Sinner's Creed (Sinner's Creed #1)(82)
She talks animatedly about her plans to brighten up the room, and has already talked to the doctor and gotten his approval. She even contacted the art department at Jackson State University, and they promised to have her request filled by Thursday of next week. The local Home Depot would be donating the supplies, and she asks me to forgive her for using up some of her charm to convince the manager to do it. I do, of course, and then wonder if the manager was a man and if she was using the word charm instead of flirt to keep me from paying him a visit. I decide that the excitement Saylor has about her project is more important. At least the “charming” was done over the phone.
She wants ice cream, and I drive through Dairy Queen and am introduced to the Peanut Buster Parfait. It’s the most delicious f*cking thing I’ve ever tasted, other than Saylor, and we agree to make it part of our Friday post-treatment routine.
When we get back to Saylor’s apartment, Donnawayne and Jeffery are there waiting. Because we flew home and Saylor doesn’t have a car here, we borrowed theirs for the day. Shady was driving ours back from Nevada. He claimed he would be here in the morning. I sure as hell hope so. Driving a hybrid was sucking all the masculinity out of me.
While Saylor told Donnawayne and Jeffery about her visit, I stepped outside to call Shady back. But not before kissing Saylor’s lips and telling her to holler if she needed me. This earned me a sigh from Jeffery and an eye roll from Donnawayne. Even after everything, he still didn’t like me. I started to tell him that the f*cking shirt he was wearing so proudly was bought with the money someone paid me to kill a man that looked similar to him, but then thought better of it. I didn’t want to upset Saylor.
—
“What was wrong today?” Saylor asks while we are lying in bed. I’m rubbing her naked thigh, staring at the ceiling while she writes in her diary. I want to tell her the truth, but I can’t.
“How do you feel?” I ask, avoiding her question. She gets it and doesn’t push the issue.
“I feel great. I have tons of energy.” We both know that this won’t last long. The doctor warned us that the steroids would give her a false sense of well-being and to not overdo it just because she felt good.
“You still drinking?” I ask, catching a peek of her bare ass as she leans over and grabs her half-empty bottle of Gatorade off the nightstand.
“Yep.” She turns the bottle up and drains it. Glad I have something to do, I get up to get her another one out of the fridge. My job as a Nomad was to always pay attention to my surroundings. I heard things and noticed things that wouldn’t attract most people’s attention. So when I hear the sound of muffled voices outside the kitchen window, I know they are not the voices of Saylor’s neighbors.
Even though the next-door neighbors often hang out on their back patio this time of night, and their sound often travels through our kitchen, I can decipher between what is and isn’t familiar to me. And these are the voices of people I’m not familiar with.
I walk casually back to the bedroom and stand in the door, waiting for Saylor to notice me. Within seconds she looks up and smiles, then I watch her face fall and head nod when I put my finger over my lips. I walk to the bed, making sure to put my body between her and the window, and take her hand, leading her into the bathroom, where there are no windows.
“I need you to lay down in the tub. Don’t make a sound. There are some men here and I don’t know what they want.” I turn to leave and she grabs my hand, panic filling her eyes. “I’m coming right back. I promise.” I kiss her softly on her lips and leave, hoping like hell she listens to me.
I pull my gun from my bag at the foot of the bed, then poke my head back into the bathroom to find Saylor laying in the tub. Her eyes are wide and scared, so I shoot her a wink. She offers me a small smile, but my wink does nothing to ease her worry.
I close the door, and when I’m out of her sight, I put my gun up and make my way down the hall. I’m sure nobody is inside, but I don’t know Cyrus or what he is capable of. If he wants me dead, I’m sure he is the kind of man that will stop at nothing to get just what he wants. I grab my phone off the table, making sure it’s on silent before I punch in Shady’s number.
“Yeah?” This time, Shady must sense something is wrong because he is anxious.
“I got a problem,” I whisper into the phone, and the sounds I hear on the other end tell me he is already on his way.
“Six minutes,” he answers, and I hang up, putting the phone on the floor because there is nowhere else to put it considering I’m only wearing boxers. I hope like hell they don’t kill me tonight. Mainly because of Saylor, but I damn sure don’t want them to drop me wearing nothing but my f*cking underwear, and I don’t have the time to waste getting dressed.
The voices are now in the front parking lot instead of out back. I don’t know how long I have, but I’m sure that within six minutes, someone is gonna be dead. A knock at the front door has me nearly jumping out of my skin and shooting out of impulse. The thought of being caught off guard is more terrifying than what’s on the other side of the door.
I can hear my heart beating in my ears and I wonder why I’m so worked up. Maybe it’s because I’m so wired. Maybe it’s because Saylor is here. Or maybe it’s because for the first time in my life, I’m scared of dying. A knock sounds again and this time I expect it. Unless Cyrus is stupid, or just don’t give a f*ck about respect, he isn’t gonna shoot me as soon as I open the door. His street cred would go to shit for being such a *. Taking out a man like me should be done in a more brutal way. This will ensure you high respect and earn you the fear of other men. Shooting me at my door, well that just shows that you were too weak to take me on.