Sinner's Revenge (Sinner's Creed MC #2)(45)

“So you won’t be here tonight?” she’d asked, wearing nothing but a towel. She looked pissed.

“No.”

“And tomorrow?” Yeah, definitely pissed.

I swallowed hard, shaking my head as I told her the truth. “I don’t know.”

“You know, Zeke,” she snapped, losing her temper. “It’s not that you’re leaving, it’s the fact that you made plans with me first. I don’t like being lied to.”

“Diem, I didn’t lie. Something came up.” Liar. Well, something did come up, but it damn sure wasn’t the “family issue” excuse I’d been claiming for months now.

“I’m going out tomorrow.” Her voice was more controlled, but cold and threatening. “And I’m wearing these heels. And if your ass isn’t there, then I’ll be digging them into someone else’s.” She stomped out, and I just stood there.

It’s not like we’re monogamous. She can f*ck whoever she wants. That feeling of jealousy she had, I’ve never experienced. I wasn’t going to start now. I’m miles away . . . surrounded by women begging for my cock. I don’t need her. Let her f*ck some other guy. I don’t care.

I Don’t Care.

I DON’T CARE.

But for some reason, I can’t resist the urge to put my fist through something.


*

It’s night two of Chaps’s birthday celebration. I’m hungover, tired, and feeling more dangerous and lethal than I can ever remember. I want to kill that motherf*cker Diem dug those heels into last night. I want to crush his skull with my bare hands. Then I want to let her dig them heels into me, and dare her to tell me she liked him more.

Zeke’s phone buzzes in my pocket and I deliberate opening the message. Knowing Diem, it’s probably a selfie of her riding some random guy’s cock. With the idea of killing them both, adrenaline bolts through my veins as I open the message, already preparing her slow death like I have so many times before. But the message I see has me melting all over my barstool like a lovestruck f*cking *.


I didn’t go out last night. Me and my heels made a decision . . . We’d rather just wait on you.

I nearly knock Cynthia, the naked woman who’s been trying to get my attention all day, off the stool next to me when I stand and hit the call button.

“Diem,” I say, my voice low and thick and laced with need. I’m walking outside and away from the noise. But apparently, I don’t escape fast enough.

“Are you at a party?”

“Yes.” I don’t lie. I don’t have any reason to.

“Well, that’s just perfect, Zeke.” She sounds pissed.

“Are you mad?”

“Mad? No. Mad would be me frolicking through a field of flowers. Pissed off would have me burning your f*cking house down.”

“So . . . you’re not mad?”

“Not mad.”

“But you’re pissed off.”

“Very much.” Shit.

“What are you so pissed about, Diem?” Silence. “Diem?” More silence. I check my phone to see if I lost connection. I didn’t. “Hello?”

“I’m losing my mind,” she whispers, and I can hear her as she paces the floor.

“Are you okay?” A long pause.

“No. I don’t think I am.” She hangs up, and I ignore the women who beg for my attention as I walk back in. The guys call to me from across the room, but I ignore them too. I’m removing my cut as I find Cleft, who has a whore in his lap. I fold my patch, holding it out to him. He stands, knocking the whore on her ass in the process.

“I need to go home, Cleft. Tonight.”


*

I was a f*cking idiot. I am a f*cking idiot. I’d let thoughts of Diem being with another man boil my blood. The rage was so intense, I wanted to kill. Then, she told me she was home. At my home. Waiting on me. Not once did I consider how it would make her feel if she thought I might have done something with someone else. Now she had suspicions that I might have.

It takes me almost eight hours, but finally, I’m pulling into the driveway. The house is completely dark, but it’s not that late. I pull my gun from my back as I quietly walk up the steps on the porch. It’s a precaution when I’ve been away, but always a precaution when it comes to Diem. She’d pointed a gun at me once. This time, I believe she’s mad enough to use it.

I walk in and hear music coming from my bedroom. My eyes scan the living room and kitchen. Everything still seems to be intact. I sniff the air, searching for the scent of gasoline, but I don’t smell any. Thank f*ck. Maybe the house will survive after all.

I ease open the door to my bedroom and the smell of weed is thick in the air. She must have found my stash of pot and emergency candles. Every one of them is lit, casting a glow across the room.

My shadow dances across the far wall and on the floor, facing it, sits Diem with her back against the bed. I drop my gun in my underwear drawer just as the song starts up again. It’s bluesy, slow and the woman singing sounds almost desperate. She must have it on repeat. I look over at my iPod and see Girl Crush—Lady Antebellum displayed on the screen—definitely not one of mine.

I approach Diem like I would a frightened animal. She’s dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, but her hair is styled and those heels are on her feet. Between her fingers, she holds a blunt.