Sinner's Creed (Sinner's Creed #1)(52)

I think of my club. Roach, Jimbo, even Shady means something to me. It goes beyond the patch and the respect I have for them. I never wanted their love because they never denied me of it. They love me because I’m their brother. All this time, I’ve loved them too. I love.

I’m not awestruck by the fact; I guess I’ve always known. Saylor has that look in her eyes and I know she is aware of my revelation. She could probably recite my unspoken words verbatim. When her eyes become watery and a smile spreads across her face, she doesn’t have to tell me, but I know she will.

“I love you, Dirk.” And it’s perfect.

—

Saylor seems shocked when she looks at her ticket and sees we are flying first class. I’m beginning to think that she thinks I’m poor. Not that I care either way.

I like how fascinated she is with all the extra shit that comes with flying first class. I like how she has a sparkle in her eyes and kisses me in thanks and ignores the stares of people around us. I like how she asks the flight attendant if the drinks are free, then tells her to keep ’em comin’ when she finds out they are.

By the time we land, she is buzzing and happy and has that sexy, dreamy look in her eye, and I find myself smiling down at her. A real smile.

I love her.

I find the gate that will connect her flight from Houston to Jackson, and for the first time in my life, I wish I wasn’t in the club. I want to stay with her. Just the thought of not being with her for three days has my stomach knotting and my mind searching for a way to stay. But it comes up empty-handed, just as I suspected.

“I don’t want you to go. I want you to fly with me to Jackson and f*ck me in the bathroom at thirty thousand feet.” Saylor’s pout turns into an eyebrow-jumping suggestive attempt at sexy. It works, until she hiccups. Shit. That’s sexy too.

“I have to. I’ll be back on Monday.” It was Thursday. That was three days, seventy-two hours, and too damn long to not see her face . . . smell her hair . . . feel her body . . . It’s official. I’m a *.

“Well, don’t tell me good-bye. Just leave,” Saylor says, turning her back, hitting me in the face with her hair in the process. I smirk at her, even though she can’t see me.

I grab her shoulders and turn her to face me. It’s an easy task considering she doesn’t fight me. I knew it was exactly what she expected me to do. I have only a few minutes left, and in the time it takes me to walk to my waiting car, I have to transform from a * to the Nomad for Sinner’s Creed I was before I met her.

I lift her chin with my finger and look down at her green, watery eyes. “Three days, baby.” She blinks up at me and gives me a sad smile.

“I like when you call me baby.” I lean down and kiss her softly, wondering how the f*ck I’m gonna survive without tasting her. “I love you.”

“I love you,” I say without hesitation. It’s natural. And I like the way it sounds on my lips. And I like the way she smiles when I say it. And I have to leave so my nuts have time to drop before I get to the clubhouse.

I hand her her backpack, then pull a phone from mine. “My number is the only contact in here. If you need me, call me. If you just want to talk, text. If I don’t answer you back right away, I’m working, but if you call, I’ll always answer. Let me know when you land.” She takes the old flip phone and laughs. This time I know what she’s thinking. And she is right.

“Let me guess, untraceable prepaid?” She shakes her head and puts the phone in her back pocket. “I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t exciting dating a criminal.” I smirk at her comment, then give her my own before turning and leaving her.

“I’d be lying if I said you make me not want to be one.”

—

I’m not surprised to find Shady behind the wheel of the black sedan that is waiting outside for me. His computer skills and ability to find out information on anyone is just as important on this mission as my muscle and power of enforcement is. I’m glad he’s here, because if anyone can put me in a shit mood, and pull me out of this Saylor trance I’m in, he can with his corny-ass jokes and goofy-ass personality.

“Lover boy!” is the greeting I get, and a death glare is his. “Right.” He closes his mouth and pulls out into traffic, passing me an envelope in the process. I open it to find pictures of men that I’ve never seen wearing a cut I’m very familiar with.

“Death Mob is making a move. They’re trying to set a chapter up just north of Houston.” Shady’s information doesn’t come as a surprise to me.

Death Mob is the second-largest 1 percent MC in the states. Sinner’s Creed is the first. They have their territory that mostly covers the northeast part of the U.S., where we cover the majority of the south and the southwest. Including Texas.

“I’ve done some diggin’,” Shady starts, and from the way he says it, I know what he found isn’t gonna be something I like. “They’re handing out patches like they’re f*cking candy. They’re taking MCs and turning them into one-percenters overnight. My best guess is they’re preparing for a war. Roach don’t want ’em in Houston ’cause of the business we got with the border, he don’t want to start a war, but my guess is they do.” My jaw clenches at the news. I can feel the blood moving through my veins as time stands still. Motherf*ckers like me and Shady earned our shit. It wasn’t given to us.