Sinner's Revenge (Sinner's Creed MC #2)(77)
I level him with a look, although I know he didn’t mean any disrespect. But I hold tight to my authority, even though every minute that passes it feels more and more like a fa?ade. “I might have taken a hit, but I’m still in f*cking charge. Now, unless you want to call Dorian to ask for a promotion, I suggest you do the job that was given to you.”
A sparkle of respect dances in his eyes as the corner of his mouth turns up slightly. “Yes, ma’am.”
As we drive away, I pull the jump drive from my back pocket. “This is a list of every Death Mob member old and new along with all their information. Family, background history, addresses, phone numbers—everything you need. I’ve been working for two years to get this. Don’t f*ck it up.” I hold it out to Shady, who offers me a smirk.
He’s so much better at all of this than me. The more power I have, the more I want to give it away. Maybe I’m not cut out for this life. But Shady? He was made for it. Taking the drive from my fingers, there is a sadness in his eyes. He can see right through me. I’ve always been good at concealing my thoughts, but I’ve never been able to hide them from him.
He knows I don’t want this. And he hates it for me. He doesn’t have to tell me, but the promise is there. I can feel it. He’ll do everything in his power to protect me. Whether it’s from my father. From my family. Or even from myself.
29
SHADY
WE MAKE IT back to the hotel and I get busy sending the files straight to Cleft from my laptop. I’m not sure what Diem’s plan is for it just yet, but I won’t move forward on anything until I have a say-so from her. Two years of enduring who knows what is a long time for me to just take this from her without giving her the satisfying glory. Whether she wants it or not, I don’t know. But it will be her who makes that decision.
She shows up to my room freshly showered, beaten, and looking completely exhausted. My blood boils at the sight of the bruise on her cheek. Fin deserved a hell of a lot worse than what he got. “I need sleep and it comes better with you.” I couldn’t agree more, and open the door further, inviting her in.
“I’m gonna shower,” I tell her, while she helps herself to one of the bottles of whiskey at the minibar. She grabs a cigarette from my pack on the dresser, lighting it before giving me a nod.
I take my time, giving her some space. I know she feels more comfortable having me here, but she still needs to reflect on everything that happened tonight. I don’t know what she endured in the moments before I got there, but the evidence on her face paints a picture that leaves me with a pretty good idea.
She doesn’t seem to be struggling with that as much as she is something else. I just haven’t figured out what it is. Maybe the responsibility is finally taking its toll on her. Maybe she is still feeling the impact of relief that her plan had been productive, even though it wasn’t smooth. Or maybe it was the sight of me stepping up and taking charge that has her feeling inadequate or doubtful. Whatever it is, she has to figure it out on her own. I can’t help her with that. All I can do is be here for her. Which is exactly what I plan to do from here on out.
Already tangled in my sheets, she flips the covers back, inviting me in. I crawl in beside her, and she curls her body around mine and I turn out the light, rubbing my hand up and down her back.
“Do you ever feel bad about some of the stuff you do?” she asks, her fingers rubbing circles across my stomach. “Like the killing,” she adds, her tone softer.
“I’ve don’t a lot of shit in my life. Eventually, you learn to block it out.” I frown in the darkness, realizing how much of a monster I really am.
“So it gets easier?”
How can I lay here and tell her that killing people will soon be second nature? She’s a lot of things, but she’s not a lost cause. She’s not me. “How did you feel when you killed Cyrus?”
“Euphoric,” she whispers guiltily. “But I don’t always feel that way. Sometimes I feel like I’m doing society a favor. Sometimes I assure myself that it was for the greater good. But, most of the time, I hate myself.”
My heart clenches at her admission. I can relate to what she’s feeling. “You remember that night at the cabin when I came to bed late and you asked if I was okay?”
“I remember,” she says, her hand coming to rest on my stomach in the same position she kept it that night.
“I killed two Death Mob Prospects that night.” My eyes close at the reminder, and that sickness returns to my gut. “They were innocent . . . just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I can’t tell you that it gets easier, because it doesn’t. But I can tell you that the only person who can make you pull that trigger is you. Don’t live your life haunted by ghosts, Diem. If it doesn’t feel right, don’t do it. Don’t try to force yourself to be a monster. It’s not worth it. Take it from someone who knows.”
I feel her hot tears on my chest. I don’t know if she’s crying for her, for me, or for the lives lost. But the effect of her sadness is still the same—it rips my f*cking heart out. “I don’t think you’re a monster,” she whispers, tightening her hold on me.
No matter how much evil I share with her, she chooses to only see the good in me. She has more faith in my humanity than I do. Even when I can’t forgive myself, she finds the strength to defeat my demons. There are many different definitions of love—she is mine.