Sinner's Revenge (Sinner's Creed MC #2)(4)
I return to the table with the drinks, and one of my eyebrows rise in question.
“Seven and Seven,” I say, setting a glass in front of her. A flash of surprise crosses her face, but she quickly conceals it.
“Why a Seven and Seven?”
“It’s what you want.” I take my seat, noticing the curious looks we’re getting from everyone here. Fucking small-town gossip.
“How do you know that’s what I want?” she asks, amused.
I grab my beer from the table, taking a pull before leaning back and mirroring her position. “Well, you’re not a fruity cocktail kind of girl and you’re not much of a beer drinker either.”
“Really.” Defying me, she reaches over and grabs my beer, nearly emptying the whole bottle. I ignore her act of rebellion, and refuse to speak until she asks me for what she wants. I can be rebellious too.
We sit staring at one another, until eventually she caves. “You’re smooth. But anyone could have simply looked over and guessed what I was drinking.”
“I didn’t guess.”
“How do I know that? Maybe you just got lucky.”
“Maybe.” I shrug noncommittally. Her nostrils flare with anger at my indifference. When she grabs her drink, I’m sure she’s going to throw it at me. But she simply sips it, then smiles. Challenge dances in her eyes.
“Okay, cowboy. I’ll make you a deal. If you can give me the real reason behind my drink preference, I’ll give you something. Something so hot and sweet, that even days from now, you’ll still be thinking about it.” She licks her lips slowly, her eyes growing heavy with lust and sparkling with promise. Her nipples harden at the thought, and my dick stands at attention when they bulge against the fabric of her thin T-shirt. Now she’s speaking my kind of language.
Images of her tits bouncing as she rides my cock flash in my mind. I lick my lips at just the thought of her * that I’m sure is sweet to taste and hot to touch. Before I realize it, I’m telling her exactly what she wants to hear. “You strive to be different. You like to separate yourself from the normal. You don’t like the idea of being stereotyped. Even if the drink is disgusting and you prefer a fruity cocktail or a light beer, you still get the unexpected. Because the enjoyment you get out of being unpredictable is greater than your preference for taste. So enjoyable that you realize the drink you chose really isn’t that bad at all.”
She sits silent. A little stunned and not afraid to show it. Eventually, she nods and raises her glass to me, drains it, then sets it back down.
“A deal is a deal. And I never go back on my word.” She smiles, but the seriousness in her words ring loud and true. So much so that even though I don’t even know her name, I believe her.
She walks around the table, leaning down until her face is level with mine. I’m suddenly surrounded by the scent of alcohol and something else. Cinnamon?
Without warning, she kisses me. When her tongue drags across my lips, I open to her. She explores my mouth for a moment before pushing something inside and pulling away.
Without another glance in my direction, she leaves. It’s not until she’s gone that I bite down on the hard candy in my mouth.
Hot and sweet.
An Atomic Fireball.
*
For eight years I’ve worn a Sinner’s Creed patch. A patch that symbolized the unity of a brotherhood that shared the same beliefs—club first. I’ve always believed in our bylaws. I’ve always honored and upheld them to the highest degree. I swore that, for as long as I wore a patch, I would abide by the laws my brothers before me created.
But after Dirk died, I no longer felt like a brother. I’d betrayed my club and broken our laws. I carried pride in my heart. I put my own feelings before Sinner’s Creed. I knew in my soul that my desire to kill was too hungry not to feed. I was going to make Death Mob suffer. But in the end, it would be my club that suffered the most. The debt was paid, and if I waged war, then Dirk’s death would have been for nothing. And Sinner’s Creed would fall.
I was aware of all these things. The knowledge was as familiar to me as breathing. Still, my determination and self-importance outweighed my need to carry on the Sinner’s Creed legacy. I felt like I didn’t deserve to wear the patch. Because somewhere along the way, I forgot its true meaning.
So I swallowed my pride. Hid my conceit. Stripped myself of honor. And bared my naked soul before my club.
I told them how much the brotherhood meant to me. How honored I was to wear our colors. How Sinner’s Creed wasn’t just a part of my life—it was the sole purpose of it.
I told them about the greed I was carrying—greed that overpowered me. That it had forced me to become selfish—not caring about how Dirk’s death affected anyone but me. How heavy my heart was for revenge, and how I knew I’d risk everything to fulfill that need.
After my confession I just stood there, delighting in the feeling of heavy leather on my back. There was a great possibility it wouldn’t be there for long. The decision to eighty-six me, or put me out bad, was a risk I took by going to them. And if they put me out, I’d have to carry that burden for the rest of my life—alone. I’d never ride with an MC again. My cut would be burned, my name forgotten, and my memory would be filed away alongside traitors, rats, and those who disgraced the patch.
But my club isn’t just a group of men who ride motorcycles and live like outlaws. They are a band of brothers who have dedicated their life to protect, respect, and uphold the legacy of Sinner’s Creed. And that includes everyone in it. Even Dirk.