Sinner's Creed (Sinner's Creed #1)(61)







16


IT’S SATURDAY NIGHT at Juke’s Joint and the bar is crowded with Death Mob. More members are pouring in from other states and like Roach said, they’re showing their teeth. And of course, ours are bigger. Only a few cars are out front, which tells me that the only citizens are the people working. They know enough by now to keep their mouth shut. If they don’t, I’ll remind them.

Shady pulls in next to me and I’m sure he is gonna say something stupid to really piss me off. I’m surprised when he doesn’t. I look over at him and his face says he’s ready. Kill-mode ready.

Inside, it’s the typical late-night pool hall. A heavy cloud of smoke hangs in the air, the lighting is dim, and the place smells like beer and piss. I do a quick count and I see seventeen patches. That’s two more than the bikes outside. So either someone is riding bitch or one of the three cars in the parking lot belong to Death Mob.

Behind the bar, a young girl and an older man are working. The owner and a barmaid. That accounts for the other two vehicles. Shady goes to the bar and orders a beer, then says something to the owner, who looks over at me, then nods and steps in the back, taking the barmaid with him.

Only a few noticed when we walked in, but we now have everyone’s attention. Metallica’s “Sad But True” is the only sound, and I can’t keep thoughts of her out of my head. I walk to the jukebox and unplug it from the wall, thinking that it would probably make me feel better if I just smashed the f*cking thing in.

The crowd has gathered closer to me, hovering around a pool table, almost closing me in a corner. Good. I like fighting my way out. I put eyes on Shady, who is still at the bar, drinking his beer as if it’s just another Saturday night. He is watching, but doesn’t look the least bit worried. The SA steps forward. I should have known his big ass would be the first one to say something. I’m glad. I like him least anyway.

“I like that song.” Really, motherf*cker? That’s the best intimidating line you got? Idiot.

“We think it’s about time y’all get outta Texas,” I tell him, hoping like hell that he takes another step so I can break his f*cking legs.

“We?” I hate when they try to play calm. What I want to say is, Control your f*cking breathing, dick, then you might actually convince me that you ain’t scared. But I don’t. I let him know so that there is no misunderstanding.

“Sinner’s Creed Nationals. They’ve sent me to ask you nicely to leave. You have your territory and we have ours. We don’t f*ck with the northeast and y’all don’t f*ck with the southwest. That’s the rules. If you want to expand your business in Arkansas or Louisiana, we can negotiate that territory. But Texas is covered.” That’s how you play calm, and my words are as smooth as satin. I promised to be nice, but only once.

“Sent you to ask us nicely, huh?” He nods his head, looking around the room at his brothers, who all stand stock-still. They’re glaring at me with their arms crossed over their chests. It looks like a scene in an action movie. If I were a laugher, this would be one of my shining moments. When I look over at Shady, he is smiling, fighting hard not to laugh. He sees it too. “So we can stay in the northeast, and we can negotiate for Arkansas and Louisiana, just not Texas.” That’s what I said, dipshit.

“That’s right.” There’s your confirmation, motherf*cker. Now, start swingin’ or get the hell out.

“I’ve heard about you, Dirk, but you don’t know shit about me. So, let me enlighten you on something. I don’t just tuck my tail between my legs and run. Regardless of what y’all think, Sinner’s Creed don’t run shit. Now, why don’t you turn around and walk outta here, before your little brother over there has to spend the next few weeks spoon-feeding you.”

I’m ready to put his head through the pool table when I’m caught off guard by Shady’s commotion. When I see him make a dramatic scene trying to get over to me, I know his sarcastic, smart-ass, goofy f*cking tactics are fixing to have us brawling. And I can’t f*cking wait.

“Dirk! Dirk!” Shady is serious as f*ck, pushing his way through the crowd toward me. He’s made a huge circle through all of them, shouting my name and mumbling excuse mes like he is trying to prevent me from doing something stupid.

“One minute,” he mouths to the SA, who looks just as confused as everyone else. Shady grabs my arm and turns me so that my back is to the group. I fight hard not to push him away, but I know there is an underlying meaning to his ridiculous f*cking behavior.

“Six are packing heat, others just knives and wrenches. Dude in the back, far left, has a couple of broken beer bottles. I don’t know about SA, couldn’t get my hands on ’em. I got one in the chamber, ten in the clip and a .380 on my ankle.”

He pauses long enough to look at me, and the excitement dancing in his eyes has me smirking for the first time in days. “If it turns into a gunfight, I can get us out the door, but we gotta leave on foot. That’s plan A.” He looks back and I glance over my shoulder, watching as he holds his finger up before turning back around.

“Plan B, we leave alive and come back later. Do it the smart way where the odds aren’t so against us. Your call, brother. I’m down for whatever.” And he is.

If there was a shoot-out tonight, chances were two of the bodies on the floor would be ours. I’d let my personal shit interfere with my club life, and now a brother’s life was at risk. So was my club. If a war broke out between Sinner’s Creed and Death Mob, Dorian would come knocking on our door. We couldn’t afford the heat with the Underground. I couldn’t disrespect my patch. I couldn’t shame my club. And I couldn’t bury Shady with his blood on my hands.

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