Sinner's Revenge(102)

“Then that’s where we stand.” I give him a knowing nod that he returns.

“Now isn’t that sweet.” Diem’s sleepy voice fills the room. Looking up at me with tired, swollen eyes, she smiles. “Of the two shoulders you have, could you not have gotten shot in the other one? How in the hell am I supposed to sleep? This,” she says, waving her finger over my shoulder, “is my favorite pillow in the world. And you just had to go and fuck it up.”

“Well pardon me, ma’am,” I drawl, letting my southern accent shine through. “Maybe we can find another body part for the little lady to lay her head on.”

Smacking me on the stomach, she smiles. “I missed you.”

“How long have I been out?”

“Two days,” she and Rookie both announce.

At the reminder, I close my eyes. “I’m wearing a catheter, ain’t I?”

Diem nods. “That is aaaaall Carrie.”

I look over at Rookie, who tightens his jaw. “Aw, come on. She’ll probably still love you anyway.”

“I have no problem shooting the head of it off,” he growls.

I laugh, but he finds no humor in my joke. “I get it. No jokes about Carrie. He gets so sensitive,” I say to Diem, who frowns up at me.

“Do you get that defensive when people talk about me?” Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“Of course I do,” I lie, knowing that I’d find it hilarious if Diem had to put a catheter in Rookie. “Remember the guy with no kneecaps?” I ask, and her frown deepens at the reminder.

“You hungry?” Rookie’s ability to change the subject has me forgiving him completely, if there was any doubt that I hadn’t already.


* * *

I’m catheter-free thirty minutes later and I still can’t meet Carrie’s eyes. It’s just fucking weird. She’s unaffected though, proud to see that I didn’t die on her makeshift operating table that was actually my kitchen floor.

We’re eating pizza, everyone reliving the two days I was out. I’m surprised to find that Carrie had to slap Diem to calm her down. I hope like hell she sleeps with a gun. But the news is good for me. I guess Diem really does love me.

It’s the most normal my life has ever been up until the moment Rookie’s phone rings. He walks outside, shooting me a look on the way. I already know it’s Nationals. Following him out on the front porch, I hear the words “I understand” before he hangs up.

“They want us in Jackpot. Tomorrow.” I drop down on the steps. “Shady,” he says, and I glance up at him, getting a sick feeling in my gut at the look on his face. “That ain’t the only problem we have.”

“Shit. What is it?” I ask, waiting for him to walk around so we’re facing each other.

“Diem has to leave the country.” My face falls at his words. “Clark says it isn’t safe for her here. She needs to be gone in a week, tops.”

“How long does she have to stay gone?” He takes a moment to answer, and in his silence, I already know.

“Forever.”


* * *

“Forever?” Diem asks, even though I’ve already told her twice. We’re in my room while I try to break the news to her as gently as possible. “I’m no coward, Shady. I’m not scared of any of them.”

Grabbing her face with my good hand, I meet her eyes. “I know that. But it’s the only way. If you stay, you’ll spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder.”

“I’m not leaving you,” she says through her teeth, her voice shaky but determined.

I offer her a sad smile. “It’s only for a little while. I’ll come as soon as I sort some things out here.”

“They won’t let you leave. I know it. There is no out for you.” I didn’t know who she’d been talking to, but I would kill them if I ever found out.

“Let me worry about Sinner’s Creed,” I try, but she shakes her head. Not listening.

“I’m not leaving unless you come with me. That’s final.” Giving me a look that confirms it, she adds, “It’s my word.”


* * *

Later that night, Rookie and I leave Diem and Carrie inside while he helps me pack up my shit in the shed. No matter the outcome, I wouldn’t be coming back here. If Diem had to leave, then I was leaving too. And if the club wouldn’t grant me my freedom, they’d have to kill me. Either way, my home in Hillsborough would only be a memory.

When the announcement is made that I want out, I know he is the one who will take it the hardest. I dread telling him, but he deserves to be the first to know.

“I’m out, Rookie,” I say, taking a seat on my bike and lighting a cigarette.