She had her suspicions.
It had been worth it though, on many accounts. She was getting the deal and she’d come home in time to see Sting pull up. Seeing him on the bike had her body throbbing and desire surging through her. Just the sight of him stirred feelings she hadn’t felt in ages, and the reminder of the kiss shared last night had her changing her panties.
“Ready to swim?” His raspy voice brought her out of her day dream.
“Yeah, okay. I hate cold water though,” Durty grumbled, taking a drink of her coke.
Sting stood up and kicked off his boots while he crossed his arms at the waist, grasping the edge of his shirt. Lifting his arms over his head, Durty caught the gasp in her throat before it could escape. His body wasn’t model perfect, but it was damn near it. The slight pudge of his stomach had a light covering of hair that led to a muscular chest. He was older, so Durty didn’t expect six pack abs, and he still didn’t disappoint.
His slim waist was revealed when he unbuttoned his pants, pushing them down his long limbs. His legs were all chiseled thighs and large calves from years of holding up a bike.
Durty shook her head rapidly to clear her mind, not sure if she was capable of undressing herself at this rate. She’d just witnessed a striptease better than any Chip ‘N Dales. It left her mouth dry and her heart beating rapidly.
“It’s not cold,” Sting hollered from the edge of the beach, already calf deep in the water.
She seriously needed to get her shit together.
Sting knew nothing about her. She was a part of the upper challan, the college graduate married off to help her father gain more riches. And that turned out great, didn’t it? Now she owned a multi-million-dollar real estate company that was going to surpass her father’s lowly expectations. He’d wanted her to follow in his footsteps and take over the bank he owned and operated. She sent him business with her deals, which he thanked impersonally with a preprinted card.
Durty’s father would have an aneurism if he knew she was slumming in the biker world. Sir Altdorf Simons knew nothing of his daughter’s dealings in the club life. He almost wrote her out of the will when she divorced. He hadn’t cared about the reasons or about the scars she sported, mentally and physically. He was worried about his standing with the country club gents and his place at their table.
If Sting knew any of that, he’d run for the hills. It was bad enough he knew she was an agent who struck gold. Maybe he already knew that? He wasn’t dumb, and it was interesting how he picked her out in the bar when he could’ve had anyone else.
Did her father put him up to it?
Stop it! Durty yelled at herself, shaking her head while she stripped down to her bathing suit. She had to quit doubting herself. Her ex ruined her when it came to believing someone could want her.
“It better be,” Durty called out as Sting dove deeper into the river.
Wading into the water was a slow process. It wasn’t as warm as he boasted, chills racing through her, skin popping up in goosebumps.
That didn’t last long.
Durty yelped as a pair of hands grasped her ankles and jerked. Between her flailing and trying to free herself from his hands, Durty gulped down unwanted water. Once she surfaced, all she could muster was coughing and weak laughter, slapping her hair out of her eyes.
“See, it’s not so cold once you get in.” There was a pale blue lightning of amusement in his eyes.
“Ass,” Durty gasped, coughing more as she laughed. Slapping the water toward him, the least she could do was splash the hell out of him.
This was returned in kind, creating a water fight between the two. Trying to keep her head above water and her feet on the mossy bottom, Durty did her best against Sting. Alas, he had the upper hand with being taller and more assured in the water. She gave it her best though.
Durty wasn’t going to complain as Sting swept her up into his arms in the water, cradling her tiny frame against the hard planes of his chest. Set upon the blanket, he flopped down next to her, shaking his head free of water.
Chuckling, she plucked hair from his cheeks. “Remind me not to get suckered into swimming with you again.”
“Can’t handle the fire?” Sting lay back on the blanket, lifting his hand to shade his eyes.
“Not when you play for keeps.” Durty giggled, falling back to lay next to him, letting out a satisfied sigh.
“That’s the only way I play.” Sting rolled over to face her.
“Oh? I’ll put that to memory.” Durty turned her head to look at him. “Cheats so he can play for keeps.”
“I didn’t cheat,” he huffed playfully.
“Oh, I call bullshit, mister.”
His voice was rich with laughter, “It does kinda smell around here, huh?”
“Ya think?” Her laughter met his with a shake of her head.
“You asked me earlier about looking at clubs.” Sting sat up, digging into a bag.
Watching him, Durty lifted onto her elbows. “I did.”
“What about you? Why’d you join the Angels?”
She wriggled up into a cross legged position, taking the offered cookie. No one had asked her why she’d joined in years. Not since Lace right before Durty was given her prospect patch. “That’s a hard answer, to be honest.”
“Is it?”
Durty pursed her lips, breaking off a piece of the cookie and popping it into her mouth. “Yup.” Chewing thoughtfully, her nose scrunched up. “I didn’t know how to even ride when Lace found me. She was a savior, a light at the end of a very dark tunnel. She opened up new avenues of life, showed me there was more to family than just blood. That I could help others in need and be a role model.
“I guess she provided me with things I never imagined existed. In a way, she saved me from myself and that was what I needed. She taught me how to ride, work on my bike, stand up for myself. Gave me a sense of purpose.”
“Then I guess it was a move in the right direction for you.”
Durty nodded, and then her phone rang. “Da da dadada da da dada Circus. Da da dadada da dada Afro. Circus afro, circus afro. Polka-dot, polka-dot, polka-dot afro!”
Sting’s eyes grew large with silent laughter. “What the hell was that?”
Durty growled as she unlocked her phone and answered, “Yeah?”
Lace’s voice filtered over the air waves, “Stellar is awake.”
Chapter 22
Clubbed to Death
The tinkling of the door chime had Lace’s teeth on edge. She didn’t want to be in the local bike shop, but it was the only place in town that carried the oil the girls needed for their bikes. The store was outrageous on prices and the counter helped sucked.
The kid behind the counter was propped up on his elbows texting away on his phone, ignoring the several customers wandering about as if lost.
“This is total bullshit,” Lace grumbled to Curby.
“We can always drive to San Diego and get the oil there,” Curby offered, a helpful smile with a slight shrug from one shoulder.
“We’ve got the guys showing up tonight to help clean Domino. We don’t have time to drive there and back. I need to get the oil changed before tomorrow’s meet.” Lace frowned, glancing toward the counter. “Total bullshit.”
Walking away from Curby, Lace strode toward the supposed counter help. When the teen never looked up to acknowledge her, she knocked on the counter. “Can we get a little help here?”
Not looking up from his phone, the greasy haired punk nodded. “Yeah, sure. What?”
Lace blinked several times, her brain trying to process the reasoning behind the lack of customer service and rudeness. Opening her mouth, she snapped it shut, thinking it better not to say what words formed. “Does old man Johnson still own this place?”
“Pfft,” the kid lifted his eyes long enough to stare at Lace like she’d lost her marbles. “He left in the Mystery Machine with the Scooby gang.”
“The fuck?” Lace hissed, hazel eyes narrowing as she glared at the kid, who resumed texting. “I won’t go to jail, but that kid needs my boot shoved up his ass.”
Curby shook her head, the light brown curls flouncing about her face. “It’s not worth it.”
Lace drew in a deep breath while counting to ten. This was why she was glad she had no children. She’d beat her kid’s ass for acting a fool and disrespecting their elders, or anyone for that matter. Stepping up to the counter once more, Lace was aware there were four pairs of eyes watching her. “Who owns the shop now?”
“Some old dude named Bartholomeus Fairchild.”
“Barthol—what?” Lace snorted. That name was more than a mouthful. She had to look at Curby and a couple of the other customers to make sure she heard him right.
“I didn’t stutter, lady.”
“Look, I need seven quarts of twenty-fifty full syn and two filters with o-rings.” Lace rolled her shoulders back, proud of herself. She didn’t snap the boy’s neck like a twig, which she envisioned doing.
“Yeah, sure. I’ll get right on that.” Back to texting he went.
Curby cleared her throat, tugging Lace aside once more. “Don’t do it, Lace.”
“Quit being a buzz kill, Curby.” Lace pouted, swiveling to the right, looking over the clothing rack.
“I don’t get why you don’t just open up your own shop. You’re always tinkering with your cars, you fix your own bike, and a few of the girls’ bikes too. Why not get paid for it?”
Lace wrinkled her face with a shrug, pushing at a hanger. “Don’t have the time or money.”
“Yes, you do,” frankly put by the tall female who did Lace’s accounting. “It’s not like you need to run the bar. Stellar does it for you. It makes plenty of money, and you could pay off the loan any time you want to. Why not just do it and buy some property, put up your own shop?”
“I’d bring my bike there,” a male voice interrupted their conversation.
Lace looked up to see the other four customers standing there, listening in. The taller one must’ve been who spoke since he nodded at her.
Another chimed in, “I would too. This place has gone to shit.”
“And they’re price gouging now.”
Lace listened to the men complain about the shop, her attention turning to the counter help, who hadn’t budged from his perch. The thought of running a shop was enticing. She and her dad always said they’d open their own place and call it T-n-A Customs. They’d work on custom cars, building their engines for racing, paint jobs, and general maintenance, along with the same treatment for bikes.
Curby wiggled her brows, nudging Lace with her elbow. “See, you already got people who’d come see you.”
Lace chewed on her bottom lip, looking over to the counter once more. The kid hadn’t moved an inch. “Yeah, I’ll think about it. I’d have to find a place and stuff first, look at how much money I can afford.”
“I’ll get right on it.” Curby clapped her hands excitedly.
“Right on, man.” One of the customers gave her the thumbs up.
“I’m serious,” the tall male interjected. “Here’s my card. You let me know if you open up a shop, and I’ll make sure all my business is at your door.”
Lace accepted the card and slid it into the back pocket of her jeans. “Thanks.”
Having stood around long enough, Lace stepped to the counter once more. Snatching the phone out of the teen’s hand, she tossed it to one of the men who stood close by. “Go get me my fucking oil and filters. Now.”
“Hey!” The teen glared at Lace, trying to grab for his phone when she tossed it. “Give me my phone back.”
“How about you do your damn job and then you can have your phone back?”
“Don’t have to be a bitch, geeze,” the kid muttered, thrusting himself away from the counter.
Before he got two steps, a male in a short-sleeved tan shirt grabbed the boy by the front of his tank top. “I don’t think so, Petey. You owe this lady an apology before I allow her to kick your ass.”
The boy’s eyes registered fear as they darted back and forth between Lace and her pseudo-hero. Stammering, he apologized, then wrestled out of the male’s grasp and ran for the back.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Lace paused, eyes dropping to the name tag on the man’s shirt. “Tank.”
He stuck out his grease stained hand, the horseshoe mustache lifting with his grin. “You’re welcome, Miss?”
“Call me Lace.” She took his hand, giving it a firm shake. “You work here?”
“Yeah, it’s gone to shit since Johnson sold it. I heard you talking about maybe opening another shop? If you do, I’ll come work for you. I’m certified in Harley, Honda, and Triumph.”
“What the hell are you working here for?” Lace shook her head, leaning her hip against the counter edge. “With that kind of education, you could work anywhere.”
“No one is hiring and won’t pay what I’m making here.”
“Write down your number. If I don’t open the shop, I sure could use more security for the bar.” Lace took the scrap piece of paper that had Tank’s name on it and placed it in her pocket with the business card.
Petey wandered back with the oil and filters, forgetting the o-rings she requested. The teen all but ran back to the storeroom to grab the items when Tank threatened to flush his phone down the toilet.
“That’ll be a hundred and fifteen thirty-two.”
“I’m sorry,” Lace balked at how much the prices went up in the past two months. “I don’t think I heard you right, I have an ear in-fuck-tion.”
Curby placed her hand over her mouth, hiding her laughter behind coughing.
Tank shoved the teenager aside and re-rung the purchase, giving Lace a thirty percent discount.
Carrying the grease stained box, Curby opened the door to her SUV. The back was filled with boxes of liquor, so the back seat had to do. Lace chuckled at the mess that littered the leather seats, mostly her boys’ sports gear.
“Want to move the scarf, Curby? I don’t want to mess it up with the box. It’s got crap all over it.”
“Shit, yeah. The boys will kill me if I got this scarf dirty. The school doesn’t make them anymore.” Curby reached past her to snatch up the scarf and toss it to the other side of the vehicle. “There ya go.”
Lace carefully placed the box on the seat, trying to make sure the area that contained the most dirt was off of the seat. “Sweet, let’s get back to the bar. I’m pretty sure Viper has killed Xander by now.”
It hadn’t gone unnoticed that when Viper wasn’t staring at Xander like he’d grown two heads, Xander was staring at Viper. Whenever he tried to talk to her, she’d blow him off or walk away, not letting him finish.
“They just need to screw and get it over with,” Curby stated, climbing into the driver’s seat.
“Either that, or let Stiletto take one for the team. Not like he’d know the difference.”
“Speaking of which,” Curby glanced sidelong at Lace.
Lace groaned, knowing that Curby was going to ask something personal, by that look alone. “What?”
Pulling out of the parking lot, Curby navigated her way toward the Crossroads. “When are you and Steel going to just say fuck it?”
Lace bit down on her bottom lip and looked out her window. Releasing her lip, she shrugged. “There’s nothing between us to say fuck it over.”
“Bitch please,” Curby snorted. “You can cut the sexual tension between you two with a butter knife.”
“Yeah, okay.” Lace had always had a thing for Steel, but knew it wasn’t reciprocated, so why bother? She sucked it up and stuck to being alon
e, since her taste in men seemed to only get her into trouble. No one ever stacked up to Steel. Maybe that was part of her problem? She kept comparing them to him.
Gun shots echoed through the cab of the SUV, all but giving Lace a heart attack. “What the fuck?”
“It’s Viper,” Curby laughed, indicating her phone in the center console with a dip of her head. “Will you answer it?”
Swiping the screen, Lace placed it on speaker. “You’re on speaker, Viper.”
Viper’s voice was laced with irritation as she spoke. “You two better get your ass here before I bury this creeper somewhere on the property.”
“Finally found a guy you can’t handle, huh?” Lace snickered, poking the bear.
“Fuck you,” Viper hissed. “Let me know how you feel when you get stared at on a consistent basis.”
Curby matched Lace’s laughter. “You just need to take him in the back room and handle business, Viper.”
“I’m hanging up now.”
The line was silent, causing both women to laugh harder.
“Anyway.” Curby sucked in a large breath, calming herself. “How was the visit with Stellar? I’m going to go see her tomorrow.”
“It was alright. Durty did a lot of apologizing and crying, but you can’t blame her. She feels bad for what happened.” Lace was still pissed at Durty and her mouth, but she kept reminding herself that everyone was human.
“Don’t you think taking her heart patch was a bit harsh?”
She didn’t—yes, yes, she did.
Lace physically turned herself in her seat to stare at Curby like she’d lost her damn mind. “I know you’re not questioning my SA’s decision, nor mine for backing her up.”
“Well—”
Lace cut her sister off, mimicking Curby’s southern drawl. “No, Lace. I’d never do that.”
Curby looked to Lace, then away with slight disappointment. “I’m not questioning you. Okay, I am. But seriously? Come on, we all make mistakes. The heart patch though? That was rough.”
Policy of Truth (Sacred Heart Continuum Series Book 1) Page 14