Sinner's Revenge(91)

I’d slipped my cut on in the elevator. It was my name tag—letting everyone know who I am. Diem wears a name tag too—a white business suit that separates her from the black ties in the room. But it also gives her an angelic appearance.

I watch her stand, placing her hands on the table and leaning forward. I can see her tone, tanned legs beneath the glass. Fucking skirts . . . they do something to me. She’s portraying her role as Mafiusa, and living up to its name.

The steel in her spine . . . the grit in her tone . . . the ice in her eyes . . . She’s every bit of the underboss Clark said she was. I look over at him and see pride sparkling in his dark eyes. He’s a big man. Around forty years old. Now that I know the truth, I can see the avuncular role he plays where Diem is concerned.

“Come on, Clark. Let’s bust up this party.” I move forward with determination. I don’t give a shit how important these men think they are. The woman at the head of the table belongs to me. And I’m the motherfucker who will now and forever be standing to her right.

I push open the glass doors, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. They look down their noses at me. To them, I’m nothing more than biker trash. I’m beneath them. But to her, I’m the only man in the room.

Walking directly up to her, I ignore everyone as I slide my hand around her waist and pull her in so I can whisper in her ear. “You look fucking delicious in that skirt.” My teeth graze her earlobe before I release her and focus my attention on the men at the table. Their eyes move from me to her and back.

She has her lip between her teeth, fighting a smile. She can pretend to be unaffected all she wants. But I know she’s turned on, and dammit if I am too.

Clearing her throat, she addresses the room. “Gentlemen, this is Shady. He’ll be serving as my head of security and our enforcer.”

“Does Dorian know about this?” one of the older men asks. He looks like a character from The Godfather, and I have to bite my cheek to keep from smiling.

“Actually, it was Dorian who sent me,” I answer, taking the heat from Diem and putting it on myself.

The old man stands, buttoning his suit jacket as he does. “It’s hard to believe he would send . . .” His eyes appraise me with disgust. “. . . You . . . for such an important job.”

“My only job is to protect Diem, which I will do at any cost.” I give him a challenging look, but still try to remain respectful. Even though he doesn’t share the same courtesy. I’m sure at one time, he was a very powerful man, and I never underestimate an OG like him.

“You know Diem personally?” he quips, giving me a smile that suggests he knows something about our love life.

I offer him a smile of my own—a cutting one that suggests he mind his own fucking business. “I knew Dirk personally.” The air thickens with tension and the windows frost with the iciness in my tone.

“I see,” he says, taking his seat. Told that motherfucker.

Clapping her hands together, Diem absorbs everyone’s attention once again. “Now that we’re through measuring dicks, can we get back to business?”

The room returns to talk of production and distribution. I stand tall and proud beside Diem, who handles the meeting with the knowledge and sense of someone far beyond her years. She’s skilled in this department. Every argument that approaches the table is won in her favor. For every possible problem, she has a solution. By the time the meeting is adjourned, there is no question that she is in charge. And there isn’t one man in this room who doesn’t have her respect.


* * *

Every day this week is the same thing. Meetings last all day and sometimes into the night. The fall of Death Mob was inevitable, but with it came a stall in distribution. Sinner’s Creed chapters were sent from all over to occupy the East Coast, leaving our territory vulnerable to outsiders. Diem assured Nationals that we would not be compromised, and I knew she would stand firm on her word.

At the end of every day, Diem and I drive back to the cabin, which serves as our escape from reality. After an entire day of talking, we enjoy the silence in each other’s company. Mostly, we sleep, but sometimes I just hold her in my recliner. Or we sit out on the porch and get lost in the peacefulness. But tonight, Diem feels like talking.

We’re in bed, me sitting against the headboard with her head in my lap while I rub her hair. She hadn’t even bothered getting undressed, so I didn’t either. “My whole life I thought I wanted to be like him.” She doesn’t have to say Dorian’s name for me to know who she’s referring to. “But since you came into my life, I’m not so sure anymore.”