Sinner's Revenge (Sinner's Creed MC #2)(58)

I drag my gaze to Diem, whose face is completely unreadable. I try to ask her with my eyes what she will think of me, but she gives nothing away. I’ve never seen her so distant. It’s as if she’s trying to remain unattached, especially in this moment.

“I understand that, Jimbo. But you see, I’ve already promised this to someone else. And I never make a promise that I don’t keep.” Dorian hands the gun to Diem, who offers him a nod. She’s not nervous or shaky and there is no fear in her eyes, only a burning desire for the same thing I’ve been wanting for months—revenge.

She steps in front of Cyrus without hesitation, then lifts her arm. And just like that—boom, the bullet hits him right between his eyes.

His body falls limply to the floor. A weight seems to lift off me at the sight. But it’s replaced by a feeling of remorse for Diem. Moments pass before she looks away, and her eyes seek me out. She holds my gaze, telling me everything she can’t say in words. I see her past. I feel her pain. And my soul rejoices with hers.

I know who she is. I see myself in her eyes. I realize that in this moment, I have nothing to worry about. Diem will not look at me any different. She can’t. Because just like me, my woman, my love, my Diem, is a cold-blooded killer too.





22


THE RIDE BACK to Jackpot is silent—and I appreciate the hell out of it. My thoughts come clearer at a hundred miles per hour down an open highway than anywhere else. The first one, I’m still trying to wrap my head around.

I’m alive.

I’d woke up this morning thinking it would be my last day on earth. Part of me was relieved. I would finally get that sense of peace I’d always longed for. But fate had different plans. Which reminds me of the second thought that’s in my head and weighs heavy on my heart.

Diem.

The Mafiusa.

She’s not a pharmaceutical sales rep—she’s a f*cking drug dealer. Her daddy’s not in prison—he’s the don of the Underground Mafia. She’s not powerful and persuasive and conniving because she’s a bitch—it’s because her life made her that way. And even though she’s not who I thought she was, I still love her. Maybe even more now than I did then.

She gets me. She understands my lifestyle. I’ll never have to hide anything from her. But in the back of my subconscious, I know that she isn’t like me. She’s more than me. She’s my f*cking boss.

I wait for the blow to my ego that never comes. If anything, I’m turned on by her authority. I was in love with the most powerful woman in organized crime. Yesterday, she was in love with me too. I just hope like hell that doesn’t change.

The club is still in shock over the turn of events. Relieved, thankful, nervous, and skeptical. But above all, we’re proud that justice has finally been served. We’re in Jackpot, at the clubhouse, on the patio. We’re not finished smoking our first welcome home cigarette when Chaps finally asks what’s on everybody’s mind.

“So, what’s up with you and Dorian’s daughter?”

All eyes turn to me, waiting for the juicy gossip like a bunch of women in a beauty shop. I feel a heaviness in my chest at the mention of her. Truth is, I don’t know what’s up. After she pulled that trigger, I wanted nothing more than to go to her. But, she’d warned me off with a look, then left with Dorian.

“I saw those looks she was giving you. You hit that or something?” Chaps pushes, and I level him with a look.

“Mind your own f*cking business,” I warn before stomping back inside. At the bar, I can’t seem to do anything to calm my nerves. I become more restless by the minute. Downing some shots, I wait impatiently for the liquor to help numb my brain, but nothing is working. Rookie takes a seat next to me, offering his silence as comfort and surprisingly, it helps.

“What if what we had wasn’t real?” I ask, loud enough for only him to hear.

“It was real. Trust me.” Rookie shoots a wink to one of the topless bartenders who hands him a baggie and some rolling papers. “Just give it a little time. Looks like she’s gonna need some.”

“No shit she’s gonna need some. She’s in the f*cking Mafia, Rookie.”

He shrugs, focused on his task at hand. “And you’re an outlaw. But there is good news.” He licks the blunt before rolling it tightly and handing it to me. “You can forget all that shit I said about it not working. Now she knows everything.” He claps me on my back, striking a lighter. Maybe he’s right. Maybe it can work. And three hits later, my problems with Diem are a distant memory.

Soon, the celebration that we’re not only still alive, but now over the entire U.S., is in full swing. Monica was told to call in some extra help for the next few days, and chapter members from all around were pouring in by the minute.

It’s an all-night party and in the early hours of the next morning, we’re still going strong. The women are topless, the liquor is chilled, and the music is good. But my buzz is fading and Diem is resurfacing in my mind.

Aware that something is bothering me, Rookie attempts to snap me out of my depression. “Maybe you should call her.”

“I’m not calling her,” I snap, not intending to be a dick but acting like one.

“Fine,” he says, giving me a few minutes of silence before coming up with another suggestion to ease my troubles. “Want me to get Monica to take you out back?”