Sin

by Torrie Robles

  I’ve been resting and recuperating at Bianca’s for two weeks, taking care of myself, without the fear of upsetting anyone. I'm not walking around on eggshells or catching myself before I speak. Two weeks, and it’s been wonderful. Throughout the whole time, I’ve slept in Sienna’s room exactly zero nights. I can’t take up the space of someone who should be there, or someone that was so loved. I refuse to do it. It feels like I’d be overstepping. Like I’m trying to be someone, I’m not. I don’t want to take over Sienna’s life. Bianca, God love her, understood, so she made up the pullout in the office for me instead. Sin, when hearing the news didn’t say a word. Then, what can he say?

  The times that Hawk has come over, we’ve talked. He told me a little about his background, his mom and the fact that she left when he was younger. I guess you can say that we’re becoming friends. Hawk isn’t the man that I want to get closer to, but I wasn't fussy when it came to whom I spent my time with. I guess you could say I’ve been feeling lonely. Hawk’s a genuinely nice guy. He hasn’t allowed club life to harden him like it has Cut or even Lick.

  Sin’s asked me to help at the shop so he could get some work done on the bikes. It’s been small things like accounting and filing but it’s nice to feel useful. I have a feeling that request was Bianca’s doing and not his. But I took his offer. It helps to get out of the house. There’s even been a handful of times when it’s been just him and me. Times when he’s surprised me and given me the courage to do things I never thought I’d do.

  *****

  “Let’s go. Get dressed.” Sin is standing in the doorway to my room. Like the days before, he’s wearing a tight fitted t-shirt, worn denim jeans and his black boots. His dark brown hair is mussed like he normally wears it. I’ve found that he run his hands through his hair a lot. It’s his tell when he’s stressed, worried, or when he doesn’t want to talk about certain things.

  “Where are we going?” I ask as I rub the sleep from my eyes. When I open them, I find him staring at me. Looking down, the tank top I'm wearing appears to be a bit more sheer than I remember. The pink of my pebbled nipples are on full display. “Eyes up here, please.” I pull the sheets, covering myself up.

  He smirks. “I thought you’d like to get out of here for a while. Change of scenery.”

  “Alright, give me a minute to get ready.”

  “Okay.” He says, not moving.

  I laugh. “I kinda need you to leave so I can get ready.”

  “Oh, right. I’ll be in the kitchen.” He turns and leaves my room.

  “I’m not getting on that.” I say as he walks to his bike. “Where’s your truck?” I’ve ridden in his truck before. I know he has one.

  “That’s not my truck. It’s Hawk’s, hence the bike. Come on, sugar.” He swings his leg over the bike and sits down. He produces a helmet from the side compartment and hands it to me.

  “I can’t, Sin. Can’t we ask your mom to borrow her car or something?”

  “I’m not asking my mama to borrow her car. I’m not a kid, Savannah. I’ve ridden motorcycles from the moment I could walk. This right here” he smacks the metal of the gas tank, “is like an appendage for me. It’s natural, this bike. It’s part of who I am.”

  My mind races with the reasons why this is a bad idea. It’s not just me that I have to worry about. But then, he doesn’t know that, does he? Maybe I should just tell him why I can’t get on the bike.

  “Did your mom always ride with your dad?” I ask, still standing in the same spot.

  He drops his hand with the helmet in it. “Yes, why?”

  “Always? Like all the time, what about when you guys were little.”

  He shakes his head. “Well obviously they couldn’t take us on the bike with them. But she rode up until he wasn’t here anymore.” I still wasn’t aware of the event that led to Devin’s death, just that it was club related and that I would find out whenever he felt I needed to know. Always an outsider.

  “So this is safe.” I point to the bike.

  “It’s safe, sugar. Don’t you trust me?” Doubt flashed in his eyes. The truth of the matter is that yes; I do trust him.

  “Yes.”

  “Well then, get on.” He raises his hand again, handing me the helmet.

  I grab the helmet and place it firmly on my head, buckling the strap under my chin as tight as I can get it.

  “Here.” He grabs me by the wrist, pulling me closer. I can’t bring myself to look into his eyes as he checks the helmet, so my eyes wonder over his shoulder to the clubhouse that isn’t so far from Bianca’s house. Standing in the driveway are a few women. Hands crossed over their chests, hips popped. I knew who they were. Bianca had told me the ins and outs of the club. They were the club whores.

  “I don’t think they like me.” I say as he tugs on my strap, making sure that it’s secure.

  “They don’t matter. The faster you understand that, the better you’ll be.”

  “They can say the same about me.” My eyes fall onto his face.

  “You matter. The faster you understand that, the better you’ll be.” He touches the hair that is hanging from under my helmet and runs his fingers through it, making my scalp tingle. I’ve always liked the feel of when my hair is being played with. My eyes flutter closed as he continues. “Are you ready, Savannah?” He asks in a low throaty tone. The sound almost makes me think that I affect him as much as he affects me.

  “Yes.” I answer, opening my eyes.

  “Then get on, sugar. Wrap those arms around me, hold tight and don’t ever let go.”

  Sin sped out of the driveway that day; he whipped through traffic and drove faster than I’d ever done. He showed me the beauty that is New Mexico and I instantly fell in love with the splendor of the desert. The entire day I kept my arms wrapped around his waist, my legs pressed into his and my cheek resting on his back. I had never felt safer.

  *****

  Bianca has told me repeatedly not to take his lack of presence personally. The club’s been busy, so he’s been busy. Sin is working hard, trying to get Fury noticed, trying to make a name for himself. He wants to be more than just a MC member. Bianca told me that if her husband were still alive, Sin wouldn’t be here, at home. He would be doing anything else other than club business, but loyalty can have a downfall, and for Sin, that is his happiness.

  During my time healing, Bianca and I have talked, shared, and had some good discussions. Even though she’s a mom, she’s not my mom, so sharing with her is easy. I don’t live in the fear that I’ve let her down, not that I feel that I’ve let my own mother down. I’ve spoken to my parents. I broke down and told my dad what had been going on with Tyson all these years. As I had feared, he blamed himself for not protecting me. He may have been in bigger shock than my mom was. He really had a hard time believing it. Not that he didn’t believe me, because he did, but I think it was more of the fact that he didn’t see anything wrong or question the changes that were happening in my life. My mother cried again, blaming herself for not seeing it. Putting herself down for not being the mother, I deserved. It’s not her fault. None of this was on her; I’m an adult, a grown woman, one who had a brain. My life and the way I’d been living was one hundred percent my fault and it is my responsibility to change it.

  My face is no longer swollen; my lips no longer split and cracked. The bruising has faded, but not quite disappeared. I’m expecting that to happen in the next few days. My body no longer sore.

  I haven’t told Bianca or anyone about the baby. I'm not sure what to say, but it’s almost as if she knows. Mother’s instinct, I guess, because without asking she’s been giving me vitamins in the morning with the full breakfast she cooks for me. She watches me and nods when I take the pills. She's probably the most understanding person I know.

  Last night when I turned in, I finally looked up my cycle. I know that I should have done it before now, but I felt that knowing the numbers would make my pregnancy more real than I was ready to accept. From w
hat the numbers says, I'm just now ending my first trimester. It says that nausea is supposed to be diminished now, but the thing is, it’s just now getting bad for me. It seems to help if I lie down for about twenty minutes after I eat.

  I know that I need to figure out what to do with my life, what plans I need to make and where I am going to live. I can’t continue to stay and be a burden on the people who have saved me. I need to start my own life, now. Live it the way I want. “I think it’s time.” I tell Bianca when I walk into the living room.

  “Time for what, mija?”

  “For a change.” I play with my hair. “I want to get rid of this color.” I laugh a little. “I know, big step right? But I want to get back to me, and this,” I flip my hair in my hands. "It’s not me.”

  “By the darkness of those roots, I can tell it’s not you.”

  “Yeah, another example of what I did to try to keep Tyson happy.”

  *****

  “Blonde, Savannah. That’s what I want. That’s what I want to see when I look at you.”

  “That’s not me.”

  “It’s you, if you’d let it be. It will be a better you. Don’t you want to make me happy Savannah? Try it. My mother has the best stylist in all of Fort Worth. She’ll make you look stunning.”

  I thought I was already stunning in his eyes, but I guess I ’m not stunning enough in my own skin, with my own coloring. It’s juvenile really. Why am I making such a fuss? Who cares what color my hair is? I’m still me, which is something Tyson can’t change. Sure, he can dress me up in designer clothes, make me a bleached blonde, but I’m still Savannah.

  *****

  “I’ve got the perfect gal for you, Savannah. Let me get changed and we’ll head out.”

  I watch her head to her room to change. As for me, I’m wearing another outfit from the club, another t-shirt and shorts. Other than the few personal items Bianca bought me when I first arrived, I haven’t asked for anything more. I’m tired of imposing, feeling that I’m not carrying my weight. I’ve had someone control my life; my every move for four years and feeling helpless is something I don’t ever want to feel again.

  “Bianca, I don’t have the money to change anything about myself, as much as I would like to.” I admitted when she came back in the room.

  “Don’t worry about it. She’s family, she won’t charge you anything.”

  “Who is she?”

  “Devin’s wife.” She grabs her purse and I follow her out the door.

  Another thing I didn’t know about. Sin had never mentioned the personal life of his brother. I’ve never seen Cut around any other women, even the ones that hang around the clubhouse. Hearing that he has a wife shouldn’t surprise me, but it does.

  *****

  We enter a salon and from the looks of it, it’s pretty popular. Every chair is filled. A woman walks out from the back and her face lights up when she sees Bianca. She’s stunning, so if she is Cut’s wife, I wouldn’t be surprised. She’s tall and voluptuous, with thick dark hair and beautiful green eyes. She reminds me a lot of a younger version of Bianca.

  “Sobrina, ¿dónde está la esposa de mi hijo. Necesito verla.” Where’s my son’s wife? She says to the woman before turning to me. “That’s my niece, Trina. She runs this place. I told you it’s a family thing.” She winks. I’m shocked to say the least. I had it completely wrong.

  “She’s in the back, Tia. I’ll go get her.”

  Trina returns with a woman who I did not see as Cut’s wife. She doesn’t look like what I would have imagined the wife of a MC President would be. She appears fragile, delicate, and breakable. She’s the complete opposite of the power that I’ve seen Cut possess. He’s overbearing, hulk-like and she’s just, not. He’s dark and hard where she’s light and soft. Those words brought the comments back from Bianca describing Cut as a child. He seems to gravitate towards the opposite of who he is. No matter her looks, she didn’t fit the mold that I had pictured in my mind when Bianca had told me he had a wife, but then, who am I to judge. She’s a gorgeous, petite little thing. A few inches shorter than me, with a deep auburn pixie cut and hazel eyes.

  “Bianca.” She approaches us and leans into a hug from her mother-in-law. “It’s good to see you. A surprise, but a good one.”

  “It’s always nice to see you too, mija, not nearly enough, though, I’m afraid.”

  “Well.” Her eyes flick to me. “Some things can’t be helped. Who’s this?”

  “I’m Savannah.” I extend my hand, but she pushes it away and leans in, hugging me.

  “I see what all the fuss is about around the clubhouse.” She lets out a small laugh, “I’m Lily. It’s so nice to meet you.” She backs up. “So what brings you by?”

  “Savannah wants a change.” Bianca reaches for my hair.

  “Ah, I see, well come with me. My room’s in the back, we can get started.” She turns to leave while I follow. I notice that Bianca isn’t with me, when I glance back, she flicks her hands telling me to go without her. “What kind of change were you looking for?” Lily asks over her shoulder.

  “A change back to who I used to be.” I need to get back to who I was before Tyson. To find the strong, confident woman I was four years ago and remember the life I wanted before Tyson derailed my dreams. Changing the color of my hair might be a minor change for some, but to me, it is a bold statement.

  “There’s a lot of shit going on and we’ve got to get a handle on all of it. I don’t like this feeling of us being in over our heads.”

  Cut sits at the head of the table, with the gavel in hand. Today, the table’s full. Guys are back home from their runs, from club business. Brass and Point have been gone the longest, searching for a guy who has been on the run for far too long. You know when the Irish mob comes knocking at your door to find a motherfucker who did them wrong; you’re doing a damn fine job.

  One of the reasons why I didn’t like the club once I was old enough to understand it was because of the businesses my father felt we had to be involved in. He thought the right thing for an MC to do was sling smack and run guns. Typical, right? My father did what he thought the club needed to survive. He never looked outside of the box, and decades ago, running drugs and guns were the usual business dealings when it came to MC’s. Our generation with its technology is able to look outside the box and when we have to. After the death of my sister and father, the club needed a change, to ensure its survival. We needed something more; something better.

  There was too much loss, too much bloodshed to continue the way Fury had been going since day one. I can’t say that it’s about evolution, we all knew that there were still clubs and gangs slinging smack and selling guns. But it was time for Devil’s Fury to rise above and make a name we were proud of.

  I know Cut opened the garage for me. He did it more as one brother trying to help another brother, especially a brother who had been broken and lost. Opening Fury was a good business move on his part. It was the first step Devil’s Fury took to get away from a life that had cost us so much. He gave me full access to run it as I see fit, and I’m working my ass off to get our name on the street.

  Custom bikes, that’s always been a passion of mine. Dreaming, designing, drawing them up and making them come to life. If my life’s path would have taken another turn, I wanted to design rigs for the military. Make them unstoppable, impenetrable. I was just biding my time, working to come up through the ranks until I reached a position where I could really live out my dreams. I wanted to be the brains behind creating assault machines, something that no other country had even thought to create. But it wasn’t in the cards for me.

  “There’s shit this club needs to be aware of.” Dyke speaks up. “And it has to do with that pretty little blonde that’s been held up at Bianca’s. All eyes turn to me. “Word on the road is that there’s some oil on the streets of Las Cruses. Some oil that’s looking to be headed this way.”

  Tyson’s here. The thought that he’s come to my town, my
area to take back what he thinks is his pisses me off. “I don’t give a fuck where he is. He’s not getting anywhere near Savannah.”

  “Sin, there’s shit you don’t know about and that shit might push you to change your mind where the bitch is concerned.”

  The name my brother calls her makes my body tense. I would never think to call Lily a bitch, but the words fly out of Cut’s mouth so freely. “I don’t give a fuck what you think you know. Nothing is changing my mind about giving her over to him. Not when we all know he’s going to use her as a punching bag. That shit aint gonna fly with me.”

  “Redding’s involved with a little more than oil, Sin.” Dyke continues. “Much more than what his uppity parents even know. He’s so far entwined with shit so sick that if it gets out, Redding Oil as we know it, will be no more.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?”

  “It is when your alternative is allowing the Mexican Cartel and all that shit to take up roots in our backyard. I kinda like being a part of these states. I’m not ready for it to become Mexican territory.”

  “I can’t believe Redding has that much pull.”

  “It’s not Redding who has the pull, brother. It’s the partner he has in his little side business.”

  “Oh yeah, and what side business is that?”

  “Sex trade.”

  “I didn’t know Cut had a wife.” I say to her as she mixes the dye for my hair. Lily explained to me that it might take a few sessions to get my hair back to my more natural color. Being blonde for years has stripped my hair of any signs of its natural hue. The only thing she can go on is the little bit of roots that are currently showing.

  “That’s the point.” Her answer surprises me. “I can see by your face, that you’re shocked.”