Sinner's Creed (Sinner's Creed #1)(23)

I tried being a brother in a chapter. It wasn’t for me. Nationals knew I belonged, they knew I was a soldier, and they knew I couldn’t handle the brotherhood aspect of the club. I was valuable. Too valuable and too informed for them to let go. That’s how I became the youngest Nomad in the history of the Sinner’s Creed MC. I started when I was twenty-one, I was given my Nomad rocker at twenty-three, and I’ve been busting heads all over the U.S. and bordering countries ever since. Tonight would be no different. Almost a decade of experience was under my belt, and my skills showed it.

I push through the door of the clubhouse and make my way to the back, where church is being held. I stand by the door and respectfully wait for their invitation. Even I don’t bust into someone’s territory without asking. I never disrespected my brothers and I would break the knees of any man who did.

I am waiting for less than five minutes before I’m summoned into church. I usually hoped things would go smoothly. Tonight, I want shit to get out of control. I need to blow off some steam.

“Nationals have made a decision. I’m here to enforce their decision.” I walk to the president first and pull my knife out of my cut. There is no fear in his eyes, only sorrow. He hates to lose the presidency and I hate to take it from him, but he had his chance and he failed. * fell at his feet because of the P patch he wore, and it was his undoing. If you can’t run your house, you can’t run your club. He should have kept his dick in his pants and his ol’ lady wouldn’t be taking everything he f*cking owned. I think of Saylor and how if she was my wife, I would never have any desire to touch another female. I don’t have the desire now and I haven’t even marked her as my property.

Fury. Rage. Hate. That’s what I’m feeling this moment, and it’s directed toward the motherf*cker whose officer position I am fixing to take. Just the thought of some son of a bitch treating Saylor like this * treated his wife has me seeing red.

I cut the patch off his cut, close my knife, and deliver a right hook that breaks his jaw. I hear chairs slide across the floor and I know the others are fixing to challenge me.

The first is the sergeant at arms, who is soon to be the president. He yells something but all I can hear is the roaring in my ears. He hits me—hard, but I feel nothing. I don’t want to hurt this man, my brother; he is just doing his job. So I hit him just above his eye, in his brow. Blood gushes from his head, and while he is wiping to get it out of his eye so he can see me better, I speak.

“SA, I don’t want to hurt you, but I will.” He acknowledges my words and although he is still pissed, he doesn’t make any threatening moves toward me. Everyone is on their feet, even the VP, who is fixing to be in a world of pain. I go to him, and he knows what’s coming. It would be stupid of him to fight back, but he will because he is a man.

I don’t want to be here any longer than I have to. I have something to do, someone waiting for me, and the faster I handle him, the faster I can get back to her.

He throws his hands up, welcoming a fight. That’s his first mistake. He thought we were gonna square up. I don’t give him the chance for a fair fight. My job is to hurt him. Which I do. I break his nose, and the feeling of bone crushing beneath my fist is so f*cking satisfying that I don’t stop hitting him until he is unconscious. I pull his cut from his back and hand it to the secretary. He takes it with a nod of understanding.

“He is out bad. He was warned. Drop him off at his house and keep his bike.” I turn to the SA, who is still trying to stop the bleeding in his brow. Fear registers on his face when I pull out my knife. It isn’t me he fears, but losing his cut. That is one of the aspects that make him a good brother.

I cut the SA patch from him roughly and watch his eyes close. I put my hand on his shoulder, which is a show of high respect coming from me. I usually don’t touch anyone unless it is to hurt them. “Brother.” He opens his eyes at my words. “You are the new president of this chapter. You earned it. Don’t disappoint us.” I hand him the president patch and step away. “Appoint your officers. I will be outside.”

I send the two Prospects at the door inside to take care of the unconscious body of an ex-brother. It should have been a dead body. He told the club he handled something when he didn’t. The result cost the club money, time, and favors to the wrong people. The money, time, and favors were forgivable, the lie was not. A lie is a lie, no matter how big or small, and you don’t lie to your f*cking brothers.

I prop up against the wall outside and pull a cigarette from the pack, noticing the blood covering my hands. I should wash it off, but I’ll keep it a little longer as a reminder.

Church is over before I finish my cigarette, and the new president of the Oklahoma City chapter joins me and hands me a beer. His brow has finally stopped bleeding. A piece of bloody gauze now covers the wound.

“Officers,” he says, handing me a piece of paper.

I finish my beer with him before calling Nationals and informing them of the new officers of the Oklahoma City chapter. Now my business is done.

As I mount my bike, I get a weird feeling inside of me. One that makes me wonder what has happened to the man I was only fifteen minutes ago. Right now, I no longer want to be that man. I’m ready to be that lust-struck puppet I was this morning when I woke up. The reality should be sickening but it’s not. Because right now, I just don’t give a damn.