, “What? He’s my lawyer too. Small town.”
The lawyer shuffled back into the room, pushing the door closed with the heel of his foot, balancing the tray of coffee mugs in his hands. “Sorry again for this taking so long. We’re just waiting for the other party to get here.”
Durty accepted the offered cup, confusion flitting briefly across her face. “Other party?”
Handing Lace one of the cups of coffee, Mr. Ranier nodded. “Yes, Mr. Riddle.”
“Oh,” Durty shrugged it off, figuring it must’ve been one of her father’s many associates.
Lace lifted the cup, mouthing silently, ‘Riddle?’
Both shoulders lifted and fell with a brief shake of her head. Durty was just as confused as Lace.
Durty went back to sipping the strong coffee, relaxing back in her chair, taking a moment for herself. She didn’t remember anyone named Riddle at the bank, which reminded her that she needed to call them and close out any accounts of her father’s. She was even debating on putting the mansion up for sale. She had no intention of keeping the waste of space. There were too many bad memories there.
A brief knock and the lawyer’s door opened, a blonde head appeared, taking no notice of Durty or Lace sitting just to the left. “Mr. Simon’s son is here.”
Durty and Lace looked at one another at the same time.
“Shut up,” Lace breathed out in disbelief.
Durty’s stomach knotted as she turned her head to look at the lawyer. “His son?” She couldn’t hide the shock from her voice as she sat there not comprehending the fact she had some unknown brother. This had to be some kind of joke.
The secretary’s eyes grew wide, and in an apologetic voice, said, “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize anyone else was in here.”
He waved her off, anger registering on his visage. “Bring him in.” Pinching the bridge of his nose, Mr. Ranier let out a deep breath. “I can tell this comes as a surprise to you. You shouldn’t have found out this way.”
“I have a brother?” Durty breathed out, not sure how she felt about it. How the hell did she have one? Her mother died at child birth, and she knew she was her only child.
“Yes, he’s your half-brother. I thought you knew.”
Durty shook her head, unable to think clearly. She glanced back to Lace, who was shaking her head with a smirk. “Drama, drama.”
“And like sands through the hour glass, so are the days of my life.”
Lace snickered, going back to sipping her coffee as the door cracked open again.
A male stepped inside the room, pushing the door closed behind him. Durty lifted her gaze to find out who the man was, but his back was to her. He was phenomenally dressed in a Brioni, two-piece Italian wool-silk suit.
Mr. Ranier stood up from behind his desk, greeting him. “How are you doing, John?”
As the male turned toward the lawyer, chills ran down Durty’s back as an intense wave of fear gripped her to the core. “I’m good, Chuck.”
The voice was unmistakable, it’d almost be a bad dream if the face hadn’t matched the man and tone.
By the time Durty managed to get out, “No fucking way,” Lace had launched herself out of her chair, and had Vader by the throat, slamming him against the wall.
Unsuccessfully dodging the coffee that flew everywhere, Durty chased after Lace. Grabbing the much larger woman by her shoulder, she couldn’t help but notice Lace’s hazel eyes were blank, almost as if she were a pit-bull locked on to something and refusing to let go.
“Lace, stop!” Durty’s yelling fell on deaf ears as the lawyer joined in, trying to pry Lace’s fingers from around the suffocating Vader. She knew Lace had a temper, but this beat anything she’d ever witnessed. It actually scared her. Lace was going to choke him to death in a lawyer’s office. At least she’d be able to plea insanity with a lawyer as a witness.
Vader’s gasps for breath increased with his face reddening, struggling to push Lace away from him. His breathing turned shallow, his body starting to slump. With one final wheeze, he collapsed to the floor, Mr. Ranier losing his balance and falling on top of Vader, severing Lace’s grip on him.
“Get her out of here,” Ranier snapped at Durty while feeling for a pulse on the stunned male.
Durty pushed Lace toward the door, her voice shaking with an excess of adrenaline. “Lace?” No response was given as Lace just stared at Vader, her lips peeled back in a snarl. Her eyes were wild as she looked over the top of Durty. “Lace!”
Lace blinked, her eyes coming back into focus, landing on Durty, who was shaking and now in tears. “What?”
“You need to leave. I’ll call Flames to come get me.” Her voice was stern, belying what she was feeling inside.
Lace fluttered her lashes innocently, “I can wait outside for you.”
“No, I’ll be fine. You need to go blow off steam, get yourself under control.”
Lace, looking at Durty like a child being scolded, burst out in a semi temper tantrum, switching the blame away from her. Thrusting her hand out in the direction of Vader, pointing at him, she harshly questioned Durty. “That drug dealing piece of shit is your brother?”
“Lace,” Durty pleaded, pushing Lace backward, keeping her hands-on Lace’s waist to guide her to the front door of the office. “Please. This is news to me, and this isn’t the place to do this. Go call Rev. Nothing good will come of you staying here. Remember the whole anger thing you talked to me about earlier? Making bad decisions? Killing Vader in a lawyer’s office isn’t exactly smart.”
Lace sighed in defeat, turning to push the glass door open. “Fine.”
Composing herself, Durty drew in a deep breath, counted to ten, straightened her pants suit, and lifted her head high. She made her way back into the office as Vader sat himself in a vacant chair, rubbing his throat.
Lace attacking him was a wake-up call Vader had coming. He was no longer the smug asshole he came across as. He was demure now, gratefully accepting the glass of water the secretary offered him.
Durty couldn’t wait to tell the girls about this one. Unfortunately, her thoughts returned to the facts—Vader was her brother. She took the damp towel the secretary offered her, dabbing at the coffee spots on her outfit. “How?”
“How what,” Vader managed to angrily croak out.
“How are you my brother?”
“Come on, you didn’t know that dear ol’dad was diddling half the county? What did you expect? Him to stay celibate? Join a monastery? He liked his money way too much for that.”
Durty felt as if she’d been slapped. Her head snapped back, mind reeling. She knew her dad had other women, she wasn’t stupid, but who was his mother, and why didn’t he tell her about having a sibling? “Who is your mother?”
“Dyani Riddle.”
There was her answer. That was why her father kept that secret. It could ruin him in a town like this, considering he was one of the founding fathers and held in such high regards. Her maid and nanny from when she was little was Vader’s mother. Tiny snippets of memory flickered, remembering a boy, a couple of years younger than her, coming over to play, but when she started asking questions, the boy stopped coming over.
“Holy shit,” she managed to breathe out, in total shock.
Mr. Ran
ier cleared his throat. “I apologize for what happened here, but we have to get down to business. I have another appointment.”
Vader nodded in consent. “Let’s get this over with.”
Ranier nodded, opening up a folder. Shuffling some papers, he read her father’s last will and testament.
Twenty minutes later, Durty had nothing to say. Her mind was in a total fog. The events that transpired previously had definitely darkened the mood, but this? Was icing on the cake. She expected to walk away with everything her father owned. She was just made aware of the fact she only held fifty-one percent of the bank, along with a few other less substantial assets and holdings. Forty-nine percent was given to Vader, along with the Simons mansion that had been in her family since before she was born.
Durty made her way out of the office, without even a thank you to the lawyer. She was too stunned from the day’s events to utter a word. As her hand dropped to the door handle to exit the office, she looked over her shoulder, expecting to see Vader trailing behind her. She was comforted to see him nowhere in sight.
Knowing Vader, he must’ve slipped out the back. Durty couldn’t blame him—she wouldn’t want to get caught in a shootout either.
Chapter 38
Hail to the King
It had to be done.
She didn’t want to, but Lace had no choice. She had to call Reverend. The Death’s Angels may be a one percent club, but first and foremost, they were the sister club to Santa Muerte and still somewhat had to answer to them.
Lace paced back and forth while chewing on her bottom lip, her eyes darting to her phone, which lay on her kitchen counter. Pausing long enough to talk herself out of picking up the phone and dialing, she paced once more.
The call had to be made before church. She was going to meet not only with the Rojas, but with the Revelations. They were expecting answers, orders, and revenge. Problem was, they couldn’t have any of that without talking to the big dogs.
Sighing in resignation, Lace started to reach for the cell when, ‘Hail to the King’, played and lit her phone up. Her hand jerked back as her stomach sank, mouth instantly dry. All she could do was stare at the contact information and listen to Avenged Sevenfold sing about having no mercy for the edge of a blade.
Policy of Truth (Sacred Heart Continuum Series Book 1) Page 25
