Sinner's Creed (Sinner's Creed #1)

by Kim Jones

  When we are finally alone, I take a seat next to Roach, avoiding his eyes for as long as I can. When I finally look at them, they are expectant. “Tell me.”

  I don’t tell Roach because he wants me to. I tell him because it would be disrespectful for me not to.

  “I’ve seen her a few times over the past several years. Just in passing. She lives down in Jackson.” Roach nods in acknowledgment, but he wants more. Him and Saylor have a lot in common when it comes to me. They can get shit outta me when no one else can. “I think she might have had a nasty breakup or some shit. She begged me to take her with me. Said she wanted to get outta town. I felt sorry for her.”

  For some reason, it makes me feel like shit not telling him the whole truth. I guess it’s written on my face too ’cause Roach raises his eyebrows, letting me know he thinks I’m full of shit. I sigh, shift in my seat, and figure fuck it.

  I light a smoke, passing it to him, then light me another one before continuing. “There’s something about her.” I look out at the clear blue sky and feel myself getting lost in my own words. “It’s like she has known me forever. She don’t get pissed at me or bitchy. She’s not like any woman I’ve ever met. I feel like she is in my head, reading my thoughts, and even though I know what she sees is sometimes scary, she never runs from me and I never see judgment in her eyes. It’s almost like she’s some sort of angel, or some shit. I haven’t figured her out yet, but I’m trying. Each day I learn something new about her. And every time I do, I like her a little bit more.”

  I sit there, staring at my boots, wondering why the fuck I’m even talking. Roach is silent and when I look over at him, his eyes are distant and for a minute, I think he’s dead. I’m just before calling his name and shaking him when he speaks.

  “I had a woman like that once. Paulette. Remember her?” I remember, but I don’t say anything. He isn’t paying attention to me anyway. He is lost in some memory.

  What I remember of Paulette is that she was a nice woman. I’d only seen her a few times because Roach didn’t bring her around a lot. She was different from the other women. Quiet and kept to herself. “She’s married now. Got about ten grandkids and lives over in Montana. I thought about killing her ol’ man, then showing up at the funeral and taking advantage of her vulnerability. But she’s happy. I reckon I can’t kill a man for doing something for her that I never did.”

  Roach grabs his pipe, taking a hit then offering it to me, knowing I’ll decline. “I reckon what I’m trying to say is this. You ain’t had a good upbringin’. Black didn’t deserve a kid no more than I did. But, he got you and he did what he thought he had to, to make you a man. He did and you owe him that. I know sometimes you hate yourself, Dirk. I know you hate Black just as much. But Black’s dead. He’s gone.

  “The only reason I let you do it was because I knew that was the only way you could get closure—move on from the past and start a future. I know you hate him for the things he did to ya. Hell, I hate him for the shit he did to ya. I hate I couldn’t do more to stop him. But you can’t blame the man for the rest of your life. We got one shot, Dirk. One fucking shot in this life. Make it count. Don’t be like me and die an old man all alone ’cause ya think Black beatin’ on ya fucked you up too much to be loved. Let that woman love you. And if you smart, you’ll love her back.”

  Roach’s eyes are pleading. They are begging me to take his advice. I don’t know if I will. I don’t know if I won’t. In this moment, all I know is that if I choose not to, looking at Roach is like looking in the mirror at the man I’m destined to become.

  12

  I’M SITTING OUT back, and my conversation with Roach is back to what it’s always been: business. We’re discussing the chapters, the problems with other clubs, and finances, when a patch holder comes barreling out the door. When he doesn’t look the least bit sorry or concerned about busting up our meeting, I know something is wrong.

  “Dirk, you got a call.” I’m on my feet, knowing that whoever is calling doesn’t have my cell. Which means that it has to be someone that I know isn’t connected to the club. I’m hoping like hell it’s some bitch wondering if I’m in town, but my gut tells me it’s Saylor. That she needs me and got the number for the bar where she hopes I’m at.

  Maybe she wants to know a paint color. Maybe she’s having issues with my card. Maybe the truck broke down. I’m playing every scenario imaginable in my head, but in the few seconds it takes for me to get to the phone, I know it’s nothing like that. If she’s calling here, it’s important. I snatch the phone off the counter and bark into it.

  “Yeah?” I say, waiting for it to be any voice other than hers.

  “Um, Dirk?” It’s a man. A young one. Maybe even a teenager.

  “Who the fuck is this?” I ask, not confirming who I am.

  “Yeah, um, my name is Nate, I work over at Greer’s Grocery, and this lady told me to call and see if I could get you on the phone.” He pauses and I want to kill.

  “What lady?” I growl, wishing he would just tell me what the fuck is going on.

  “Sir, I’m not sure. She just fainted and . . .” I drop the phone and run to my bike, passing a nervous Shady on the way. I throw my helmet to the ground, knowing the second it takes for me to put it on is too long.

  Fainted? Is she hurt? Is she okay? She had to be conscious to tell them to call me, but how bad was it? I pull the throttle back on my bike, going as fast as possible without killing myself on the curvy road that leads to town. It doesn’t take me long to get there, and my heart sinks when I see an ambulance parked outside the front door.

  I push through the crowd of people roughly, my feet taking me to the group huddled in a circle by the frozen food aisle. I push a medic to the side and look down to see Saylor taking deep breaths through her white lips. I drop to my knees beside her and take her hand in mine. Her other hand is on her forehead, holding an ice pack to it.

  “What happened?” I ask. When she hears my voice, her neck cranes to see me.

  “I fell,” she says noncommittally. I’m calling bullshit, not that I have to. The nervous voice that called me tells all.

  “No sir, she passed out. I watched her.” I look up at him and his cheeks turn red with embarrassment. I’m sure he was watching her. I never thought I would be grateful for someone ogling my woman.

  “I just got a little dizzy. It’s the weather.” Saylor is grasping at straws to try to hide the obvious reason she is laying here on the floor. And I don’t know why. I suddenly get the feeling she is hiding something from me, but before I can ask what it is, the horny bag boy tells his side of the story.

  “She was fine one second, then I saw her swaying. The next, she went down like the Titanic. Bam! Her head hit the handle on the freezer door, and it hit pretty hard when she landed too.” His theatrics piss me off. I don’t like him trying to make a huge spectacle of Saylor.

  “Sir, she needs to go to the hospital and get a CAT scan, but she is refusing. I’ve been trying to convince her, but she won’t even let us put her in the ambulance.” The medic’s concerned face worries me and I look down at Saylor, hoping I can talk her into going. Or I can just force her to go. Either is fine with me.

  She is shaking her head, and tears are brimming in her eyes. “Dirk, I don’t want to go to the hospital.” The determination in her voice makes me feel like shit for even trying to talk her into it.

  “You need to go get checked out,” I try, and my shitty attempt falls on deaf ears.

  “I’m asking you, Dirk. I’m begging you. Please, don’t let them take me. I’m fine.” By the look on her face and the desperation in her voice, I know this is a battle I need to let her win. But I have to try.

  “Please, baby. Something could be wrong.” I’ve pulled out all stops. I even try to make my eyes do that puppy-dog shit, but it doesn’t faze her. It only pisses her off.

  “Dammit, Dirk. I said no. Have I ever lied to you? No, so take me home. I’m not going to the hospital. I’
m not out of my head. I know who I am, I know where I am, and no one here is authorized to make decisions on my behalf.” She turns to look at the medic, and I can’t help feeling a little sorry for him.

  “Now get that damn blood pressure cuff off of me so I can get the hell outta here.” The medic begins releasing the cuff immediately. I help Saylor up and surprisingly she is steady on her feet, despite the huge goose-egg knot that has formed on her head. I want to carry her, but she glares at me, so I settle for my hand around her waist—not that she needs it. Determination alone could let her walk out of here unassisted.

  The store manager appears, wearing a shirt that’s too small and a badge that states his title. He is holding a clipboard in his hand and looks almost pissed when he sticks it out to Saylor. “You need to sign this. If you are refusing medical attention, then we ain’t liable for anything that happens down the road.” I’m two seconds from grabbing the clipboard and smashing his nose with it when Saylor gladly signs it and thrusts it back in his hands. She walks out and I have to practically jog to keep up with her.

  When we get outside, Shady is there with two other patch holders and I tell him to take my bike back to the house. He nods without any questions, giving Saylor and me a once-over before leaving. I help Saylor in the truck before getting in and pulling out of the lot. When we are almost home, I chance a look at her, and her anger has faded. She just looks tired.

  “You okay?” I ask, wondering why I’m treading so lightly. I feel like I’m walking on eggshells. I haven’t felt like that in years.

  “I’m fine. I don’t like hospitals,” she mumbles, and I don’t push further. She has her reasons and I’m sure they’re good ones. I pull up at the house, jumping out to help her, but she is already out and moving to the bed of the truck. I see bags of groceries and things from the hardware store and give her a quizzical look. “I told the bag boy to go ahead and check me out. No need in all that shopping going to waste because my stupid head don’t wanna act right.” She doesn’t notice her slipup, but I do.

  “You do that a lot?” I ask, referring to her head that is anything but stupid.

  “What? Pass out? No. It’s happened before but not often. It’s part of the reason I have migraines too.” She doesn’t elaborate and I don’t ask any more questions. I don’t want to admit it, but the truth is I’m afraid of the answer.

  She grabs a bag and I take it from her, then take her hand and lead her inside. The house still smells good and I’m thankful that she got a notion to clean today, although I’m sure that cleaning is as far as it’s gonna go for now.

  “You wanna lay down?” I ask, while she fishes receipts and my card from her pocket.

  “No, I wanna stay up for the furniture.” That gets my attention, and, as if she summoned them, a truck pulls up the driveway with the town furniture store’s logo on the side. “I was mad at you when I left. I might have spent too much money trying to get back at you. We can take it back if you want.” I shake my head at her words.

  “Money means nothing to me. If you try to piss me off by spending it, never gonna happen. Even if you managed to clean me out, I can always make more.” She smiles knowingly, as if she figured as much even before she spent it. I meet the two men at the door, noticing another truck pulling up. The man gets out, asking where I want everything, and I point to the clean side of the carport. “Just put it out here. I’ll move it in later.” I look at a frowning Saylor in the doorway and raise my eyebrows in question at her.

  “I paid them to move the old out too,” she says, and even though I told her she could redo everything, a piece of me isn’t quite ready to let the past go. She knows this and fixes the problem, like she always seems to do.

  “Just push the couch into the dining room and put everything in the living room. We’ll set it up when we’re ready.” The man nods his head, avoiding even looking at Saylor. I’m sure it’s ’cause he won’t be able to focus on anything but her chest. Although she changed her shirt, this one is just as tight as the other. At least she put a bra on. Looking at her legs, perhaps I should have told her she needed to put some pants on too. Her cutoff shorts are so short, the pockets hang out the bottom of them. I like the way she looks, but I don’t want anyone else liking it.

  While the furniture is being unloaded, I unload the truck—taking everything to the kitchen while Saylor puts it away. I would rather she just sit down, but I’d be fighting a losing battle. When the movers are gone and everything is inside, I survey the damage.

  Saylor has more stuff than I thought she was capable of buying in such a short time. Paint, groceries, decorative shit, bedding, dishes, two sets of mattresses, two bedroom suites, a couch, a love seat, a table with chairs, two end tables, a bookshelf, and six lamps. My house looks like a fucking furniture store threw up in it.

  “You like it?” she asks, standing beside me. I want to answer, but I need to sort my words so I sound appreciative. Because I am. It’s just a little overwhelming. “I got rugs and stuff too. I even bought some pictures and stuff to do the bathroom. It’ll be perfect when I’m finished.”

  These material items mean nothing. The fact that she is standing here next to me makes this godforsaken place perfect. Something I never thought possible.

  “I like it. Thank you.” My words aren’t much, but she smiles.

  “I’ll cook for you tomorrow. Tonight, I’ll make us a sandwich, but I want to set up a real bed first.” She grabs a bag of stuff and heads down the hall. She is acting as if she didn’t just collapse in a grocery store and has a big bump on her head. I’m not sure what to think of it, but if she wants to act like nothing’s wrong, then I guess I should too.

  —

  I’m standing in the middle of what was once my old bedroom. Saylor never asked my opinion, she just did what she wanted and I did what I was told. I thought it would take longer to have the room ready, but Saylor surprised me with her ability to get shit done.

  It’s late, maybe even after midnight, but my old bedroom has been transformed into a new bedroom in less than a day. The room is now a bright yellow and the queen-sized bed we just set up takes up the majority of the small space. The floors still look old and worn, but they are clean and Saylor has a few rugs laying around the room. Two nightstands, two lamps, three candles, curtains, a white comforter, and twenty fucking pillows later, the room is complete.

  “Now it feels a little more like a home. I can’t wait to sleep in this bed!” Saylor is excited and I don’t know what over. It’s a damn house. But whatever.

  “I’m hungry,” I mumble because I’m an ass, I’m tired, I’m hot as hell, and I haven’t eaten all day.

  “Me too.” Saylor finally drags her eyes away from the room and to me. Her smile outshines the bright yellow of the walls, and I don’t think even the sun could outshine her in this moment.

  I follow her to the kitchen and watch as she makes us a sandwich, just like she promised hours ago. I lean up against the counter, listening to her meaningless talk that I love so fucking much. Love. Shit.

  “Tomorrow, we’ll do the living room and kitchen and dining room. It won’t take us long. The painting is the worst part and even that wasn’t so bad. I’ve already cleaned everything anyway. After I eat, I’m gonna work on the bathroom. I figure we can work on the other room last, or whenever you’re ready.” I know she is referring to Black’s room. I’m still not sure how I feel about that, but at least I have a couple of days to think on it.

  Saylor’s head has a nasty bruise, but the swelling has gone down and she hasn’t complained about it all day. I wonder if it hurts her.

  “What happened in the store?” My words catch her off guard and she stops midchew, her happiness fading.

  “If the obvious isn’t enough, I guess I’ll tell you again. I fainted.” She continues eating, avoiding my eyes. I need more and she knows it, but she isn’t giving in that easy.

  “You got something you want to tell me?” I ask, knowing good and damn
well what her answer will be.

  “When the time is right.” Well, that was an answer I wasn’t expecting. I’m beginning to wonder if she gets off on tormenting me.

  “The time is right.” And it is. Nothing she tells me is gonna make me push her away. I don’t care if she has head issues that make her faint and give her migraines. I’m a walking fuckup. Just because I don’t fall out in grocery stores or wake up vomiting doesn’t mean I don’t have my own issues. I’m almost convinced that she is gonna argue or just not answer me, when she speaks.

  “When I was a kid, I was in a bad wreck.” She has my undivided attention. I watch as she busies herself around the kitchen while she finds the right words to say. I pull out a smoke and lean back, waiting patiently for her to continue.

  “I had a pretty serious head injury. Migraines and fainting are a part of my life. I’ll have them as long as I live. I don’t take meds daily because I don’t like how they make me feel. I’ve had the fainting spells for so long that I’ve grown accustomed to them.” She stops and points to the fading knot on her head, but never looks at me.

  “This is nothing. I’ve had worse. It’s the first time I’ve fainted in a long time.” She avoids my eyes and I’m sure it’s because she is afraid of what she will find. She knows I’m a busy man. She knows her issues could potentially make me look at her differently. All I can think is that if she really knows me, then she knows I couldn’t give a shit less about her issues. I could tell her this. I could reassure her that it doesn’t bother me. But who needs words when you have a mouth like mine.

  I grab her arm, pulling her away from the counter that she has mindlessly been cleaning, and into my chest. And I kiss her. It’s my thank-you because she told me. It’s my reassurance because she needs it. And it’s my promise that I still want her. When she melts into me, I know she gets it.