Getting off my bike, I enter the convenience store to hit the head before getting back on the road to New Mexico. Ever since their deaths, I've made it my life's mission to make something good out of the life the man upstairs has decided to dish to me. Right before stopping at the station, I had to have a face to face with a prick fabricator who is supposed to be exclusive to our club and us. Fury, the MC's front business has been an up and coming bike shop outside of the greater Las Cruses area for the past few years. He didn't think we would find out. He didn't think a bunch of leather clad, long hair, tattooed muscle heads actually had any business sense. Normally, this wouldn't be a big deal, but when you pride yourself on being one of a kind, exclusive, and your customers pay for the exclusivity, then this shit is real. Bitch thought he could sell my designs, my ideas to the highest bidder. Well, I beg to differ, and now that fucktard knows it too.
As soon I enter the store, the clerk seems to be on high alert. Typical. Whenever I go somewhere that isn't used to the presence of a MC, I get the gawking, and it's usually not by a hot chick. The MC freaks people out. They don't know us or what we're really about. They just see us as a gang of misfits, of assholes, and they never give us the time of day. That fact is one of the reasons why I hate the life so much. I shoot him a glare, one that says 'don't fuck with me'. If people are going to live their lives in stereotypes, then I'm going to encourage them. Why waste my breath trying to convince them otherwise? Why tell them I've done more for our country in my four years of service than they will do in their entire lifetime? They won't see the solider in me, the Marine. They only see the beard that covers my face, the sleeves of ink that runs up my arms, and the leather that covers by back.
The sign on the door of the bathroom states 'out of order'. Fuck me. I really need to take a piss. "Hey, you sure this shitter is out of order?"
"Yes." I guess I'm worth only one word. No 'sorry', nothing. Typical.
Fuck him; I'll just take a piss around back. If I'm lucky, maybe he's parked out back and I can piss in his gas tank or on his seats. Let him know that people in this world don't want much, just a fucking place to take a piss.
Well, it’s my fucking lucky day after all. I see a blue sporty BMW parked by the dumpsters. The asshole isn't gonna forget me anytime soon. I take my knife and pry open the gas tank cover, twisting the cap, until it comes loose with a hiss. I push my zipper down and am just about to take my dick out and make the fucker wish he didn't look at me like I'm a cross between shit at the bottom of his shoe and the one who may potentially end his life, when I see a headful of blonde hair in the backseat.
Pausing from the task, I lean in closer and peer in the window. That's when the flashback hits me. Blood everywhere, swollen, bruised cheeks. Her eyes dull, the spark gone, lifeless. Bruises covered her body; blood stains her legs. Her once shiny dark brown hair is now a mess of blood, mud and cum. Shaking my head, I continue to stare at the woman who is either asleep or unconscious in the backseat. Her eyes are closed, but I can tell they're swollen. Her lips are cut and chapped, dried blood in the corners. Before I can think, I react.
"Hawk." I bark into my phone. "I need you to head back this way with your truck. I'm at the Stop N Shop on this side of Odessa. Just get your ass here. I need you to haul my bike back." I end the call and open the door. She doesn't even stir.
"Are you fucking kidding me right now?" My brother screams as he storms out the front door of the clubhouse. The vein that's popping from his head, telling me that he's fucking pissed. It also tells me that Hawk ratted me out like the bitch he is.
I close the door softly so that I don't wake the woman who’s been passed out in the backseat for the last five hours or so of driving. I'm happy as fuck for that too. Who knows what would have happened if she woke up and saw me in the front seat of her car. I hear the rumble of Hawk's truck pulling up behind me. Thank fuck Hawk drove his truck with me to check into that distributor. I would have been shit out of luck if he drove his bike. Lucky for me, you can’t transport shit on the back of Harleys. He jumps out and doesn’t even glimpse my way, bypassing my brother and Lick, who followed Cut out.
"What?"
"What? You ask me what when you know damn well that you fucked up, brother." He comes up to me, standing chest to chest. I may be taller, but Cut has always been thicker. He points to the shiny blue luxury car. It's like a beacon of light on the darkness of night. A blaring sign that it doesn't belong among the steel and chrome.
"What makes you think you can kidnap a fucking rich bitch? What makes you think that any of this is right, Sin? Tell me, what was going through your head when you decided to load your bike into the back of Hawk's rig and then drive a vehicle, a vehicle that's not yours, with a fucking woman in the backseat, over state lines into our territory? Into my compound?"
"I had to." I turn my back on my brother and open the back door to pull her out.
"Don't." Cut squeezes my shoulder, stopping me.
"Dev—Cut, so help me God, you need to get your fucking hand off me."
"This is not happening, brother. Not here. You are not going to put this club in jeopardy because you have a savior complex. This isn't happening. Not on my watch."
I stare at the woman in the window, still unmoving. "Look, Cut." My voice is low, urging him to see what I see.
As soon as the recognition flashes in his eyes, he knows why I did what I did.
"Fuck!" He shifts towards me, barking orders. "Get her the fuck outta the car. Lick, call Doc. He needs to get his ass here, pronto. Hawk!" He yells at my best friend who’s standing by the front door of the clubhouse. "Get those fucking Fallen out! Tell the bitches we're closed for the next twenty-four hours."
With the go-ahead, I lean over and pull her from the car. She's light, warm. As soon as her body meets mine, she grabs on, nestling her face into my neck and whimpering. Her skin is like silk beneath my calloused hands. She continues to unknowingly rub her nose up and down my neck and it’s fucking with my mind; at the same time it’s sending signals I don’t need right to my cock. “Take her to one of the unused bedrooms in the back.” My brother tells me, but I have other plans. There’s no way I’m going to allow her to be in a room where anyone can come in and disturb her. She needs her rest.
Once my feet hit the entrance to the clubhouse, I head straight towards my room. I can hear Hawk barking out orders telling the Fallen, the club whores, to head out and not come back. Pushing the door closed, I place her gently on the bed. Again, she doesn’t wake and that’s starting to concern me. There’s no way it’s normal to be this dead to the world when you’re sleeping. Brushing her hair from her face, I inspect the damage. Purple bruises mar her face, but the destruction doesn’t take away from her beauty. I can only imagine what she’ll look like when her face is blemish free and her eyes are open and shining. The thought of this girl happy and smiling makes my gut twist.
*****
"What's the verdict?" Cut stands up as the doctor enters the room.
"Well, she's probably got a concussion. Her eyes aren't responding, as they should. She should really be admitted to the hospital. She may need additional tests that aren’t available to her here."
"You know that's not gonna happen, Doc. That's not our style."
"I know. That’s why I said 'should' and didn't insist that she go. She didn't wake the entire time I examined her. She's pretty beat up, but nothing in her face is broken. She's probably going to be sore for a few days and she's going to need a lot of rest. Once she wakes, if she's seeing double or throwing up, then I’m sorry, but you’ll need to bring her in."
"Thanks." I stand and shake his hand.
"Sin." Doc looks me in the eye. "You haven't gotten into any trouble with this girl, have you?"
"No, sir. Simply helping her out."
He raises his eyebrow at me then sighs. "How are you feeling?" He asks.
"I'm fine, sir. Nothing to worry about."
"Well, that's easier said than done
." He walks out without a second glance.
The softness of the pillows engulfs my head. The air smells like gasoline and Old Spice, a scent that Tyson wouldn't be caught dead wearing. I pull the flannel sheets over my chest, to my chin when I realize that I don't have flannel sheets on my bed. Tyson wouldn't allow flannel anywhere in our house, let alone on our bed. My breathing picks up and I slowly open my eyes. The pain in my left eye is still fresh, the top swollen, cutting off my vision. Focusing my eyes, I notice the reason why I smell Old Spice and feel flannel. There's a man sitting across the room in a black high back leather chair. He's leaning over with his elbows resting on his knees, staring at me. His face is partially covered by a thick, dark beard. The contrast of dark brown only highlights the cornflower blue hues of his eyes. His nose is straight and well defined, and his lips are anything but hidden behind the tuft of dark hair. He’s stunning.
I take a mental note of my body. My muscles ache, a normal outcome after a physical episode with Tyson. I move my legs slightly, noticing that I can feel the warmth of the sheets against my skin. That means I have no pants on. Shit.
"I know you're scared." His voice is smooth.
"What?" I croak.
"I know you're scared," he repeats. “You don't have anything to be worried about. I found you."
"You found me?"
"Yeah, um." He looks down, rubbing his neck. "You were parked in the back of the Stop N Shop off of the Ten. You didn't wake up, so I had my buddy load up my bike and I drove your car here."
"Where is here?"
"My club."
"Club?"
"Yeah, my club in New Mexico."
My eyes widen. "New Mexico." My voice rises. "I'm in New Mexico. You brought me to New Mexico?"
"Yeah. Like I said, you wouldn't wake up, so I drove your car here." He stands up. His sudden movement has me digging my heels into the mattress of the bed, trying to get some space between him and me. "You don't have to do that. I can take you back to wherever you came from. That's not a problem. The problem is how I found you, and furthermore, why were you parked behind a fucking convenience store off a very popular highway, passed out in the backseat and your doors not locked. I found you with a fucked up face." I flinch at his words. "Sorry,” he says softly as he sits on the foot of the bed. "I found you hurt, and you wouldn't wake up. So I did the one thing I thought I could do to keep you safe. I brought you here, to my club, to my brothers."
Shit.
"I need my phone." I pull the covers closer.
"I need your name, sugar."
"What?"
"I need your name."
"Um, Savannah. Savannah Ray."
"Hi Savannah, I'm Ma—Sin. It's nice to meet you." He gives me a small smile, but doesn't try to reach out to me. "Even under the circumstances, it's still nice, just the same." He gets up from the bed and heads to the door.
"Um, Sin?"
He turns. "Yes."
"How long did you say I was asleep?"
"Awhile."
"What day is it?"
"Tuesday. I'll be right back." He closes the door and my stomach drops at the information.
"Is she awake?" The voice comes from behind me, making me jump. I swing instantly, hand clenched into a fist ready to hit whoever is standing behind me.
Hawk.
"What the fuck, Hawking?"
"Hawking? You haven't called me that since before you had pubes on your sac."
"Well I figured it's only right. Hawk wouldn't have ratted me out to my brother like a punk bitch."
"Shit, Sin, he's still the Prez. Cut has the right to know what’s being brought into his club."
I stop walking and face him. "And what exactly do you think I’m bringing into the club?"
"Seriously?"
"Yeah!" I poke my finger into his tattooed covered chest. "Seriously!"
"Will you two girls stop the cat fight and get your asses out here." Cut's voice came from the end of the hall. Lighting a cigarette, he looks up. "We have shit to discuss."
Devin 'Cut' Sinclair is the spitting image of my father. Hence his name. He's the perfect cut of my father, Devin Sinclair, Sr. Not only does my brother look exactly like my old man, he's fiercely protective of the club, just like my dad. There was never any question in Cut’s mind what kind of life he was going to live. The club is in his blood. These guys, our brothers, are everything to him. He lives and breathes everything, Devil's Fury.
Since my father's murder, Cut has really stepped up. He stuck with changes that needed to be made to ensure the survival of the MC. It was a different time when my father ran the club. Devil's Fury wasn't always on the up and up, but the old men did what they needed to do to make sure the club and the family survived.
I follow my brother to the bar of the clubhouse. "Lenny!" I call to one of the prospects our club currently has. "I need the purse from the Beamer." I toss him the keys.
"No problem." He runs from the room.
The twenty-four-hour ban of pussy didn't last long enough. I'm sure my brother thought Savannah would be up and around before the hours were up, but no such luck. Once the clock hit twenty-four hours and one second, the sluts were back in full force. Tits, ass and pussy were hanging out everywhere and the guys were acting like they were starved.
I love these brothers because I grew up with most of them. I don't remember my life without them, but some of them are so crass. Lick especially. He doesn’t give a fuck where he is or who’s watching. If he wants to get his dick sucked by one of the Fallen, then he does it. No second thoughts. Right now is a prime example. He’s sitting on the couch with his head back, one bitch's head bobbing between his legs while another one is sitting on his face. That man will lick anything with tits.
"So?" Cut asks.
"Her name’s Savannah."
"Last name?" Hawk asks.
"Ray.” I answer Hawk. “Jesus, I'm sure her family’s freaking out."
"That. Or whoever did that to her face." Cut is right.
"I'll talk to her some more. I'll get the information from her."
"I need to know what we're dealing with, brother."
"I got it."
"Here." Hawk hands me a bag. "Your mom brought these by. Thought the girl would need them."
"Savannah."
"Yeah, Sin, Savannah."
I start to leave when I see Lenny come back with a bright pink bag. Christ, it’s huge.
"Matthew." Cut using my formal name gets my attention. "You know she's not Sienna, right? You know that no matter what she has to say and what her story is, she is not our sister. This isn’t history repeating itself."
"Yeah, Dev. I know."
"Hey." Sin comes back in with my purse and a plastic bag. "My mom brought you some clothes. She thought you'd need them, until we get everything straightened out." He hands me the bag.
"Thanks." I say as I eye my purse.
"Oh sorry, here." He passes my purse to me and I pull out my phone and see that my worst fears have come true. Tyson. He is not very happy. Tears instantly come to my eyes.
"Hey, sugar, is everything alright?" I shake my head as I scroll through the texts.
Savannah, where are you?
Savannah, where are you? Answer me.
Savannah where the fuck are you?
This isn't funny, you stupid bitch!
You think you can leave me. You think you can just leave like that and there won’t be consequences. There are always consequences when you fuck up.
You think you can hide. I don't fucking think so.
Remember where you belong.
You think you can leave like this. You remember who I am.
There are hundreds of texts, just like those. Missed calls and voicemails plague my phone.
Meredith and my parents were even texting me. Tyson must have told everyone that I left. "Can I see, please?" Without a second thought, I hand him the phone.
"What the fuck!"
"Yeah." I can't lo
ok at him.
"Who sent these?" Sin’s voice is harsh. I can't answer him. "Savannah, who sent these texts?" His eyes move back and forth across the screen. With each flick of his thumb, I can see the fury in his eyes. The anger isn’t the same as I've seen in Tyson's eyes. Tyson always looked crazy, like he checked out when he got pissed. But Sin, his eyes hold the devil himself in their fury. "Is it the same person who did that shit to your face?" I nod. No words were needed. I don't want to waste anything else on Tyson Redding. "Were you running?" I nod again. "From where? How far are you away from him?" He tosses the phone onto the bed.
"Well, since I don’t know exactly where in New Mexico I am, I can't really answer that question. But I'm from Fort Worth. He lives in Fort Worth."
"Okay, that's good. That's not too close. It's not like its right around the corner or anything, so you're safe here. We're in Las Cruses."
"It's not far enough." I say, defeated.
"It's far enough, believe me."
"Unfortunately you don't know him."
"Well, I can say the same thing about me. You don't know me. You don't know us."
I don't say anything to his declaration. There's no reason to argue. Tyson will find me, there will be no hiding, I'm sure of it. I don't know what I was thinking when I took off after he left Sunday. The texts weren't warnings, or even threats. They were promises.
"Are you going to tell me what happened?"
"Just a few years of bad choices. That's it. Nothing more to discuss."
Sin Page 3