Sinner's Revenge

by Kim Jones

  The house is located on a river, providing us with an escape route just through the woods. The issue there is getting all the bodies out of the shop, drug through the woods, and into the boat that will take us to the truck. And we couldn’t leave a blood trail. I was beginning to think the job was impossible, but leave it to Rookie to come up with something in that crooked-ass mind of his.

  “Let’s drug ’em,” he says, shrugging at the suggestion like it was just that simple.

  “And how the hell do you suppose we do that?”

  “They end every meeting with a shot. We go in tonight, slip something in every bottle of liquor they have, and after they toast, it shouldn’t take but about five minutes. We wait, and if they don’t come out, we go in.”

  “So how do we get them out of the shop? We’d have to make at least four trips. It’s too risky.”

  He smiles. “Good thing we got a lot of brothers with a lot of muscle. And I know a chapter that’s on probation. This would give them a chance to get their bottom rocker back.” It sucked having a brother smarter than me.

  I call Nationals, unsure of my decision only after I have them on the line. “San Antonio is on probation. Rookie and I could use their help with something. I’ll make sure it’s beneficial for the club too. It’ll also give them a chance to prove themselves. It’s nothing they haven’t done before.”

  “How beneficial to the club will it be?” Jimbo asks, and Rookie passes me a piece of paper.

  “Two keys. At least. And about twenty or thirty stacks.” I wait while the call is muted and they discuss. A few minutes later Jimbo comes back on the line.

  “You got the green light. Just don’t fuck up.”

  Great. No pressure.

  * * *

  That night, Rookie and Tank stand guard as I pick the lock and enter the shop. There are only two bottles of liquor in the building, and I empty the contents of the package Rookie gave me inside them. Looking around the shop, my eyes search for the hidden stash of dope and money. Rookie assures me it’s in here somewhere, he just doesn’t know where.

  After fifteen minutes of searching, I still can’t find it. Time is up and I walk back into the woods to meet Rookie and Tank. “I couldn’t find it,” I whisper, knowing that if we didn’t, then we would be indebted to Nationals. It wasn’t about the money, it was the promise of getting them something and not delivering.

  “Did you check the floors?” Rookie asks, completely calm.

  “Concrete.”

  “What about the walls?”

  “Nothing.” I wasn’t an amateur, for fuck’s sake.

  “What about the deer?” My eyes move to Tank, who hasn’t said a word the entire trip. Hell, he never says anything.

  “The what?”

  “The deer. There’s a deer mount on the wall. Look in the hollow of its neck.” I look to Rookie and he shrugs, again. I guess that’s his answer for everything.

  We walk back to the shop, and I start searching the mounts. There are four of them, and the first three have come up empty. Taking a deep breath, I pull the fourth from the wall, noticing how easily it came down. Where the wooden plaque was solid on the others, this one was hollow, leading into the neck of the deer. Inside lay my word to Nationals. And now I have two brothers that are smarter than me.

  * * *

  Six probationary members from San Antonio arrive the next day. I hardly recognize them in normal clothes, and I even laugh at how awkward it is having all of us together with no patches on. We go over the plan until it’s perfected, then split up into three boats that sit waiting at the riverbank.

  We’re silent as we walk through the woods. At ten minutes past ten, Rookie eases up to the window of the shop. Moments later, he waves us over. We enter with pistols drawn, silencers intact. With a wave of my finger, the unconscious bodies are lifted one by one and removed from the room. I grab the last of them, throwing him over my shoulder, and silently thanking my brothers for leaving the smallest one for me.

  Slowly but surely, we cross the hundred yards back through the woods and throw the bodies in the boats. Fifteen minutes later, we’re throwing them into the back of the covered trailer attached to the truck Tank is driving. We strip the men of everything but their underwear, before locking the door and driving to the location that is becoming a Death Mob cemetery.

  I don’t let myself relax until we’re miles away from any threat to our plan. Now the fun begins. Unlocking the door, we find the men in all different states. Some are pissed. Some are confused. Some have their hands up in surrender. But they all wear a look of fear when their eyes focus on the ten men surrounding the trailer with automatics pointed at them. Just to make them even more uncomfortable, I drag out their impending doom.

  “You know what I love about you boys?” Of course they don’t answer, but I give them time just in case. “Y’all are so predictable. I mean a shot after church? Really? What the fuck are y’all toasting to?”

  I look around at my brothers, who are itching with the desire to kill. I am too, but the sadist inside me wants a little more. I don’t just want their blood, I want their fucking souls.

  “Who are you?” one of the men asks. He’s so brave, I consider letting him live.

  “Me?” I ask, feigning shock. “And here I was thinking I was some kind of celebrity.” I move suddenly, propping my leg up on the bumper of the trailer and the man flinches. Well, that sealed his fate. He wasn’t as brave as I thought he was. Now I guess he’ll die too.

  “Who I am is not important,” I start, feeling my desire to kill overpower my desire to play games. I’d let them live long enough. “So I’ll cut the shit. Sinner’s Creed is using you to send a message,” I say, adrenaline rushing through me. My trigger finger twitches in anticipation. “And Dirk sends his condolences.”

  Standing next to my brothers, I point my gun between the eyes of the first man I see. It only takes one shot for the others to follow suit. I watch as one by one they fall. All I can see is death. All I can hear are the sounds of gunshots ringing loudly in my ears. All I can smell is the scent of spilled blood. And it is fucking divine.

  * * *

  Because I was the one who pulled San Antonio’s bottom rockers, I have to be the one to give them back. I fly down on Friday, and by Sunday I’m back in my house, which feels empty. The smell is too manly. The silence is annoying. And I realize what’s missing is Diem.

  I can’t get her out of my head.

  The scent of her pussy.

  The shape of her ass.

  The taste of her flesh.

  I hate that she is under my skin. I’d rather have her clawing at it. Fuck, I want her. Again and again until I can’t move and she doesn’t want to leave. I consider calling her, but I refuse. I’m not that desperate.

  To keep from going crazy, I drive to the bar, where Mick greets me with a beer and a shot. The place is crawling with people, busy even for a Friday night. I scan the room, hoping to find her. Wanting her to show up and order a shot and put it on my tab. But she doesn’t show.

  Four drinks in, my pride has taken a nosedive and I text her.

  Hey pretty girl.

  Almost immediately, my phone buzzes with a response.

  Bout time.

  I smile.

  You miss me or something?

  Or something . . .

  Come have a drink with me.

  Can’t.

  I feel a frown forming and knock back a shot, hoping to find my balls at the bottom of the glass. I wasn’t expecting that response. Something along the lines of on my way or of course with one of those little fucking emojis I can never understand. Not just can’t.

  My phone buzzes again and I nearly drop the bastard trying to read the message. I’m such a pussy.

  You’re such a pussy. Look at you . . . frowning and shit.

  I can sense her
staring at me, and reluctantly, I drag my eyes up to find her smirking at me from across the room—phone in hand. I flip her the finger and she strolls over, stopping conversations and making every head turn as she walks. Pride swells in my chest and I shove it back down. I shouldn’t feel it because she doesn’t belong to me.

  She’s dressed to kill in tight white pants, a low-cut red top that shows off her tits, and tall red high heels to match. Her short black hair is perfectly messy. Her lips are a deep red, her olive skin seems to glow, and those dark eyes are big and bright, shining with pure fucking evil. She’s mouthwatering. But of course, I appear unaffected. To add to my façade, I drag my eyes down her body and smirk. She stops and does a once-over, making sure her pants aren’t unzipped and there isn’t toilet paper on her shoe.

  I laugh and she smacks me with the red wallet she’d been carrying under her arm. “I haven’t missed you at all,” she says, snapping her fingers at Mick, who happily obliges her with a shot. She throws it back and motions for him to keep them coming.

  “I haven’t missed you either,” I lie, wanting to kiss that lipstick right off her juicy lips. I want to fuck her in those heels. And tonight I will.

  “Says the boy who pouts when I say I can’t drink with him tonight.”

  “But, you’re here. So what does that say about you? Oh, I know.” I grab her drink, smiling at her. “It says you want me.”

  “You’re right.”

  She floors me again. Dammit. How does she do that?

  “So are you gonna give the lady what she asks for, or are you gonna make me beg? Either way, I’m getting what I want.”

  I throw Mick some money and take her hand. Damn right she’s getting what she wants. And what she wants is me.

  * * *

  Diem is on her knees in front of me. Her ass is high in the air, giving me a full view of the prettiest pink pussy my cock has ever had the pleasure of being inside of. I tease her with the head of my dick, listening to her beg when I place the tip inside her. Then I listen to the sound of her breath catching in her throat when I drag the wetness up to her ass, noticing how she tenses, but does nothing to stop me.

  I drive into her pussy, letting the sound of my name filling the room fuel me until I’m fucking her unmercifully, watching the remnants of her releases glisten on my cock as she comes over and over. She’s perfect. And those red high heels are perfect. And her ass is perfect . . . her hair . . . her scent . . . her moans . . . fucking everything.

  When I feel the urge to come, I slow down. I’ve been doing this for over an hour, and now, Diem can hardly stay up on her knees. My legs hurt. My throat burns with dehydration. The scent of sex and tequila that seeps through my pores fills the room.

  My shins are bruised from the constant banging against the bed frame. My arms ache from pulling her back to me time after time when I fuck her so hard her body slides forward. And every time I bring her back, her ass slaps against me and she moans. I roar. And the sound vibrates the windows in my bedroom.

  “You’re killing me,” she pants, but her next words are “give me more.” So I do. I have. I will. Until I can’t go any longer. I could fuck her all day and all night, but my balls are stretched to the point of pain. They ache with every slap against her tiny swollen clit. And when I finally do come, it’s the greatest release I’ve ever felt. She’s the greatest thing I’ve ever felt. Her response to me is overwhelming. The way she shudders, sweats, moans, and comes is a new experience for me. And it’s fucking epic.

  I still inside her, leaning over her back and kissing a trail down her spine. I rain tender kisses all over her neck, shoulders, back, and ass until I’m too exhausted to stand. Then I collapse in the bed beside her. She is frozen in position, unable to move her limbs that still quiver. “You okay?”

  “I think I’m dead.”

  I smirk. “You’re not dead.”

  “I can’t move. I’m numb.”

  Wrapping my arm under her stomach, I pull her to me, curling her into my side. Burying my face in her hair, I inhale the flowery scent of her hair products. Liking the scent of her skin better, I move my nose to her neck, which is slick with sweat. Watermelon. Much better.

  “I think we’re spooning.” I want to vomit at my admission, but instead find myself pulling her closer.

  “I think you’re right. How lame does that make us?” Her breathing growing deeper by the moment.

  “Who the fuck cares?” I grumble, feeling sleep taking over my body. She mumbles something, but I’m already too lost in the darkness to comprehend.

  13

  “GET THE YELLOW one.”

  “I don’t like yellow.”

  “Well, I do. So, get the yellow one.”

  I fight the urge to choke Diem in the middle of the department store that I’m sure I’ll be damned to hell for even entering. There is no doubt in my mind that somewhere in the Sinner’s Creed bylaws, there is a rule that forbids us to go shopping for comforters at any store. But especially this ritzy fucking one Diem dragged me to. All because she said my covers were outdated.

  They’re covers.

  Blankets.

  Quilts.

  Whatever you want to call them.

  But still, they’re just fucking covers.

  “I’m not getting a fluffy, pansy-ass, yellow comforter for my bed. We’ll get this one. It’s on sale,” I tell her, grabbing the big plastic bag and pulling it down from the shelf.

  “That’s hideous.” She snatches it from my hand, chucking it down the aisle and scaring the shit out of two little old ladies.

  “That was a little uncalled for, don’t you think?”

  “Here, what about this one?” She ignores me and points to a white down comforter that cost more than my whole bed did.

  “If I buy that, when I walk out the door with it, something is going to hit me in the ass. Do you know what that is?”

  Glaring up at me, she seems annoyed, but asks, “What?”

  “My fucking change. I’m not paying five hundred dollars for something that’s just gonna end up on the floor by the morning anyway.”

  I’ve taken a seat on one of the model beds. Now Diem and I are at eye level, and I can feel every dagger she shoots at me. She looks fierce in tiny blue jean shorts, T-shirt, and flip-flops, and wearing yesterday’s makeup. She still smells like me, and I get hard at the thought of what’s between her smooth, tanned legs.

  She catches me eyeing her and smiles her mischievous grin. “Make you a deal?” Aw, shit.

  “What?” I ask cautiously.

  Standing in front of the display like she’s Vanna White, she starts modeling the products. “Buy this comforter, these sheets, and throw in these two accent pillows, and I’ll let you go where no man has gone before.” Just in case her words weren’t clear enough, she drops her sunglasses and bends over to pick them up, sticking her glorious little virgin ass in the air for me to see.

  “Do we have a deal?” she purrs, and I’m already on my feet grabbing shit off the shelf and barking out commands.

  “Get the fucking pillows.”

  Of course Diem found a way to torture me before making good on her promise. She claimed I’d never taken her out on a real date. She’s right. So she wants to get all dressed up and go somewhere fancy. After the thousand dollars I just dropped on linens, I can’t afford fancy.

  Well . . .

  I can, I just don’t want to.

  But I’ve decided that I like having sex with her, so I want to keep her happy. Now, at her demand, I’m picking her up. I almost stop and pick some weeds out of the ditch to give her just to be an ass, but decide against it. When I pull in her driveway, the first thing I notice is my totaled-out truck. Sickness fills my gut and I hate her all over again. I’m disgusted by the time I knock on the door.

  “Come in!” she yells from somewhere ins
ide, and I stomp in, debating on killing her. The last time I was here, I hadn’t paid much attention to the place. But without a gun trained on my head or the sight of a banged-up woman laying helplessly on the couch, I finally get the chance to fully take in my surroundings. Her house is cleaner than before, smells like a home should, and seems a lot less feminine than what I would expect Diem to have. I never gave it much thought before, but it doesn’t seem like a place she would live.

  The furniture is expensive, but the house is old and outdated. The TV and sound system are state of the art, but the floors are worn and the carpet is thin. I move to the kitchen and all the appliances are brand new, and look completely out of place in the small, shabby room.

  I glance around for mail or a landline but come up empty-handed. Following the sound of her shuffling around down the hall, I find her in a bathroom that should be fit for a queen—considering how vain she is. Instead, it too is old and outdated.

  “How long have you lived here?” I ask, and the tone in my voice has her raising an eyebrow at me.

  “Is there a reason you want to know?”

  “Curiosity.” I shrug.

  “Not long. I lived in a nicer place in Concord, but I wanted out of the city so I moved here. This was the only place available.” Well, that explains it. Sort of.

  “Ever thought about updating?” I pry, narrowing my eyes on her. She’s hiding something. I can feel it.

  Taking a seat on the edge of the bathtub, she matches my glare and explains. “No. I don’t plan to be here forever. I want to build a house somewhere. I just haven’t had the time. There’s no sense in me updating a house that I’m going to lose my ass on when I decide to move. Why all the questions?”

  “Like I said.” I hold my hand out to her. “Curiosity.”