Sinner's Creed (Sinner's Creed #1)(63)

“I don’t. I was told to follow her and I have been. She goes to this clinic and the club found out she was sick.” He pauses and I know it pains him to say it, but not as much as it’s gonna pain me to hear it. “She’s dying.” The sadness in his eyes is real. And I wonder if he has ever encountered Saylor, or if he is affected by her from a distance.

“How do they know that? Did she tell you?”

“No! Tick, the SA, he talked to her but all he said was that he was your friend. They were in the lobby at the hospital. He never went back . . .” He trails off and I pull my gun from behind my back. I place the barrel right between his eyes, scared that even though this isn’t his fault, his answer might make me angry enough to kill this innocent kid.

“Did he touch her?” I snarl, feeling a mixture of panic and anger forming inside of me.

“He just kissed her hand.” I lower my gun, the relief that he only saw her in a public place and that she wasn’t harmed, almost bringing me to my knees. The anger inside me dies. The panic dies. Saylor will soon die. My sadness is back.

“Get him to a hospital.” I sidestep the Prospects, and Shady is beside me as we jog to our bikes. Sirens are in the distance and I’m sure they’re not for us. Nothing neighbors the building, and the traffic from the interstate is loud enough to drown out any sound that might reach a passing car. But the noise is enough to have me distancing myself from the scene as fast as possible.

And there isn’t a sound loud enough to drown out the Prospect’s words that are screaming in my head. “She’s dying.”

—

As soon as we returned to the clubhouse, Shady put a call in to Jackson, ordering the chapter to keep eyes on Saylor 24-7. If any member of Death Mob came within a five-mile radius of her, they would handle it. It should be me protecting her, but I’m still battling with my pride, and my pride is still winning.

Other than a flesh wound on my arm, which I’m just now feeling, and a small cut on Shady’s cheek from a shattered window, we returned unscathed. Shady, sensing my need to calm my nerves, fires up a blunt outside and passes it to me. The familiar burn in my lungs is enough to calm my racing heart and bring me off of my adrenaline high. And enough to put me on one that will have me not giving a shit about what’s gonna happen when other Death Mob chapters find out that we just killed twelve of their men.

“This might create a shit storm and I’m good with that, but we need to talk,” Shady says, interrupting the silence and the smoke haven I’m in. I’ll never understand why people feel the need to f*ck up a perfectly good moment with conversation. I ignore him, hoping it will work but knowing good and damn well it won’t. “You need to go back to her.” Her. The one that is dying.

“Not another word, Shady.” It’s my final warning. I take another drag, breathing the smoke deep into my lungs, and hold it, letting this burn replace the one at the mention of her.

“You’re a f*cking idiot, Dirk.” Maybe I didn’t hear him right. Shady has never been this ballsy around me. I’m about to ask him to repeat himself just so I can be sure I heard him right, when he starts again.

“The girl is dying, Dirk. She’s dying.” I’m on my feet and so is he. I’m going to shut him up since he lacks the capability of doing it himself. But there is a gun pointed at my head.

“Just as sure as God made little green apples and I’m standing here, I’ll take your f*cking ear off if you don’t hear me out.” He is telling the truth, but I’d rather have my ear shot off than have to listen to him.

Before I can take a full step, I feel the skin on my arm shred just below the other flesh wound. “The next one will be your dick.” The sound of the gunshot drew a crowd, but I tell them to leave us alone. Reluctantly, they do.

“Okay motherf*cker, you got my attention,” I spit through my teeth. My arm is f*cking killing me, but I won’t let him know that.

“She loves you. I don’t know why, but she does. People like me and you, Dirk, we don’t get women like her. For some reason, you got lucky. So she’s sick and she didn’t tell you. Did you tell her what you did? Did she know that the man she was sleeping with every night had killed more people than Hitler’s f*cking army? Man, you’re so f*cking blessed and you don’t even see it.”

Shady puts his gun away. Either he is tired of fighting or he thinks I’ll stay here and listen. He’s wrong. I walk away, but even though I can’t see his face, it doesn’t stop me from hearing his voice.

“We all gotta die, Dirk. And we never know when. We take each day for granted. But you know exactly how long you have to make this life mean something. Don’t f*ck it up, Dirk.” I’m searching for a comeback. I’m digging for an excuse. But the truth is, Shady’s right, and I got nothing.

—

The last person I expected to see walk through the door of the Houston clubhouse was Roach. But here he was, in old, gray flesh. It’s been two days since the shoot-out and we’d heard nothing. For Roach to be showing up less than forty-eight hours after couldn’t be good. I stand to hug him, but we make no pleasantries. I follow him out back, where I find Shady and Jimbo waiting. Shit. This is bad.

“Turner and Hooch. Dillon and Festus. Fucking Bonnie and Clyde.” Roach is pissed. Jimbo is pissed. I’m anxious. Shady looks confused. He mouths “I’m not Bonnie” to me and I want to slap him. This shit is serious. And I sure as f*ck ain’t Bonnie.