“Thing was, I hadn’t taken out the trash in years. He’d got us a maid when I was struggling in school a couple of years prior.”
Sting wasn’t sure he wanted to hear any more about this man. He was half tempted to try and resurrect him just, so he could kill him again for the obvious mistreatment of Durty. Clearing his throat, trying to find something pleasant to say about a man who he could easily despise, all he could do was shake his head.
“I don’t think I have any real fond memories of him.”
Pursing his lips, Sting glanced sideways at Durty. “Why don’t I find that hard to believe?”
“You’d think I’d hate him, huh?” Questioning brown eyes shifted in his direction.
“I’m not sure what you want me to say, Durty. I’m sure there was a great man in there somewhere, but I’m not sure where from all I’ve been hearing.”
“Then why did I love him so much? Why wasn’t I good enough for him? What did I do so wrong to deserve to be treated the way I was?”
When her voice cracked, Sting’s heart broke for her. Her tears were his undoing. Gathering her into his arms, all he could do was hold her and try to give her the comfort she sought. A ball of emotions was stuck in his throat, forcing Sting to try and swallow down the unshed tears choking him.
“Excuse me?” a male’s voice intruded on the maudlin moment.
“What?” Sting cared less if his voice had a hard, gruff edge to it. His eyes burned from the unshed tears, squeezing them shut before he reluctantly let Durty go. Sting was never sure at how to handle situations like this and felt he was feeble at best, and this ass-hat was interrupting the one thing he knew how to do—hold her as tight as he could. Shifting his body, he faced the male, who seemed unaffected by his rudeness.
“I’m Andrew, the director. We’re ready for you. Mind stepping into my office?”
Sting pushed up from the seat, a tender tug given to Durty’s hand for her to follow suit. He noticed the calm tone Andrew used, on the verge of a hypnotic inflection. Sting’s hand found its home on Durty’s lower back to guide her into the office.
Once Durty was seated next to the wall, Sting took position beside her, noting the anguish that was laid out for everyone to see. There’d be no way she could make any solid judgments in the state of mind she was in.
“I’ll be handling everything for Ms. Simons today.” His smile might’ve fooled the director, but Sting knew his eyes told a different story. They warned Andrew that arguing with him might not be beneficial to his health.
Andrew nodded, picking up a pen to scribble on a few forms. “I’ll have a few questions for you about Mr. Simons, for his obituary and the final plans.”
“Sounds good to me. Fire away.” Sting settled back in his chair, taking hold of Durty’s hand once more.
Andrew nodded, diving right into the formal questions about her father’s living relatives from a wife to children, then moved on to the harder questions about cremation versus casket burial.
Sting debated on his answer, trying to recall if Durty even mentioned anything about her father’s burial wishes.
He gathered he took too much time in answering when Andrew said, “He purchased a section in their family plot, though he never stated what he desired in the event of his passing.”
Sting chanced a glance at Durty, who wasn’t even in this world. He didn’t want to ask her what was preferred, but didn’t want to make the wrong choice, lest she get pissed off at him again. “Let’s go with cremation.”
Game show buzzer.
That snapped Durty out of La-La-Land and back to reality, shock registering on her face. “No!” She all but jerked out of her chair, her doe eyes wide. “No,” her voice instantly composed into the lady-like composure of her upbringing. “He’ll be buried next to my mother. No cremation.”
“We’ll need you to pick out a casket, Ms. Simons. We have several to choose from to make him comfortable on his journey to the afterlife.”
Durty’s voice cracked, sounding on the verge of hysteria, when she laughed. “Journey to the afterlife? Right. Maybe on his way to Hell with gasoline-soaked pants.”
Sting bit back the laughter from the look of horror that registered on the director’s face. He knew everyone thought Mr. Simons was a pillar of the community, but Sting was seeing the skeletons that lay deep in the closets of the million-dollar family, and they sure weren’t pretty.
“Just pick out a nice dark wood casket, Andrew,” Durty said, lifting out of the chair, smoothing the front of her dress. “Please,” she added as if it were an afterthought. “I’m done here. You know where to send the bill.”
Sting was amazed at how Durty dismissed Andrew as if he were subservient to her. She turned away from him with a rigid back, her head held in an upward tilt that spoke volumes. Durty cast Sting a sidelong glance as she stepped past him, feeling the weight of the ice-cold stare settling on him, he could only shudder. This was another side of her that he wasn’t aware of, making him realize she was multifaceted. She was handling business as if she were the queen of the city, to which she’d become now that her father was dead.
He wasn’t so sure how he felt about that.
Would this change everything for them? Was this just a phase, a persona she showed for the world, since she was the daughter of the infamous A. Simons?
If this was the side of her that remained after her father was buried, Sting would walk away without so much as a second glance. He wasn’t going to be looked down or judged in a negative light by anyone, much less someone who was supposed to love him.
Nodding apologetically at Andrew, he rose up and followed Durty out of the office and to the front of the mortuary. Before she could push on the door handle, his hand slammed against the door jam, blocking her from a swift exit.
“Are you alright?” Sure, the question was rhetorical, but he meant it in another way.
“You’re seriously asking me that?” She stared incredulously at him, like he was a speck of dirt on her dress.
Nope. This shit was about to get real. He wasn’t going to be talked down to, or looked at like he was a piece of trash.
Moving his body between her and the door, he crossed his arms and blatantly stared right back at her. “Yes, as a matter of fact I am. I’m not exactly sure who the fuck I’m even talking to right now. Do you suffer from multiple personalities? I think I just saw three different women in that office.”
“You know how much stress I’m under right now. I didn’t ask you to come here, if you want to leave, don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out.”
Sting inhaled and held his breath until he counted to ten, his head dipping in acknowledgement to her statement. “Alright. Well, call me if and when you need me. You know my number.”
Using his hip, he pushed the door handle and took a few steps backward. Each step was difficult, but needed. She wanted space, so he was going to give it to her. Hopefully, he’d be around when she finally made up her mind on who she was and if she wanted him or not.
Stepping out into the bright sunlight, Sting slipped his shades on, pausing long enough to let the sun warm him. He wasn’t sure what he felt. Heart break? Disappointment? Unsureness? Disrespected? All the above?
It wasn’t every day he put up with the type of bullshit she was dishing out. She was hot and cold, no in between. No more. He had enough self-respect to know when to call it quits.
“Wait!”
Chapter 31
I Hate U, I Love U
Did he just walk out on her?
It would appear he did.
Durty’s jaw dropped as the door swished closed behind him with a soft click. Uncertainty clouded her brain, a maelstrom of thoughts crashing around her head as she stared at the door.
Huffing, her hands landed on her hips as she stared at the door, waiting for him to pull it open and ask her if she was done.
Thirty seconds passed, and no Sting.
Two minutes passed, and realization sank in. He wasn’t coming back for her. Sting was really washing his hands of her schizophrenic ass. She’d finally pushed too hard and he had enough.
“Shit,” she muttered quietly, blinking back the crocodile tears forming. “Get it together, Tamra.”
Sniffling, Durty squared her shoulders, lifted her head up, and marched her ass out the door. “Wait,” she called out, trying to keep the sound of desperation free from her voice.
She needed him, and if he was out of her life, she knew it’d be turned upside down. Durty couldn’t explain her world to him and how it was so damn hard walking the thin line that divided her social world in two. Especially now.
“You can’t leave me. You’re my ride home.” Durty winced at how it came out, her mind frantically searching for a better way to state the obvious.
“I’m sure your butler can get you back home, Tamra.”
Her mouth was dry, and it was getting difficult to breathe. Sting hadn’t flinched at the slamming door, nor did he turn to look at Durty when he answered her. Instead, he used her real name, his anger obvious. His words were laced with venom, exactly what she’d infected him with.
She had to fix this, whatever this was.
“Sting—”
“Brett.”
It felt like a knife was plunged into the center of her heart. Durty’s breath caught, her hand flying up and clutching her left breast, making sure her heart was still beating. Something akin to a sob bubbled forth, her hand moving from her chest to cover her mouth.
“Please,” she choked out, unable to keep the unshed tears at bay. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” Sting spat out incredulously. He turned around, ripping off his sunglasses to glare at her. “You’re always sorry, Tamra. It’s always something with you. It’s poor old Daddy, or an abusive ex, or being mistreated by your sisters. Is it ever your fault?”
When he took a step toward her, Durty wanted to stumble back and run for cover, but she had this coming and needed to take it. Tilting her chin up, she met his ice-cold gaze. “Yes, some of it is my fault. I admit to that, but not to all of it.”
“We all have issues, but instead of dealing with your shit, you like to blame others or fucking run. I expected more out of you. I thought you were a stand-up chick. Now, I’m beginning to wonder.” Sting thrust out his hand with the sunglasses and pointed at her with the metal arm. “You need to fucking take responsibility for your actions. I get you had a dysfunctional family, you did the best you could with what you were given.
“The ex-husband? Yeah, I get that shit. You got knocked down, and had an amazingly strong woman pick your fucking ass up, dust it off, and set you right back on your feet. Yet, when the chips fell where you didn’t like them? You threw a temper tantrum like a three-year-old child and wanted to quit the best thing that ever happened to you. Couldn’t handle the fact you were kept out of the loop because someone thought it was my responsibility, Tamra, to tell you what was really going on.
“That was club business, Roja business, which you had no fucking part in. Instead, you decided to assume shit and blame your true family for not telling you what was up.”
Durty tried not to balk at his ass chewing, feeling herself begin to cower. No, she wasn’t going to allow herself to feel belittled because he was upset with her. She deserved everything he was saying, that much was true.
She cleared her throat, making sure her voice was clear. “You’re right. Sometimes sorry isn’t enough, and maybe I say it too much, but I mean it, Sting. I have a habit of pushing people away, it’s a defense mechanism. You think I like playing this role of the high society dame? I don’t.”
“Then how about quit being a bitch?”
Her head jerked back. “Excuse me?”
“Did I stutter?” Sting snapped at her. “Quit. Being. A. Bitch.” Each word was emphasized with a step toward her. “You’re acting like your shit don’t stink, and I got news for you, darlin’. It doesn’t smell like roses. You treated Andrew like he was beneath you and you’ve looked at me, more than once today, like I was nothing more than a convenience. I got news for you, sweetheart. I won’t put up with that bullshit. You come from money. So, the fuck what? That does not give you the right to treat others like shit.
“I love you, Tamra, but I refuse to watch you become something you said you hated. Your dad is dead. Take the money and run. Do something good with it. Don’t be like every other—”
Durty tried to focus on what he was saying, but the thundering sound of motorcycles was growing closer to the mortuary, drowning out the sound of his voice.
Brows furrowed as she glanced away from Sting, toward the road where a pack of bikes turned the corner and rolled in their direction. Durty didn’t complain when Sting stepped in front of her to shield her body from the street as the bikes ventured closer to them.
Stepping slightly to the side, Durty peeked around his arm to see if it was her sisters, though she didn’t recognize any of the motor sounds. That was when she spotted the Warriors colors. Fear sliced through her, forcing her to press her body closer to Sting for protection.
Sting’s arm moved back, hand reaching for her hip, to reassure her.
The leader of the pack lifted his hand, flicking up the visor on his helmet, and revealing Vader’s face. His hand dropped, forming a gun, his thumb moving back, as if he was cocking a pistol. Never taking his eyes off her, his thumb snapped forward like the hammer, a half-hidden grin with a solicitous wink was given before he throttled in and sped off down the street, the pack of bikes following.
“How did they know I was here?” Durty pressed closer to Sting, burying her face into his back.
He lifted his arm, swinging it over her head as his body turned in her grasp. When his arms tightened about her, Durty lifted her head, tilting it back to look up at him.
Sting’s attention wasn’t on her though, he was watching the taillights of the bikes vanish. As the last ones disappeared, he glanced down at her. “It’s not exactly a secret your father died, Durty. It’s all over the news and in the papers. Plus,” his shoulders rolled in a makeshift shrug. “It’s a small town.”
Taking in a shattered breath, Durty nodded slowly. Upon the release of her breath, she untangled herself from his embrace. “True, can’t shit without the neighbor knowing.”
Stepping to the side, he reached into his pocket, dragging out his phone. “Which is why I’m surprised no one figured out who I was.”
Watching his fingers slide across the screen of his phone, she bit back a smart-ass remark. She had to calm down and take it in stride. Licking her bottom lip, her teeth grasped it, rolling it back and forth as she thought carefully, “I am too, considering how Viper and Stiletto are. I’m honestly shocked they didn’t pick up a glass or bottle after you used it to fingerprint you and get a background check.”
“I made sure I washed my own glasses and threw the bottles outside.”
His flash of a grin made her heart skip a beat. She was truly in love with him. Durty had to figure out how to prove it though. That might take a little time. An attitude adjustment had to come first, and she knew it.
“I bet you did. Sneaky little bastard, aren’t you?” She fell into step beside him, winding their way through the parking lot, toward his truck.
His voice was lighter in tone as he laughed. “You could say that. I had a job to do.” His blue eyes dropped down to look at her. “And no, you weren’t a job, so don’t even go there.”
She wasn’t going to—okay, maybe she was. Putting the thought out to pasture, she rolled her eyes playfully. “I wasn’t going to.”
“Bullshit.”
“Whatever.” Durty climbed into the cab of his truck when he opened the door for her, making sure her dress was clear of the door before he closed it.
“When is the funeral?” His door was yanked
open as he slid in beside her.
“Two days. I really don’t want a service for him. If I don’t, his old cronies will be pissed because they didn’t get to pay their respect.”
“You do whatever makes Durty happy, not his so-called friends.”
“I’d rather it be just me, Lace, Jay, and you.”
“Then so be it. What about his business? What will happen to it?”
Durty wanted to groan. The heel of her hands rubbed at her eyes that were squeezed shut. That topic wasn’t something she wanted to think about, even though she knew she had to. Expelling a large breath of air, her hands fell to her lap, shoulders lifting then dropping. “The last I knew, it was going to me. He always wanted me to run it. Basically, I’ll hire someone to run it. I’m not giving up my career and capital investments to do something I despise.”
“What about selling it?”
Durty studied his profile while he drove. It was becoming clear he was interested in her answers, not just making conversation to pass the time. Perhaps everything he ] said was genuine, not a farce her mind tended to perceive as reality.
“I don’t think I could do that. It was a part of him, a part of my life too. I’d feel as if I were betraying him or his memory if I did that.”
“I get that.”
“I can find a bank manager. I can always promote his vice president, though I’ve always hated him. He’s an ass, but then again, most bankers are.” Durty chuckled with a shake of her head. “I could always promote Dad’s executive advisor. She was a whiz with the money and knows how to run the bank. Probably could do it in her sleep. That’d really piss off Jacob.”
“Do what you think is best.” When his phone vibrated and shouted out in Arnold’s voice, she gathered that Sting had text Steel when he’d taken out his phone. Sting picked it up from the dash and gave it a quick glance before tossing it back. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, we’re going to put detail at your place and you’re staying with me for the next couple of nights. Not sure why Vader isn’t letting shit go, so it’s better to be safe than sorry.”
Policy of Truth (Sacred Heart Continuum Series Book 1) Page 21