Sinner's Creed (Sinner's Creed #1)(62)

“Plan B,” I say, and no sooner than the words are outta my mouth, the SA is talking. By the time he speaks the first word, I know our plans are about to change.

“Saylor Samson. Maybe you should just run on home to her. From what I hear, she needs you right about now. She sure is sweet too. She tastes just like oranges.”

I’m still turning around when Shady makes his first move and puts a bullet right between the eyes of the SA. Guns are drawn and shots are fired in a matter of seconds. I duck behind the jukebox, using it as my shield as Shady finds cover behind the pool table across from me.

When I hear the first click of an empty clip, I nod and Shady fires over his head while I stick mine out and focus on the remaining targets. I pump two shots into one of them while Shady’s reckless aim, used only for a distraction, drops three and has the remaining diving for cover. He keeps shooting while I reload, then stand, exposing myself, dropping two more while making my way to where Shady is.

The sound of Velcro while Shady unstraps the gun from his ankle is the only noise in the room. I only have a few rounds left, but I slide out the clip and push it back, making it sound like a full reload.

“Ready?” I ask Shady, my hushed word barely audible over the pounding of my heart in my ears.

“Yeah.”

I nod and we stand together, guns drawn, and face a room with several sets of hands in the air.

“Stand up,” I command, and they do without hesitation. They look like they are ready to die, their chins held high in the air with pride written on their faces. Shady scans the bodies on the floor, looking for signs of life and not finding any. I see legs moving behind a table and jerk my head for Shady to check it out.

“Gut shot. He might live.” For the first time, I realize the president and vice president are not here. And four of the five standing are Prospects. I look around the room and find that almost all the bodies on the floor are wearing brand-new patches. Their leather isn’t worn, their threads aren’t dirty, and none of their faces match the ones from the other night—other than the SA.

“What’s his rank?” I ask Shady, who pushes the man to his side despite his painful cries.

“Patch holder.”

“What’s his chances?” I hear the man yell in protest as Shady checks him out.

“Aw shit, he’s good. Lost some blood, but it didn’t hit nothing important. You want me to finish him?” Shady’s nonchalance shouldn’t be comforting, but it is.

“Nah,” I say before turning my gun on the only patch holder standing and put a bullet through his skull. The pride the Prospects once wore is diminishing now that they are looking at what could be their final moment. I should f*ck with them, but I won’t. They’re almost innocent. It pisses me off that none of them were packing. Their sponsor probably told them they couldn’t carry.

“Turn around,” I demand, and the lip of one begins to quiver as he obeys. I walk around them so I can look into the face of the wounded man on the floor. “Why are they prospecting when you have been handing out patches to everyone else?” He hesitates to answer and Shady puts the toe of his boot in his side. He yells and when Shady releases it, he starts talking.

“They didn’t come from an MC. The only way you can roll up without prospecting is if you came from a three-patch MC.” His information isn’t enough to betray his club, but if he answers my next question, that information will.

“Why are you building an army?” Silence. Just as I had predicted. He was loyal to a degree, at least. When Shady pushes against his side again, he talks but it’s not what I want to hear. I predicted that too.

“Fuck you! I ain’t saying shit!” he screams at Shady, who looks at me. I shake my head, a move I’ve grown accustomed to here lately.

“You’re gonna talk, but it ain’t gonna be to us. You seem like a smart man, so I’m only gonna say this once. If you f*ck it up, your wife and kids will be getting a visit from us. If you don’t have a wife and kids, we’ll get your mother, your father, your grandma, your exes, f*cking mailman . . . something. We will find your weakness and we will torture them in front of you. If y’all been talking about me like I think you have, then you know I don’t make idle threats. Your SA made this shit personal. And he f*cking paid for it. This wasn’t an act of Sinner’s Creed. It was an act of Dirk. You tell them that. If you wage a war with our club, you will lose. If the club wants to retaliate, tell them to bring all they got to me, I’ll be waiting.”

I turn back to the Prospects, who wear a look that tells me they are fixing to puke or cry. “When they ask you, and they will, you better let them know what that motherf*cker said to me about my ol’ lady. Remind them of the uninvited visit they paid to property of Sinner’s Creed. If you don’t, it’ll be your door I’m knocking on.”

I gauge their reactions and find the one that looks the most guilty. I put my gun behind my back and step up to him, his forehead only a couple of inches from my nose.

“Saylor,” I say, the name burning the back of my throat like a f*cking torch. His eyes widen and I know he knows something. “How do you know her?”

The man on the floor starts to say something, but Shady silences him. “Don’t lie to me. I really don’t want to kill you.”

He looks nervously over at the pool table, knowing that although he can’t see the man, he will know him by his voice. “Shady, explain to our friend over there what’s gonna happen if he or any of his brothers puts a hand on one of these Prospects.” I can hear Shady’s muffled voice and the man’s low cries. He won’t touch him. “Talk.”