Sinner's Creed (Sinner's Creed #1)(43)

When I came to Nevada and my mission was to kill a man who stole from the club, I was more than happy to oblige. When I found out he was a brother, I was even happier. I would make him suffer longer because I expected more of him. I had trusted this man, as had my brothers. But, when I found out it was Black, my anger was replaced with guilt.

I knew what Black had done all those years because I helped him do it. I stopped working for Black the day I almost killed him. It had been years since I’d been involved in the business, but I was still guilty. Telling the club was easy. I was ready to accept my fate because I deserved it. But, when I told them, they excused it without question. I knew they just wanted him dead, and they knew if any man should kill him, it should be me.

“Tell me how you killed him.” I look at Saylor, wondering what she could ever get out of this. She reads my unspoken question. Witch.

“I want to know so I can visualize it. I need that imagery to help me process everything you’ve told me. I want a happy ending to this story and that will give it to me.”

Every man dies. Every man has done something in his life to warrant him of it, but hearing those words come from the mouth of Saylor sends chills down my spine. I can’t imagine her wishing death on anyone, no matter their transgressions.

“I can read your body language. I know you’re pissed. I know you have hate for this man because of what he did to me, but he was all I had. He took me in when he didn’t have to. Even though he didn’t want to, he let me stay. He gave me what I needed to survive. He made me a man and I’m not proud of the man I am, but I still owe that to him. Right or wrong, good or bad, at least he did what no other motherf*cker on this planet wanted to step up and do. I killed him, Saylor, but it wasn’t like what you think.”

I watch her process my words and can see the disappointment she has in herself. Even from the grave, Black had the power to corrupt the purest of minds. Because it’s Saylor’s he’s f*cking with, I want to resurrect him and kill him all over again. And this time, I want him to die the horrible death Saylor was hoping for.

“The last high of his life he didn’t get from coke. I sat at the table with him while he snorted line after line of raw opium and heroin. By the time he realized something was wrong, he was already dead. Black, the only father I knew, the evilest man I know, the one son of a bitch who deserved to die a horrible death, went out the way we all want to. He went to sleep and never woke up.” I watch sadness form in Saylor’s eyes and I wonder why she pities him. “Don’t feel sorry for him.”

“I don’t,” she tells me, and by the way she is glaring at me, she means it. “I don’t. I just hate that he didn’t suffer more for everything he put you through.” Her words are heartwarming. Even though they pertain to the murder of a man, she says them in a way that makes me feel special.

Just before I melt into a pool of mushy vagina on the floor, she changes the subject. “Give me the tour.”

Saylor jumps down from the counter and walks up to me, looping her arm through mine like I’m fixing to take her on a f*cking stroll instead of a showing her a shitty little house that smells like varmint shit, or so she said.

“This was my room,” I say, watching as she walks around the room with her eyes closed. If she says it’s perfect, I’m gonna lose it. But she doesn’t say anything. I see her poke her head in the closet and then disappear.

“Where does this lead to?” she asks, and by the echo in her voice I know she is already halfway inside the hole in the wall. I walk in to see her on her knees with her ass in the air. Thank f*ck my shirt covers her. “Dirk.” She calls to the darkness and I ignore the thoughts of what panties she is wearing and focus on her question.

“Nowhere. It was once a closet off the bathroom, and someone must have remodeled and just walled it up. I found it by accident.” Flashbacks of days I spent inside the dark hole fill me. It was an escape from Black when I knew he was angry enough to kill me. It was a refuge for me and provided the only sense of security I had my entire childhood.

Saylor backs out of the hole, brushing the dirt from her knees, and smiles at me. “I like it. I wish I’d had a secret room growing up.” I’m glad Saylor didn’t have to endure the shit I did. The thought of her growing up in a house with a man like Black makes me sick. If she’d had a hidden room, she would have used it to escape her parents when she didn’t get her way. Mine was used to save my life.

“I’ll build you one if you want,” I tell her, wondering how in the hell I could do that at her apartment.

“Nah, I’ll just use yours.” Saylor walks out of the room and before I can stop her, she is over the threshold and standing next to Black’s bed. “This was his room, huh?” she asks, looking at me from across the hall.

“Yes. But I’ve never been in there.” And he has been dead for years.

“I think you should,” Saylor says, walking to me and wrapping her arms around my waist. I just stand there, letting her hug me without touching her. It doesn’t feel right—not in this room. “Hey,” she says, squeezing me tight.

“Hey.” Saylor’s hair is dirty. Cobwebs and paint chips are scattered throughout the tangled curls, and I stand there wondering what in the hell she will do to get it out.

“This is your house, Dirk. It doesn’t have to be full of bad memories. We can make new ones.” She pulls back, looking up at me, but she must feel like she isn’t close enough. She wraps her arms around my neck and lifts herself. I grab her hips and hold her around my waist, feeling the heat of her * even through my jeans.