Sinner's Creed (Sinner's Creed #1)(55)

“Yeah, we gotta keep them Prospects on their toes,” Shady mumbles, and then I watch his expression change out of the corner of my eye. His lips curl into a snarl and his eyebrows draw together. This hundred-and-ninety-pound man just transformed into kill mode. He glares into the eyes of the SA and I can see the fear forming in the eyes of the VP I’m staring at.

“The thing is, that’s my Prospect. Those colors he wears belong to Sinner’s Creed. He goes where I tell him to go. This is my f*cking town, my f*cking bar, and my f*cking parking lot your leader is throwing shit in.”

My eyes go to the president, who is fighting an internal battle. Does he look like a * or does he die? He just needs to look like a *.

Shady spits over his shoulder and sniffs several times. This is his way of trying to calm down and still look intimidating. “Now, two things are gonna happen next. One, you’re gonna move the f*ck outta the way so my guy can get us some beers. Two, one of you is gonna pick up that f*cking cigarette butt. And both of those things are gonna happen in the next thirty seconds.”

I challenge the VP with my eyes, knowing he is about to break if someone else don’t. I see movement to my right and watch a man walking toward us out of my peripheral. He is several yards away, and he is taking his time getting here.

“Or?” the SA asks. What a f*cking idiot. Shady’s smile is back, and when he looks at me, he is f*cking beaming—not a hint of worry or hostility in his face.

“Or my man Dirk here is gonna demonstrate how he got his name.” The SA looks at me, but I ignore him. Shady is full of shit and I make a mental note to slap the f*ck outta him when this is over. I had my name long before I even knew it was a knife. Payback would be hell.

“The infamous Dirk,” the man approaching says, and I’m sure it’s a distraction, so I don’t look away. “I don’t think we have a problem here. Let the young man through.”

The VP steps back and I finally get the chance to see who this peacekeeper is and what rank he has to override the president. An older man with a long white beard and a limp stops a few feet from me.

“Son,” he says, addressing a young patch holder next to him. Whoever this motherf*cker is must be somebody, because the look on the guy’s face shows that he is honored to be addressed by him. “Do me a favor and grab that cigarette. Your president accidentally dropped it.”

He looks at me, expecting a nod of acceptance from his explanation of the president’s behavior. He won’t get one. The patch holder disappears from my view, and the old man smiles at my unchanging expression. When he steps forward and sticks his hand out for me to shake, I take it. Because this man is owed my respect. Whoever he is. “Cyrus, Death Mob Nomad, southeast region.”

“Dirk, Sinner’s Creed,” I respond, his introduction answering all my questions. He was an old-timer with the power to overrule just about anyone because of his position and seniority in the club.

“These young cats these days. President ain’t but about thirty. Sometimes that patch can make you forget what’s more important.” He is talking about respect, but I don’t give him the verbal confirmation he wants. “We appreciate y’all lettin’ us set up camp here. I can assure you what just happened won’t happen again.”

“It would be for the best,” I tell him, not as a threat, just as a fact.

“There ain’t no problem here, Dirk, but we need a mutual understanding.” His seriousness is evident, but his face still holds a smile.

“We don’t tolerate disrespect. If you say it won’t happen again, then I’ll take your word. The only understanding we need is that we reign superior here. We’ve earned the respect of this town, and just because Death Mob wears a one percent patch, don’t mean they are exempt from showing it.”

“Agreed. Nice to officially meet you, Dirk. I hope next time is on better terms.” He waits for my response. He needs to hear me say there aren’t any problems, because if I don’t, they will assume this isn’t over.

“It’s all good,” I tell him, and when I feel my phone buzz in my pocket, I know for sure it is. I watch Cyrus until he disappears inside, then check my message. It’s from Saylor.

I’ve landed. I’m taking a cab home. I hope everything is good with you.

Glad you’re home. It’s all good. It really is. But I miss her. I’m calculating the hours it would take me to get to her, f*ck her, then be back here before noon. It’s not possible.

I miss you. A lot. How will I sleep tonight? Shit. How will I sleep tonight? The thought of having another woman sleep with me crosses my mind, but disappears almost immediately.

In your bed. Alone. Just the last word has me thinking of what I would do if I caught her with someone else. I’d kill him. Simple.

I love you. As I’m rereading the message, Shady decides to show up, and I shut the phone and glare at him.

“Something wrong?” he asks, and I think he thinks the look I wear is for someone other than him.

“How’s shit inside?” I dig my cigarettes out, avoiding his question.

“Introductions were made. No apologies, but I expected that. What did Cyrus say to you?” Shady hands me a beer and takes my pack of smokes, getting one out for himself without asking. Not that it matters, what’s mine is his. Except for Saylor, of course.