Sinner's Creed (Sinner's Creed #1)(5)

“I’m not scared of you, Dirk. Even if there was something left in this life that could scare me, it wouldn’t be you. You’ve always been my savior. You may not know it, but you always show up just when I need you most. You’re like my angel. And right now, I need you.”

“I’m no angel.” The word seems to lose some of its meaning by just being spoken out loud by me. It would have an entirely different definition if it actually applied to me.

“Please.” She’s begging me for understanding. She’s asking me for help. And I don’t know why I’m still standing here trying to talk myself out of it. Isn’t this more than I could have expected? More than a man like me deserves?

I hand her my helmet, which fits after all her hair is shoved inside it. To hell with the reasons. She told me she needed me, and right now, there is nothing else I’d rather do than give her whatever it is she needs.

The only seat I have is on the fender. My bike is not equipped for a passenger, but I make it work by wrapping her legs around my waist. The feel of her body is warm against mine, sending my senses into overdrive. Her scent, the feel of her wrapped around me . . . I’ve never experienced anything like it. And soon, I’m speeding off into the wind, letting it bear the weight of both our problems and letting the road lead us somewhere other than here.

—

There is a dock in Vicksburg that gives a great view of the Mississippi River. At night it is lit up with the lights of tugboats, and the only sound is the hum of the engines. It’s peaceful and often where I stay when I have business in town. The club uses this dock to transport shit, and I use it as an escape.

Many nights I’ve sat here, and Saylor’s latest mental image is what I’ve envisioned. It would be different having her here. Better. I hope. When I stop the bike, I can feel her shaking. I close my eyes and grip the handlebars, pissed at myself for letting her get cold. I’m a f*cking idiot.

I step off and remove her helmet to find that it isn’t the weather causing her to shake. If the eighty-degree temperature isn’t enough to convince me, the sobs racking through her body and the tears falling out of her eyes are.

I’m not a sentimental guy. I’ve never consoled a woman or held one while she cried. That’s not my job. My job is to take what I need, give her something equal in return, and leave.

But this is Saylor. The girl who has consumed my mind for over five years. I’ve spoken less than ten words to her, and she’s still the most important f*cking woman in my life. I’ve never been able to find the logic, and even now, I’m dumbfounded as to why she is the one.

I stand here, watching her cry. Not sure of what to do. Her legs hang lifeless off the sides of my bike, a result of them being numb after the hour ride. Her arms dangle at her sides, and she doesn’t bother wiping her face or pushing her hair out of the steady stream of tears.

I’m not good with words. I’m not good with crying. I don’t know what she wants or what she needs, because her eyes have become just as lifeless as her legs, and there is no way she can speak through her sobs. I’ve watched movies and I’ve heard songs that tell you how to hold a woman. I’m sure I could do it, but I have this ache in my f*cking chest that won’t let me do anything but stand here.

Minutes pass and her tears are still flowing, but her sobs have died. When she speaks, the relief is so great that I feel my knees starting to buckle and I have to change my stance.

“Dirk,” she says, and the ache in my chest vanishes. I wonder if it’s heartburn. I’ve never felt it before. “Can I stay with you tonight?” Her eyes are on mine, and even in the darkness I can see how red and puffy they are. I can see the need and the desperation there too.

“Yes.” It’s simple. She asks, I give. She wants this and I want to give her whatever she wants.

I have a room at the warehouse. It’s small and simple, but has a shower, a toilet, and a twin-sized bed. That’s all I need. I have a room like this in every town we have a chapter. Most are in clubhouses, but sometimes I get lucky and can find a place to crash off-site, away from the constant drama that comes with being in a motorcycle club.

I help her off the bike, noticing how her body seems to tremble slightly. It might be the fear, or the adrenaline of doing something dangerous, but whatever it is has no effect on the determination on her face. She places her hand in mine, walking beside me as I lead her to the building.

I open the door to the room and it is black. There are no windows and only a single light bulb that hangs from the ceiling. I pull the string and the light comes on, revealing the room, and I gauge Saylor’s reaction because I want to make sure it’s good enough. If it’s not, I can get a place at a nearby casino. She walks around the small space and she is still holding my hand. The room is so compact that my arm stretches everywhere she walks and I don’t have to move my legs.

I’m pissed again. She has been holding my hand and I’ve been so deep in my own f*cking thoughts that I haven’t had a chance to memorize what her small, warm hand in mine feels like. I relax my face in an attempt to not be so intimidating, but I doubt it works.

“It’s perfect. Can I use the bathroom?” The sound of her voice is soothing and calm. It prides me knowing that I’m the only one in the world who can hear it right now.

“Yes,” I say and release her hand. She smiles at me and it’s polite, but so f*cking rewarding. There is only a curtain that separates the space between me and her, and when she steps behind it, the loss of her presence has me feeling lonely. This is something else I will process on my ride or in my sleep. Right now, I just want the moment. I don’t want my mind clouded with thoughts of what is wrong with me. I just want to hear her voice and see her face and feel her touch.