Sinner's Revenge (Sinner's Creed MC #2)(71)

“Babe,” I whine. “Come on. We haven’t been on the road for six hours. I thought this was a road trip.” I catch Rookie’s smile out of the corner of my eye at my dramatics.

“Look,” she snaps, positioning herself so that Rookie and I both can see her. “This isn’t a field trip. It’s business. There are still a lot of people out there riding in your territory wearing Death Mob cuts. So I suggest you man up and jump on the kill Death Mob bandwagon.”

Before I can stop myself, I’m putting my foot in my mouth. “Like Fin? Is he on that bandwagon too? Or are we handing out special privileges?”

“Do I look like an idiot to you?” she asks, not at all surprised at my assumptions about her and Fin. I don’t answer because I don’t think I could say the right thing in this moment. “Fin is my problem. But if there is something you want to know, why don’t you just ask. Stop being . . .” She gestures her hand toward me, scrunching her face into a scowl. “So . . . Shady.”

I guess the pun is intended. “Are you working with him? Because I didn’t hear any gunshots after I walked out of the bar, so therefore, I’m assuming he isn’t dead. That is, unless you cooked him something.” I give her a sardonic smile, which she is kind enough to give back.

“Yes, I am. I needed a man on the inside. And he’s my man.” I want to roar when she refers to someone else as her man. Someone that isn’t me.

“You don’t actually think you can trust him do you?” I ask incredulously.

She rolls her eyes. “Of course I don’t trust him, you f*ckwad. But money talks and bullshit walks and life is one hell of a bargaining tool for someone who’s facing the death penalty. Do your job. Shut up. And let me do mine.”

I look at Rookie, who gives me a shrug. So maybe she does know what she’s doing. And in my eyes, she’d just earned herself some respect. But it means nothing if she isn’t aware of it. So I say two words and then vow to never say them again. Although, I’m sure they’ll bite me in the ass sooner or later.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Diem instructs Clark to pull into a drive-through, and I try to prepare myself for the clusterf*ck I’m sure is to come. Could we not go inside? Or eat somewhere a little nicer than f*cking McDonalds? Thinking back to our one and only date, I think she chose this place on purpose.

“Just get four number ones with Cokes,” Diem orders, and I’m leaning forward at her command. She might be the boss, but I can order my own food.

“Um, I want a number six,” I say, ready to kill her if she deprives me of the white-meat chicken strips instead of the soybean patty. “What about you, Rookie? You want a number six?”

Diem glares at me as Rookie plays along and looks up to read the menu. “No, I think I want a number eight. But I want Sprite. Caffeine stunts my growth.”

“He’s a growing boy,” I add, flashing her a smile. Even Clark’s lip twitches, and I’m not the only one that notices.

Her eyes slide over to him, her tone sweet as honey but no less threatening when she speaks. “What about you, Clark? What would you like?”

“A number one will be fine with me, ma’am,” he answers, like the puss he is.

I clap him on the shoulder and he tenses. “Come on, Clark. Live a little.”

He clears his throat, then pushes the button, ordering a number six for me, an eight with a Sprite for Rookie, a one for Diem, and then a ten with coffee for himself. I beam at Diem, who turns in her seat, mumbling something about us all being f*cking idiots.

While we wait, Clark fidgets with his phone, then lets Diem know the room is booked. What kind of outlaw books a room, over a phone, with a place that takes reservations? He probably used a credit card that’s in his name too. Or one that’s in Dorian’s name with a little inscription below it that reads, Underground Mafia LLC.

The food comes and just the smell of it has my stomach growling. I didn’t realize how hungry I was. Looking around at everyone else shoveling their food down, I guess we all were pretty damn hungry. Leave it to Diem to try and starve us out. Even though she’s eating faster than everyone else.

“Do we have some ketchup?” I ask, just to be a dick. My answer is Diem wadding up the bag and throwing it at me. I narrow my eyes on the back of her head, then search the bag and come up empty. She turns to show me the delicious ketchup on the end of her fry before giving me a wink and taking a bite. Damn, I hate her.

At the hotel, I’m surprised to find that we all have separate rooms—not that I’m complaining. But I’m a little disappointed that I’m separated from Rookie. I don’t completely trust Diem or the message on her phone, and I’d like to keep Rookie in my sights at all times. I doubt she would kill him, but I’m not putting anything past her either.

“Be ready in an hour,” she tells us, just before disappearing in her room. Clark enters his own room, not bothering to speak or even look our way.

“I think we should stay together,” I tell Rookie, and he nods in agreement. I shut my door twice, just in case someone was listening. We remain silent inside, while I throw on a black hoodie and add a couple more weapons to my body. Rookie changes into an outfit similar to mine with a full arsenal beneath his clothes. No sooner are we seated than I hear a knock on the door next to mine. I keep Rookie in place with a look and go to the door. Looking out the peephole, I can’t see anyone so I put my hand on my gun at my back and ease the door open.