Sinner's Revenge(6)

It’s time.

10:14 p.m.—Tank calls from his lookout.

10:15 p.m.—Two members of Death Mob roll through at a leisurely pace. Seconds later, Rookie and I fall in behind them.

10:16 p.m.—Twelve shots ring out into the night, hitting their targets directly in the back.

10:17 p.m.—Tank arrives with a truck and trailer. The bikes are loaded. The bodies are loaded. The broken motorcycle parts are gathered and loaded too.

10:22 p.m.—A truck with a trailer, two dead bodies, and two members of Sinner’s Creed drive north.

10:22 p.m.—I ride south carrying two Death Mob patches with me.

Eight minutes. A foolproof plan. Twelve shots delivered from two revolvers that still contain the shell casings. Two signs that read Road Closed. Two bikes that will be disassembled and destroyed. Two bodies that will decompose in shallow, unmarked graves that will never be found. And two Death Mob patches that will burn with the same fire of hell that blazes in my soul.





3


AFTER EVERY KILL, I’ve made it tradition to drink a beer for Dirk while I burn Death Mob’s patches. Tonight is no different. I lean back in my one and only lawn chair, listening to the crackle of the fire and watching the colors of Death Mob fade from red to black until there’s nothing remaining but ashes.

The quiet here is deafening. Nothing surrounds me but woods and a dirt road that is almost always void of traffic. The place is nice, a one-story cabin with a big shed located on thirty acres. But even the serenity isn’t enough to keep my demons at bay.

Nights are hard for me. Bad things seem to always happen in the dark. My fear stemmed from my childhood. Restless nights in group homes seemed to go hand in hand with being a child in the system. Every kid in my dorm suffered from insomnia. We were afraid that we couldn’t be protected. Mostly because we never were.

Even after becoming a member in the club, I never felt safe against the darkness. I could kill in the night and stay in the shadows, but fear of what would come when I closed my eyes kept me from sleeping. The sun served as my safety net. And after all these years, it still does. So, I find myself driving back to town to sit in a noisy bar, avoiding the demons that lurk behind my eyelids.

It’s after midnight and the only people left are a few regulars. Mick the bartender greets me with a chin tip before handing me a beer.

“Let me get a shot of Patrón too. Chilled.”

“Make it three.” Her. I’d recognize that damn voice anywhere.

“Three, huh?” I ask, not bothering to look her way.

“Yep.” No explanation. Just a confirmation.

She takes a seat, adjusting her stool so that she’s facing me. Then, her legs are thrown over my thighs. I look down to see a pair of black heels covering her feet. Slowly, I drag my eyes up her naked legs, her short, black skirt, to her white silk top, and finally to her face. Gone is the glittery eye shit from the other day. She looks . . . professional. Like a naughty schoolteacher. Only thing she’s missing is the glasses.

“You wanna take a picture?” she asks, cocky as hell. She knows she looks good. Mick delivers the shots and she throws one back before turning to me. “Give me your hand.” Without waiting for me, she grabs my hand from the bar and pulls it to her mouth, circling her tongue between my thumb and index finger. She then covers it in salt, licks it, shoots the tequila, then sucks the lime.

I’m annoyed that I’m letting her control me like this. But I’m more annoyed that I’m so turned on by it. She’s so bold and sure of herself. Grabbing my beer, she chases the shot and then sticks her hand out to me. “Here, you try.”

I’m not playing her game. Instead, I use the same hand she did. She throws her head back and laughs, pleased with herself. “I knew you’d do that. You couldn’t resist my taste. Could you?”

“No.” My sudden answer catches her off guard. I watch her cheeks turn the faintest shade of pink before she recovers.

“What’s your name, mystery man?”

“Zeke.” Shady, Sinner’s Creed, Houston, Texas.

“I like it.” She smiles, waiting for me to ask her name. She’ll be waiting a while. I don’t need her to tell me her name. I just want to hear how mine sounds when she screams it.

“Another round, Mick,” I say, never taking my eyes off her. He puts two more shots on the bar. When she reaches for one, I catch her wrist in my hand. Rubbing my thumb over the soft flesh, I feel her skin prickle with goose bumps. Keeping one hand on her wrist, I pull her stool closer with the other until the backs of her thighs are pressed up against me.

“Now it’s my turn to give you something. Something so salty and warm that even days from now you’ll still be thinking about it.”