Sinner's Creed (Sinner's Creed #1)(93)
I take the thick black leather vest from his hands and take a moment to run my fingers over the threads. When I turn it over, a patch consisting of angel wings is sewn on the left side, and on the right Saylor’s name is stitched in white.
Before I met Saylor, I was just a Nomad. Now both of my worlds have collided and in my hand I hold the proof. Despite my attempts to shield Saylor from the violence of the club, she opened her heart and our home to Sinner’s Creed.
She never asked why they did what they did. She never passed judgment on their lifestyle choice either. She accepted them for the men that they were, not the patch they wore.
That diamond-shaped 1% patch I wear stands for something. It signifies that I am a part of the 1 percent of bikers that are outlaws. The 1 percent that isn’t afraid of breaking the rules. The 1 percent that serves as their own judge and jury. And that patch is worn over my heart, serving as the only thing that’s kept me alive, even when I felt broken inside. Everyone good in this world has a heart that pumps blood, and mine pumped venom. Until now. Now it is full, whole, and completely filled with everything Saylor Samson.
I turn to Saylor, who is all smiles and now fully dressed in leather. She’s beautiful. I want her to wear my patch, but more importantly, I want her to know what it means. And I want her to accept it as my vow to always protect her.
“I want to give you something,” I say, fighting hard to keep my emotions in check. She walks closer, her eyes shining bright as they land on the cut I hold in my hands.
“I think I’ve loved you from the first moment I saw you all those years ago. I didn’t know what love was, but you showed me. You saved me, Saylor. You’re more than I ever could have hoped for in this life.” Her eyes well up and I have to take a moment to fight my own tears.
“I can marry you. I can give you any ring your heart desires. But to me, this means so much more. In my world, Saylor, men like me don’t find women like you. We’re born as rejects, throwaways, and victims of society. You’ve given men like me hope. You’ve proven that we are capable of love. And in return, I want to give you something that proves my love to you.
“This is not just a token of my love, but my vow to always be your man. I’ll protect you, take care of you, and devote my life to making you happy. Saylor Samson, will you do me the honor of being my ol’ lady and wearing my patch?”
She walks closer, running her fingers over the threads, pausing to trace each stitch in my name, the angel wings that signify that, even in death, she will be my angel, always riding on the right shoulder of her man. I don’t have to explain the significance of these patches; her knowing smile tells me she understands.
She turns and I slip the cut over her shoulders. She sighs at the feel of the heavy leather. When she turns to face me, tears fall down her cheeks, and her smile lights the world around us. I already know what she is going to say, but I long to hear the words.
“It’s perfect.”
—
The woman I love and the club I’m devoted to are no longer two different things. We are one. Her patches signify that she belongs to me, and that I belong to her. I am Dirk, Nomad National for Sinner’s Creed MC, and my soul mate is not just the woman I love or the light in my life, she is Saylor, property of Sinner’s Creed Nomad National Dirk. And now, my life is complete.
—
Saylor loved the ride and even though she was frozen when we got home, she asked if we could go again. Regretfully, I had to decline. I don’t know if Shady really forgot, or if he was just being a dickhead, but that bag didn’t consist of any leathers for me.
Our first ride together with our colors on would definitely be memorable. Saylor fell in love with the cut, and now that we’re home, she refuses to take it off. I’m still thawing out when she asks Shady to take our picture. She glares at me when I don’t smile, and I want to explain to her that I can’t, but she doesn’t give me a chance.
So the picture shows her looking exceptionally hot in leather chaps, a jacket, her patch, knee-high boots, and a black head scarf, and I look constipated. Shady thinks it’s a great picture. When my hands thaw out, I’m going to choke him.
Because Saylor is in such a good mood, I say yes to everything she asks that doesn’t consist of riding in freezing temperatures. So when she asks if I will eat spaghetti for supper, I say yes. When she asks if I’ll watch I Love Lucy with her, I say yes. When she asks if I’ll shower with her, of course, I say yes. And when we are laying in bed and she asks me to make love to her, I say yes, but this time I don’t tell her. I show her.
There is a candle flickering in the room, providing the perfect lighting for my plans. I want to give her what her body craves, what her words ask for, and what her heart desires. And I want to do it with an intimacy that neither one of us has ever experienced.
“You’re sure?” I ask her, already knowing that she is. She nods, her eyes wide and her breath ragged. It’s like the first time all over again, but so much better. Saylor lays next to me in my T-shirt and a pair of panties that I’ve yet to uncover.
I kiss her forehead, cradling her face in my hands, then kiss her lips softly. She is already writhing beneath me and I know she shares the same thought I do; it’s been too f*cking long.
I kneel between her legs, lifting one up so I kiss the instep of her foot. My tongue trails its way up her right leg to the inside of her thigh, then across to the other and back down to her left foot. Her skin is satin beneath my tongue, the lack of hair making it smooth and responsive to my touch.