Sinner's Revenge (Sinner's Creed MC #2)(11)

Written By: Kim Jones



Fucking Mick. He ratted me out. Although she seems smart enough to have figured it out on her own.

“Tell me.” My voice is low and gruff. Partly from the smoke and partly from desire. I want her. So fucking bad. But I won’t have her because she lost a bet. I’ll wait until she begs me.

“What do I get in return?”

“Nothing. No deal. No bet. Just you, me, and the truth. If you know so much, tell me.”

“That’s not how the game is played, Zeke.”

“I’m not playing games, Diem.”

Her eyes are heavy with lust. She wants me too. Every time I speak, her resolve crumbles a little bit more. “You first. What do you see when you look at me?”

Everything. She’s an open book. And she doesn’t even know it. But she’s fixing to.

“You did want me to win. You spend the majority of your life being the one in control, but you knew I wouldn’t let you control me. That’s why you’re attracted to me. You want to let go. Let someone else take the reins and let you be the submissive one for once.”

She doesn’t deny or confirm it. Her face is impassive. Her eyes cold and unreadable. That’s sign enough that everything I’m saying is the truth. “Go on,” she encourages. Who am I to deny the lady in red what she wants?

“You also wanted me to win so you wouldn’t feel like a whore. Even though you’re nothing compared to your mother, the similarity of the situation was there. The difference is you do have a regard for people’s feelings. That’s why you asked if I was married.”

“That’s enough.” She cuts me off, using that tone of authority she uses on everyone else. But this is the first time she’s used it on me.

“Don’t ask me for the truth if you don’t want it, Diem.”

“And don’t underestimate me, Zeke. I never offer anything without getting something in return. That’s just bad business.” The hunger in her eyes is long gone. Whatever chance I had of her begging for me tonight has been lost.

“So, what do you want?” I ask, wondering what’s going on in that guarded mind of hers.

She smiles, shaking her head slightly. Everything about her is back to the fun, playful Diem she was earlier tonight. Everything but her cold, unforgiving eyes.

“A beer.”

My guard is up when I walk inside. My buzz is fading. I take a piss and splash cold water on my face, sobering me completely. Grabbing two beers from the fridge, I walk back outside, ready to end whatever this is. She can drink her beer on the way home.

But she isn’t on the porch. She’s not leaning on the railing where I left her. She’s not sitting in the chair or on the steps either. I look behind me, but I would have known if she walked in.

When I turn the corner to look out into the yard, I know for sure she is gone. She didn’t leave a note. She didn’t draw a message in the dirt. There’s not a forgotten shoe or a bread crumb trail to inform me of her leaving. It’s the absence of something that makes me realize she really is not here. Regardless of the situation and how much it should piss me off, I find myself smiling. “I never offer anything without getting something in return.”

She’s a woman of her word.

I’m a fool.

I underestimated her.

Now she’s gone.

And she took my fucking truck.


*

I didn’t expect her to return it, so I wasn’t surprised when she didn’t. I stayed home the next day, making sure there was nothing inside or outside of my house that might link me to Sinner’s Creed. This included emptying my safe—forcing me to carry an extra bag filled with its contents on my trip. Well, everything but the untraceable guns, which I left behind. There was a bike in my shed, but it along with everything else was registered in Zeke’s name. Even the brand-new, sixty-thousand-dollar truck she took.

Stole.

Bitch.

There was nothing in my truck other than the registration and insurance papers. And my favorite fucking T-shirt. I knew exactly where the truck was from the GPS tracker that was on it. But I figured she knew that too and was waiting for me to come get it. I just hope she isn’t holding her breath.

On second thought, I hope she is.

A cab takes me to the airport, and by Monday afternoon, I’m back in Jackpot, Nevada, where I’ll be spending the next couple of weeks. Rookie and a Prospect meet me at the gates. I’m happy to see my brother. I’m happy to see my bike waiting for me. But it’s the sight of my cut Rookie pulls from his saddle bag that has me completely elated.

“Welcome home, Shady.” Shady. My fucking name.

The smell of leather engulfs me. The weight of it hangs heavy on my shoulders. With it surrounding me, I feel complete. My 1% patch is worn over my heart. The number thirteen is across from it. My side rocker states that I am Night Crew. My back patch says I’m Sinner’s Creed. The heart in my chest awakens, making me feel more alive than I have in months. The heavy beats pound out a message—I’m home.

I ride for hours, only stopping for gas. Rookie rides on my right, the Prospect directly behind me. Sometimes we ride hard—speeding at a pace that exceeds a hundred miles per hour. Sometimes we ride slower—taking the time to enjoy the view. There is no music, only the sound of pipes and the rush of wind.

By the time we make it to the bar with Nationals, it’s the early hours of the next morning, but the party is still in full swing.

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