Sting clapped Jet on the shoulder, giving it a hard squeeze. “You giving me orders? Amigo, the only thing in this world that gives orders is a set of balls.”
The two men burst out laughing, leaving Durty completely confused as to what just transpired. She looked between the two men as they gave one another a bro-hug, patting each other on the backs.
“Of course, we can’t have a party without someone doing a line from Scarface,” Octane butted in with his rayon white silk shirt and red pants.
Durty giggled, stepping between the trio, lifting her hand and pointing to each of them. “If the only thing to give orders in this world is a set of balls, then you three bitches can go get these balls something to drink. I’m thirsty.”
The three men exploded with laughter at her antics, only to see her standing there looking angrily at all of them.
Sting quickly sobered up and said, “I don’t think she’s joking. Let’s go get that drink.”
Smiling to herself, Durty stepped to the side, pulling out a chair at the table Steel and Lace were currently sitting at. Sighing in relief over being able to finally relax, she all but slumped in her chair.
“This turned out great, as always, Durty. You’ve got a knack for this sort of thing.” Lace smiled brightly at her.
Durty was elated over Lace’s praise, knowing this was one step closer to obtaining her coveted patch back. “Thank you,” she said humbly, hoping her excitement didn’t show through.
“I’m shocked at how much money you raised. That’s fantastic,” Steel agreed with Lace, leaning back to rest his arm around her president’s shoulders.
Durty had made the final count announcement a few hours earlier, recording over twenty-five thousand raised between ticket sales and donations. That didn’t include the donated toys in the packages she’d unwrap later.
Sting strolled over to the table with two drinks in hand. Sitting one in front of Durty, he pulled out his chair and sat down next to her. “Here’s your drink, Tony.”
Durty giggled, taking a sip of her tequila sunrise. “Why, thank you.” She leaned into Sting, gently nudging him with her knee under the table.
Sting furrowed his brows and glanced at her in silent question.
Durty barely moved her head in the direction of the two presidents across the table, eyeballing her date. She coughed, and kicked him, getting her point across.
Lace set down her drink, looking over at Durty with mild concern. “Are you okay?”
“Oh, I’m fine.” she patted her chest. “Drink is strong. Fenix is liberal with the liquor.”
Sting wrapped his hands around his glass, leaning slightly forward so everyone could hear him. “How long have you two known one another?”
Steel chuckled and rubbed his bald head with his free hand. “An eternity.”
Lace rolled her eyes with a grunt. “We met in high school.”
“No way,” Durty breathed out in disbelief. She had no idea that the two of them were life-long friends.
“No shit?” Sting nodded, an impressed look passing over his chiseled features. “I had no idea it was that long. Was it here, or?”
Steel shook his head, lifting his glass to take a drink. “Arroyo Grande.”
Durty knew that was where the Santa Muerte hailed from, Lace’s dad one of the founding fathers of the club. It was something special to have the two sitting before them, opening up like they were. Steel and Lace were very tight lipped about their past, which made Durty want to know even more.
The way the two were together was unlike anything she’d ever seen. They had total and complete trust in one another, they were best friends, confidants, but yet, they were apart. Something had to be keeping them separated, or they were has beens that didn’t want to go down that road again. Perhaps it was something else.
“You don’t see people stay friends for such a long time, any more. It’s kind of inspiring.” Durty was in awe.
Lace bumped Steel lightly with her elbow, missing his hidden bandaged ribs. “We’ve had our ups and downs, that’s for sure. But not many will put up with his bullshit.” She winked at Steel with a light-hearted smile.
Steel scoffed, removing his arm from around Lace. “You’re one to talk.”
Lace stuck her tongue out playfully at Steel, who in turn tried to grab it before she recoiled.
Snickering, Durty looked at her watch, seeing it was time to start closing it down. “It’s one forty.” Lifting her hand, she made several revolutions with her hand toward the DJ, to start winding things down.
Lace’s face lit up as she grabbed Steel’s hand. “C’mon.”
Steel balked, grabbing his side. “Nope.”
“No way. You promised me one dance, and this is it.”
Steel sighed, grimacing as he pushed himself up and out of the chair. “You better pray it’s a slow one.”
“Even if it’s not, we’ll dance slow.”
Durty smirked at the easy banter between the two of them, taking hold of Sting’s hand. “You owe me as well, mister. You’ve avoided me all night. It’s time to pay up,”
Sting groaned while he got up, acting like he didn’t want to go out onto the dance floor. “Alright, you win.”
Durty let Sting guide her onto the dance floor, making note of all the couples, as How Deep is Your Love filtered through the speakers. Wrapping her arms about Sting’s neck, her body swayed in time with his, his hands warm on her lower back. The club didn’t get to let loose often as civilians, tonight, a rare exception. It was nice to see everyone mingling and having fun, no colors, no titles or ranks separating everyone, unless you were a prospect, of course.
Looking slightly over her shoulder, brows rose up seeing how Steel was cradling Lace tenderly in his arms. It was as if he was holding something fragile, afraid of breaking it. “Are you seeing this,” she whispered loud enough for Sting to hear her.
Sting’s head move toward the direction of his president, his laughter low in his chest. “Can’t tell me there’s nothing there.”
The way the two were gazing into each other’s eyes was enough to get Durty’s little cupid to rear its cute little head. Those two loved one another. It was clear as day in this moment. There was too much sexual tension between them, tenderness and truth written right there on their faces.
“I know.” Durty frowned, back to the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question of what was keeping them apart. “Maybe if we─”
“We nothing. This isn’t something you meddle in, Durty. It could backfire, bad. It’s hard enough for two people in a club, like you and I, to keep a relationship together. Imagine how difficult it’d be for two leaders to try, especially when their life revolves around the club twenty-four seven? They live and breathe it. They don’t ever get a break.”
Durty stuck out her lower lip in a pout, knowing Sting was right. Didn’t mean that she had to like it. “But they’re so good together,” she whined softly.
She wasn’t the only one who noticed the solitary moment between Steel and Lace. Several club members were paired off dancing, watching the two lost in their own world. It was as if no one existed but the two of them—Steel holding one of Lace’s hands to his heart, the other wrapped tightly about her waist. He was keeping her as close to him as possible, as if he was afraid of losing her.
When their foreheads touched, Durty forgot to breathe. Her head snapped forward to look at Sting, who was trying his best to ignore them. “I can’t take it.”
Sting’s voice held a very clear warning in it. “I’m serious, Tamra. Stay out of it. I got warned early on about them, this is one thing you need to keep clear of.”
He was right, but this was something the press should get a whiff of. It was a miracle. Maybe this was going to be that defining moment where they finally get together. “I know, but I’m not the only one watching and waiting in anticipation here.”
Durty looked around the floor to prove her point. Most
of the dancers on the floor were barely moving, all eyes on the couple lost in the music and each other.
Turning her attention back to them when Sting’s grip tightened on her waist, she gasped.
Steel’s head bent, pushing Lace’s back enough where his lips could settle on hers just as the song began to fade.
If there was ever a kiss that could be recorded in the history books, it would’ve been this one. His knuckles caressed Lace’s cheek when their kiss deepened, her arms sliding around Steel’s neck to draw him closer to her.
There wasn’t a single couple left dancing as they all stopped to watch the couple of the century finally take a step toward one another.
Steel’s head lifted, his eyes glazed, staring into Lace’s.
Durty wasn’t the only one holding her breath. It looked as if everyone was afraid to move, let alone breathe. Her heart sank when she witnessed what she could only coin as realization hit Steel, his face flushed, then going blank, tugging Lace off the dance floor and back to their table.
It was crushing to see Lace’s look of disappointment, which was quickly gone as she clung to Steel’s fingers as she followed him off the floor, leaving Durty frowning.
“Nuhuh. Get that look off your face. I know it too well,” Sting scolded her lightly.
The last song of the night started, Last Dance, requested by Flames, since she was dressed as Donna Summer, forcing Sting into another dance with her. “I’m not going to do anything. I promise.”
“Good girl.” He kissed the tip of her nose.
Flames jumped up and ran for the mic, deciding to sing with the music. She had a beautiful voice, adding to the sounds of the song.
Durty smiled up at Sting, joining in, singing softly to him as they swayed in time to the song. She prayed they’d always have such easy moments in their relationship, not trying times that may test them. She knew it was a fool’s wish—the harder the work towards it, the better it’d be.
Right now, the world didn’t exist. No more club, no bikes, no friends. Just the two of them, dancing as one, two souls intertwining and melding together to the point she couldn’t tell where she ended, and he began. They were made for one another, and she’d fight to the death to keep them going strong.
His lips brushed over hers, drawing her back to earth and reality, a whimper in protest given. The song ended, and the lights lifted up to signal the end of the party.
Chapter 44
Game Over
Most had gone home for the night, the prospects milling about the club, helping the girls clean. Spirits were high with laughter and light-hearted conversation surrounding Durty while she unwrapped the donated toys for the various children she’d visit in the afternoon.
She’d cornered Sting on the whereabouts of Xander, since he was MIA during a sanctioned club event, though it really wasn’t any of her business.
He’d told her they didn’t want him around with how tense things were with the Warriors and on some off chance something might happen, they wanted him steering clear of the property.
Not a shabby idea.
Most of the bar was cleaned between Spock, Poe, Fenix and Ashley tag teaming the area’s that were the worst. A few of the other girls were helping out to get the busy work done and get the hell out of dodge. It was nearing three in the morning and people wanted to go home.
The two piles of toys were more than what Durty expected and knew the children receiving them were going to be overjoyed by the gifts.
Groaning, she rolled her head side to side, reaching for the back of her neck with her free hand, massaging it as she pointed to the last group of boxes. “Sting, can you please bring me the last set of those boxes in the corner?”
Sting grunted as he rose out of his chair. Moving over to the pile, he picked up the box with the purple ribbon. “This one?”
“Pretty please?” She sighed, exhaustion laying heavily on her. Carefully rubbing her eyes, not wanting to look like a raccoon by smearing her eye makeup, she smiled at Sting. Tugging on the ribbon, a yawn crept up, forcing her lips to part. Shaking her head clear, Durty called out to Fenix. “May I please have some coffee?”
“Coming up.” Fenix set down the broom she was using and darted off to the kitchen.
Not caring about the paper that covered the box, Durty proceeded to rip it open, shredding the paper in several places. Tossing it to the side, she frowned at all the tape that covered the seams of the box. “Good God, someone didn’t want a child getting in this box. Anyone got a knife handy?”
Coming back with an arm full of smaller boxes and bags, he set them down beside the other box on the table she was using. “I’ve got one.” Reaching back into his pocket, he pulled out a small pocket knife, handing it off to her. “Be careful, that’s a really sharp blade.”
Nodding to him, she opened the knife. With three quick strokes, she set the knife down to open the flaps with both hands.
Instantly, a chill raced down her spine. The blood drained from Durty’s face as she stared at the contents of the box. Her mind couldn’t wrap around what she was seeing. The sinking feeling that consumed her made her instincts kick in. With a loud gasp, she shuffled backward, slamming into a chair, nearly toppling over it. Stumbling back, trying to catch herself, she landed flat on her butt. Scooting away from the table, she could only point at the box, completely speechless.
The laughter of her falling over quickly faded when it was understood something was gravely wrong.
Sting dropped the armful he was carrying, and rushed over to the box. He came to a stop just before it. Leaning slightly back at an angle, he lifted up on his toes to peer inside. Unable to see clearly, he carefully reached out and with his index finger, pulled back one of the tabs.
“God damnit,” he cried out, his hands flew up, fingers interlocking at the crown of his head. Turning one hundred and eighty degrees, he breathed out a blast of harsh air. Facing the bar, he bent over, cradling his head in his hands.
Visibly shaken, Durty couldn’t move. She was rooted in place. She’d never witnessed anything this gruesome in her life. Flames’ arms encased her as Durty tried to regulate her breathing before hyperventilation kicked in.
In shock, Durty couldn’t piece together anything, all she saw was movement. T-Rex moved in front of Steel and Lace, since the twins had left early, shielding them from any possible harm or danger. Jet and Octane slowly walked toward the box, pistols pulled and aimed forward. The three prospects weren’t moving a muscle, completely frozen as instructed to do in situations like this.
“You’re okay,” kept being said in her ear by Flames while rocking her gently, though it was Steel’s voice that brought her back to reality.
“What is it?”
Sting lifted his head, red rimmed eyes looked over to his president.
Steel repeated himself, “Sting? What’s in the box?”
Sting swallowed hard, and in a broken voice replied, “Xander.”
Steel pushed up out of his chair, as quickly as his injuries would allow, barking orders at the Rojas. “Lock this bitch down. Prospects, front door now. Octane, get that box in Lace’s office. Sting, get Durty out of here and stay with her until further notice.”
Jet was pulling out his waist band to put his pistol away in the tight pants. “I thought he was supposed to be laying low tonight?”
Steel shook his head with a shrug. “Obviously he didn’t do what he was told, or they got him somehow.”
Sting drew in a breath as he gathered Durty into his arms. “He was a good kid. He made too many mistakes. In this world? That’ll get you killed.”
Durty curled into him, letting everything they were saying sink in. She finally managed to find her voice, though it was barely above a whisper, “There’s something in his mouth.”
The image of what she’d seen would forever stay in her mind. It was Xander’s head, severed with jagged strokes. Chunks of meat were barely tethered to th
e remnants of his neck. His eyes were bulging and rolled backward, his mouth in a frozen, silent scream. To be able to behead someone this way, they had to shut that part of their humanity off. How could anyone who claimed to be her family, be soulless and evil?
Sting pulled her closer, petting her head, trying to calm her. “It’s okay, baby. I got you, you’re safe. I’m going to take her home.”
Lace finally chose that moment to speak up. “Absolutely not. You can take her to the back room and lock yourselves in one of the rooms, but no one is leaving here tonight.”
Steel half laughed and nodded. “The boss has spoken. Go get some rest, this shit ends tonight. I need everyone on their game.”
Jet walked over to the box and snatched the piece of paper wadded in the mouth. “Bruh, they kept his tongue.” Shaking his head, he smoothed open the paper. Squinting his eyes, he read the blood smeared note out loud. “Snitches might get stitches, but a traitors gets skull fucked. Thanks for the leather, now we’ll have something to wipe our asses with.”
Chapter 45
Counting Bodies Like Sheep
Lace had just hung up the phone after a thirty-minute conversation with Rev. She kept it as quiet as she could with Steel passed out on her bed. No one had been allowed to leave Domino, some of the girls pairing up to give room to a few of the guys. Viper and Stiletto had been called and filled in as much as she could, but told to stay alert.
Bunny slippers on, she moved silently through the back of the club, to the rear door, waiting for Bronson to knock. Lace sighed, scrubbing her hands over her face, trying to get the repeat images of the night out of her head.
Honestly? All she wanted to think about was her first kiss with Steel. In the twenty years they’d known one another, had been best friends, slept side by side, not once had they ever kissed. It had been a beautiful and breathtaking moment for her. She’d been in love with Steel since she was seventeen years old and had dreamt of this day. Now, it was being shadowed by Vader decapitating the Roja’s prospect.
Policy of Truth (Sacred Heart Continuum Series Book 1) Page 29
