Sinner's Creed (Sinner's Creed #1)(3)

Usually, I didn’t get involved with relationship drama. This guy could be her husband for all I knew, but she was a chick and he was a dude, and I wasn’t gonna stand for that shit. I felt her eyes on me, and I didn’t want to look, but I did. The fight seemed to die out of her, and I knew it was because she knew I was there. I don’t know how she knew and I didn’t care. All that mattered was that she needed me. She needed me and she knew I could protect her. I could help her. She knew this shit, and she didn’t even know my f*cking name.

Adrenaline shot through my body. I could feel my temples throbbing . . . my nostrils flaring . . . my teeth clenching . . . my hands balling into fists. I was gonna kill that motherf*cker. She was telling me with her eyes she needed this. She wanted this. She wanted me.

I grabbed the prick by the throat and he grasped my hand in a shitty attempt to pry my fingers from around his neck. I carried him through the crowd of people with his feet kicking in the air, trying to find the floor. Once outside, I slammed him into the street. I felt that familiar feeling of power consume me as I watched him struggle to catch his breath. People around us were screaming and cheering, wanting more.

That feeling of power intensified as my fist met his bleeding flesh each time I landed a blow to his pathetic face. When I finally stopped, I stood over his body that lay unconscious on the crowded street. I turned to the cheering group of people, searching for only one face. When I found her, she was watching me.

Her eyes were slightly narrowed and her face turned to the side as she appraised me. I wanted to know what she was thinking. I wanted to know why she didn’t look scared. I wanted to know why she was so calm, acting as if she already knew this was going to happen. But her friends were pulling her back into the building before I could speak to her. When she made it to the door, she turned back and before she disappeared inside, her left eye shut on a wink. And then she was gone.

That was last night.

—

Today, I can’t get the images of Saylor over the past five years out of my head. It’s stupid. I know that. I’ve seen hundreds of women. I’ve f*cked just as many. This one I haven’t even touched, but I can’t shake her from my thoughts. Two years ago, I’d asked the man at the bar she was singing at what her name was. All this time, that’s all I’ve ever known about her. But in just a few minutes I will know everything, or at least everything that has been documented on paper. I won’t know her favorite color or what makes her laugh or what her favorite food is or any of that shit. I’m sure I can find out if I really want to, and I wouldn’t even have to talk to her, but for some reason, this is shit I want her to tell me.

I slam my fist on the table, squeezing my eyes shut in pure aggravation. Why the hell do I care? It isn’t natural for me. I have brothers all over the world, but I don’t want to know their favorite color or what the f*ck makes them laugh. I respect them, but it pretty much ends there.

I have to stay the hell outta Jackson, Mississippi. It seems like every time I come here, I see her. And every time I see her, I dream of her. And every time I dream of her, I dream we are together, and she is smiling. I’ve never even seen her smile, but I dreamed it was something beautiful. Like a sunset or a rainbow or a clear blue sky the day after a storm.

I clench my fist until my knuckles are white and bring them to my head, letting out a growl of frustration. Words like sunset, rainbow, and beautiful aren’t even in my vocabulary. My thoughts have me feeling weak. I need to kill. I need to hit someone. I need to control the crazy shit that’s happening in my head. Fucking sunshine and rainbows . . . What a *.

“Bad time?” I move my hands from my face and find Shady staring at me with a piece of paper in one hand and the other one held up in surrender. Good. By his reaction, I know I haven’t lost my touch. I like that men fear me, even if he is my own brother.

“You got my shit?” I growl, ignoring his question. This is one of the reasons I ride Nomad—alone. Stupid shit like unnecessary conversation.

“Yeah, man. I got it.” I snatch the paper from his hand. It’s not that I don’t like Shady, or that I don’t respect him. I’m just not much of a people person.

Everyone I come in contact with has strict orders from Nationals to give me anything I ask for and not to f*ck with me. The results will be nasty and guaranteed. The warning from Nationals is the only one they get. Most of them respect it and leave me alone, but there were always those that pushed the limits just because they thought they could. The unlucky bastards that didn’t heed the warning now have scars of repercussion.

I study the paper, pausing long enough to dismiss Shady with a look, and read the address until it is memorized. That’s all I need for now. The rest I can read later. I shove the paper in my pocket on my way out, passing the guys in the clubhouse without even a look. I give them my two-fingered, half-ass signature salute and I’m gone.





2


SINNER’S CREED MOTORCYCLE Club’s Jackson chapter clubhouse is located in the old part of downtown Jackson. The place where even the cops don’t bother coming. We run the whole block, and if you somehow end up on this street you are either lost, a business associate, or looking for trouble. Saylor’s apartment is only a few miles from here, somewhere between uptown Jackson, where the rich f*ckers live, and old downtown, where the projects are, and the Sinner’s Creed clubhouse.