Sinner's Revenge (Sinner's Creed MC #2)(31)
Before I leave, I call Nationals and inform them of my decision. They’re not surprised by my actions, they’re proud. “You’ll make a fine Nomad, Shady. Now go to San Antonio and do the same.”
The news of what happened in Houston spread like wildfire. By the time I left, they were working harder than any chapter in the country. When I finally make it San Antonio, they’re throwing a party in my honor. I’m sure it’s in hopes to avoid having their patches pulled. But just to show them I’m not impressed, I called a meeting as soon as I walked in the door. Now the only man wearing a bottom rocker at my party is me. And just like I saw in Houston, respect is in the eyes of some of my brothers.
*
I’ve been gone for two weeks.
Two long f*cking weeks.
I’ve thought of Diem every day since I left. Not one moment has gone by that I haven’t wondered what she was doing. If she was wearing my shirt. How she was feeling. If she was thinking of me . . .
But my pride was too big for me to text or call. She must have been suffering from the same prideful issues. Because in two weeks, I haven’t heard from her either.
I’m nervous when I pull up to my house. I’m not sure what to expect. When I hear a glass shatter against something inside, I grab my piece from my bag and nearly knock the door off the hinges trying to get in. My mind races with thoughts of what I’m up against. An intruder? Has Death Mob figured me out? Has the club found out about Diem? Is there a raccoon in the kitchen . . . again?
Shards of glass litter the living room floor. The broken pieces were once a plate. Other than the hundreds of tiny, sharp objects, everything else seems to be in place. My boots crunch across the glass as I keep my gun up and make my way to the back of the house. Kicking open my bedroom door, the barrel of my automatic comes face-to-face with the strikingly beautiful Diem.
“Get that f*cking thing outta my face,” she greets, slapping the barrel of my gun out of her way before pushing past me.
“Well, hello to you too.” I turn to follow her, but she stomps back into the room before I can take a step—attempting to slam the door in my face. I catch it with my hand, unable to hide my smile. Damn I’ve missed her cocky ass.
Speaking of ass, she looks perfect. No bruises. No slow movements. She’s all sexy and pissed dressed in an outfit that I’ve never seen her in. Thinking back, I remember Rookie telling me that Carrie had brought her some clothes after our last incident. And I’ll have to remember to thank Carrie for her choice.
Tight jeans, an even tighter top, and lo and behold . . . f*cking shoes.
“What are you smiling at?” she snaps, filling her duffel bag with clothes. She’s leaving?
My smile fades as I realize that’s exactly what she’s doing. “Where you goin’?”
“Where you goin’?” Her shitty attempt to impersonate me has me smirking once again. “You wanna know where I’m goin’? None of your f*cking business. That’s where.” She’s so pissed her voice is shaky, and for the life of me I can’t figure out why.
“Diem,” I start, but she whirls around on me and pokes her tiny finger in my chest, managing to push me back a step.
“Don’t you ‘Diem’ me. You’ve been off for two weeks doing who knows what with who knows who.” She stomps across the room, then comes back, knocking shit over on the dresser as she does. And all I can do is stand and watch in amusement. “I’ve been here, Zeke. Stuck in this f*cking house eating carbs and watching westerns and counting the blades of grass in the yard. I’ve drove myself crazy while you’ve been partying and playing and probably eating steaks and drinking premium liquor and f*cking random whores in some shitty southern brothel.”
“Diem,” I try again, but the look she shoots me has me shutting my mouth.
“I will kill you, Zeke. I’ll take your gun and put a bullet in your head. Both of them,” she adds, her eyes dropping to my crotch. My dick starts to swell at just the sight of her looking at it.
“Calm down. I told you, I was with my family.”
“You think I give a shit what you’ve been doing?” she yells, and my eyes widen at her outburst. “Well I don’t. I’m leaving.”
“No, you’re not.”
The silence is deadly. But her look is even more lethal. “Excuse me?” she whispers, and it’s so threatening, I swallow. Then I check to make sure my gun is still securely in my hand.
“I said, you’re not leaving.” The words aren’t out of my mouth before I’m ducking. Something hard hits the wall behind me and I turn to see my iPod laying on the floor—the screen cracked and busted. Before she can throw the other object, a lamp, I move. Knocking it from her hands, I pull her to me, forcing her to look up at me.
“I’ve been with my family,” I snarl, noticing how my glare does nothing to intimidate her. “I didn’t think I would be gone that long, but I was. So get the f*ck over it.”
“Fuck. You,” she whispers, her breath blowing over my face. It’s intoxicating and I want nothing more than to kiss her. And something in her eyes tells me that she wants me to. So I don’t. Instead, I let her go.
I’m nearly to the door when her words hit me in the back, and pierce straight through to my heart. “I needed you.” I freeze, keeping my back to her so she can’t see the regret in my eyes. She continues to kill me with her words, completely unrelenting in true Diem fashion. “I asked you for help and your exact words were anything.”