Sinner's Revenge (Sinner's Creed MC #2)(23)

Sickness fills my gut. And even the knowledge that I did this for Dirk isn’t enough to justify what I’ve done.

I pull my bike into the shed a little after midnight. Too troubled by the thought, I don’t perform my usual ritual. Instead, I torch the patches in my shed until they turn to dust. I make the call to Rookie and he confirms that everything has been handled. He sounds bothered too, and I hate that I dragged him into this.

“Shady, you did what had to be done. That’s what we do. It’s not their fault. But it’s not yours either. They chose to ride with outlaws. They knew it was a possibility.” His words do little to comfort me, but I thank him anyway.

I disconnect the call, my eyes drawn to the dried blood caked around my fingernails. I’d delivered perfect kill shots on all my targets—ending their lives quickly and with minimal blood. But somehow, what little bit of blood there was managed to find me. It’s as if it was placed there by some higher power to serve as a reminder of what I was feeling for the first time in my life—remorse.

I keep my hoodie pulled tight over my face and body to hide the bloodstained evidence when I walk inside the dark house. I don’t give the couch a second glance as I head straight to the shower. Watching the blood swirl around the drain as it fades to pink and then disappears, I wash the proof from my body—proof which reminds me once again that I killed two young, innocent men tonight. Six months ago, that could’ve been Rookie.

I lean my head against the wall, letting the water rain down and wash away my sins. But there’s no cleansing for my soul. It’s tarnished beyond repair. Even though I feel remorse, it doesn’t count. Because now, I’m thinking of an even worse death for the ones who forced me to do this.

I close the door to my bedroom before turning on the light. I hear a groan from the bed and close my eyes. I’m really not in the mood.

“Seriously? Go away. It took forever to get your stench out of these sheets. Don’t come in here and f*ck it up now.” I ignore her, keeping my back turned as I pull some shorts on. I turn out the light and climb into bed, anxious to fall asleep and escape from reality. “What the hell are—”

“Not tonight, Diem,” I say, cutting her off. There’s no fight in my voice, because I just don’t have the energy. “Please,” I add, hoping she gets the message. She lays silent for a little while.

When she speaks, her tone isn’t bitchy, and there’s the slightest hint of concern. “You okay?”

I think about her question before answering. I could choose to say nothing, but I find myself telling her the truth. “Not this time.”

She doesn’t know what I mean, but minutes later she shifts slowly to her side. Then her small, bandaged hand comes to rest on my stomach. And when I wake up the next morning, it’s still there—giving me the courage I need to push the shit from last night to the back of my mind.


*

I’m starving. Diem has to be starving, but she has yet to demand anything since she sent me to the store the last time. She’s getting better, but it’s only been four days and her movements are still slow.

Standing in the living room, freshly showered with her short, wet, black hair brushed off her face and still wearing my shirt, she finally makes a confession. “I’ve eaten everything in the house. We’re completely out of food. So, are you gonna go shopping or do I need to hunt for some wildlife in the backyard?” Considering she didn’t snap at me and demand I do it, I feel like she’s making progress.

“Yeah, I’ll go. You wanna make a list?” Pulling her hand from behind her back, she hands me two pages of shit she thinks we need. I scan the list, frowning when I come to the part that mentions what she needs. “I have razors,” I say, then continue with the other things. “And shampoo, and soap, and lotion, deodorant . . . Eye cream? What is this shit?”

“You have the shittiest razors ever invented. You must have got them on sale. Five hundred for five bucks. And the shampoo smells like a man. So does the soap, and lotion, and deodorant. And I need the eye cream because I don’t want to look thirty.”

“You’re thirty?” I ask, completely shocked. I thought she was in her early twenties.

She smiles. “Hence the eye cream.” Then she adds, “Oh, and I don’t have any money on me. So, I’ll have to pay you back.”

I roll my eyes. No shit she didn’t have any money. She must not have any clothes either. “You gonna cook?” I ask, looking at the list again.

“Yes. But don’t expect me to become your personal chef. I’ll cook and you can eat it or fix your own.” That sounded fair enough to me. It was nice to see Diem finally coming around. Who knows? I might actually let her stay longer than necessary. “And while you’re at it, pick yourself up a new toothbrush.” My brow draws in confusion. I’d just bought a new toothbrush.

“I used yours to clean the toilet yesterday.” On second thought, she couldn’t leave soon enough.


*

Six hundred dollars and three hours later, I’m standing in the kitchen while Diem and I argue over what goes where.

“Nobody puts spices in the same cabinet as everything else. You have a special place dedicated for spices only,” she says, speaking slowly like I’m a small child.

“It’s my f*cking house. I’ll put the shit where I want to.”