Sinner's Creed (Sinner's Creed #1)(17)
Most girls eat salad because they’re on a diet or care about the way they look. Judging by Saylor’s body, she takes care of herself. But she isn’t like most girls in any other aspect, and I wasn’t gonna stereotype her just because she has a good body. So I order her the same thing I order for me—a cheeseburger and fries.
When I walk in, she is just how I left her except her boots are off. She is propped up against the headboard, her ankles crossed, writing in a leather-bound book. A diary? People still did that? Social media seemed like all the diary you would need, but here again, Saylor didn’t seem like the type that would put her thoughts all over the Internet for the world to f*cking see. Just seeing her with a diary had me liking her a little more, although I liked her enough just fine.
“Are you allergic to anything?” I snap, then mentally kick myself for being such an *.
“Yes,” she says, closing her book and looking up at me. “Bullshit and politics.” She smirks. I’m allergic to the same damn things. Her sarcasm lightens my mood considerably and I take a seat at the small table, waiting for her to join me.
“Something smells good.” She takes the seat across from me and props her legs on the bed. She grabs a burger without complaint and dives right in. Not bothering to check it and make sure it’s dressed the way she wants. She isn’t picky. I like that.
“About earlier, ya know, at the store, I wasn’t praying for myself.” I stop eating, not wanting the sound of chewing to prevent me from hearing whatever she has to say.
“I prayed for you. For your safety and your understanding and your forgiveness.”
I’m confused and the wrinkle in my brow shows it. Forgiveness from him or from her?
“I think you are a very special person. You deserve a life with someone that can give you far more than I can. I hope you will forgive me for not being what you need.” Her eyes are full of sorrow and I wonder why she thinks so low of herself.
I’m already making plans to call Shady and get a list of every man she has ever had a relationship with. I will interrogate each and every one of them until I find the son of a bitch who has made her doubt herself. When I find him, I will rip his limbs off one by one and I will do it in a way that he will stay alive for the whole f*cking procedure. I want him to suffer.
Before I let anger completely consume me and fuel my desire to kill, I leave a part of me open so I can provide comfort to her. I grab my bag and pause in front of the door.
“You are all I need.” And I f*cking mean it.
5
MARTIN WALTON’S GRAVE looks like it hasn’t been visited in years, and at the bottom of the vase beside it, under the faded, artificial flowers, is a note attached to a prepaid cell.
There is an address on the note and a time. The address leads me to a trailer park, and I hide my bike off the road about a half a mile away. I walk the short distance to the run-down trailer located in the very back. There are no cars, no lights, and no sign that anyone has been here in months. The grass is tall, but there is a trail to the back door that tells me someone has been here recently. My target must be using it as a hideout and it thrills me that he thinks he is safe. Not a chance, motherf*cker. I look at my watch and it’s a little after midnight. This time tomorrow, he would be dead.
Travis Cool, or T-Man, had a problem with getting laid. Or maybe he just liked the thrill of f*cking a comatose woman. Whatever his reason for using date-rape drugs for his pleasure was wrong. He hadn’t been reported to the authorities as far as we knew, but I’m sure after he sees me, he is gonna wish he had. Prison would be a lot better than what I had in store for him.
He would likely have never been caught if he hadn’t f*cked up and messed with someone who had ties with the club. I don’t know who she was or what her connection was, because it didn’t matter. What mattered was that I was sent to do a job to avenge a woman who meant something to one of my brothers. Therefore, she meant something to me.
It happened a few months ago, but planning a hit on someone takes time. We had to make sure there was nothing that could be used to point the murder toward the club. Now that all the loose ends were tied up, it was time for T-Man to meet his maker.
This brought thoughts of Saylor’s earlier confession to my mind. There is no way that she and T-Man shared the same maker. Saylor was pure, beautiful . . . flawless. T-Man was scum, ugly, and unworthy of breathing the same air as Saylor. I would have to find out her religion, and his. Maybe they had two different gods. That would explain it.
My mission tonight is to scope out the place and plan my entry. I crawl under the back of the trailer and begin to cut away the insulation and cheap particleboard flooring. Once inside, I do a sweep of the place, and am gone within five minutes.
I return to my bike in a hurry, ready to get the hell away from here and back to the woman I know is waiting for me. I try not to let what-ifs cloud my head, but it’s pointless. What if she left? What if she decided I wasn’t what she wanted after all? No. She would be there. I know it, or I keep trying to tell myself that.
—
By the time I make it back to the motel, my chest is tight and I’m finding it hard to breathe. I grab my bags and can’t get the key in the lock fast enough. When the lock clicks, I take a deep breath and push open the door; expecting the worst is always best.
There is no denying that Saylor is here. Her scent fills the air and I can make out her silhouette, even in the darkness. She is sleeping. I close the door gently, cussing the f*cker for being so loud. She is on her side, her hair unbraided. She has showered and the dampness of her hair has tamed it somewhat so that it lays across the pillow. Fucking beautiful.