I was aware of all these things. The knowledge was as familiar to me as breathing. Still, my determination and self-importance outweighed my need to carry on the Sinner’s Creed legacy. I felt like I didn’t deserve to wear the patch. Because somewhere along the way, I forgot its true meaning.
So I swallowed my pride. Hid my conceit. Stripped myself of honor. And bared my naked soul before my club.
I told them how much the brotherhood meant to me. How honored I was to wear our colors. How Sinner’s Creed wasn’t just a part of my life—it was the sole purpose of it.
I told them about the greed I was carrying—greed that overpowered me. That it had forced me to become selfish—not caring about how Dirk’s death affected anyone but me. How heavy my heart was for revenge, and how I knew I’d risk everything to fulfill that need.
After my confession I just stood there, delighting in the feeling of heavy leather on my back. There was a great possibility it wouldn’t be there for long. The decision to eighty-six me, or put me out bad, was a risk I took by going to them. And if they put me out, I’d have to carry that burden for the rest of my life—alone. I’d never ride with an MC again. My cut would be burned, my name forgotten, and my memory would be filed away alongside traitors, rats, and those who disgraced the patch.
But my club isn’t just a group of men who ride motorcycles and live like outlaws. They are a band of brothers who have dedicated their life to protect, respect, and uphold the legacy of Sinner’s Creed. And that includes everyone in it. Even Dirk.
Even me.
So the club agreed to turn their head and look the other way. They understood what I believed had to be done. And if any of my other brothers felt the same way I did, then they’d look the other way for them too.
The conditions were firm; there would be no negotiating their terms. I was responsible for my army. The club would allow me the time I needed to handle business, but they would come first. If they called, I’d come with no excuses, and perform my duties with no questions.
They didn’t want to be aware of my plans. They wanted no knowledge of my intentions. And if Sinner’s Creed was ever accused, they would deny it. And it would be me who would take the fall and give the ultimate sacrifice. It was a risk I was willing to take six months ago. And one I would continue until my job was done.
The first five months were spent creating the perfect plan. With the help of a few of my brothers, I’d done enough research to finally start the process of taking down Death Mob. And today marks the twenty-fifth day of their fall.
It’s been two days since I’ve killed. Two days since I’ve slept. And two days since that crazy woman gave me that Atomic Fireball that I can’t get out of my fucking head. But thoughts of her fade as I pull my black hoodie over my eyes and stare at the creature in the mirror. My thirst for blood is unquenchable. My need for revenge is overpowering. And my desire to kill has my heart pumping venom through my veins.
This is for Sinner’s Creed.
This is for brotherhood.
This is for Dirk.
* * *
I drive to Fitchburg, Massachusetts, to meet with Rookie and Tank. I was Rookie’s sponsor during his Prospect period. I’d taught him everything I know, and what he didn’t learn from me, he learned from Dirk. He’s my closest brother and only friend, now that Dirk is gone.
Tank is the sergeant at arms for the Houston chapter. He completed our three-man army against Death Mob to avenge Dirk’s death. He got his name from his size. He’s built like a tank and about as indestructible as one. With my smarts, Rookie’s heart and Tank’s size—we had everything we needed to get the job done.
I meet them at an abandoned store less than three miles from the local Death Mob chapter’s clubhouse. Every Tuesday night, several of the Death Mob members get together for a dice game. Tonight, there are eight playing, but only six will make it back home.
The plan is well thought out, but simple. It will seem as if they just disappeared. Once they pass the lookout point, Tank will set a Road Closed sign blocking all through traffic and any chance of witnesses, while Rookie and I do the same at the other end of the road. There will be no trace of their bodies, their bikes, or their cuts. There will be no witnesses, no clues, and no answers. But most importantly, there’ll be no discussion, no other solution, and no fucking mercy. These men will die tonight in the same cowardly way they killed my brother.
If they survive long enough to ask why, I’ll point to the tattoo on my forearm.
GFSD . . .
God Forgives Sinners Don’t.
* * *
I’m calm. There is no rush of adrenaline or heavy breathing. My heart beats in a steady rhythm. The only sound is the crackle of burning paper as I take a pull from my cigarette. I’m more than ready. I look to Rookie and nod. He meets my dark glare and clenches his fist around the throttle of his bike—a silent gesture that tells me he’s ready too. Headlights shine in the distance just as my phone vibrates.