Sinner's Creed (Sinner's Creed #1)

by Kim Jones

  FLIRTING WITH DANGER

  I’m playing with fire. My decision to let Saylor travel with me is potentially life threatening not only to me, but to her too. She knows I’m a biker, but I don’t think she understands what that actually means. She doesn’t know my job or what it is I do when I’m on the road. I want to be honest with her, but I can’t betray my club and I won’t make her an accomplice to my crimes.

  My answer to her question was all the reason she needed. She agreed almost immediately, trusting me with her life without any demand for further knowledge of anything. Moments after I told her, I received a text from Shady notifying me that she’d canceled her flight. She was canceling a trip she’s always wanted to take, just to be with me. As I watch her pack a bag, the thought eats away at me and now I have to ask her why.

  “Don’t you want to know where we’re going?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Anywhere but here is good enough for me.” I grab her elbow, stopping her from shoving things into her backpack until her gaze reaches my eyes.

  “I need more than that, Saylor. Why are you so willing to run away with a piece of shit like me?” She frowns at my words.

  “I’ve been in this town my whole life. I have nothing. I know you are confused about why I chose you. I can see the uncertainty in your eyes every time I look at them. All I can tell you is that you inspire me. You make me want to live.” Her eyes drop to her hands a moment before she looks back at me with sorrow and tears in those green pools I’m so obsessed with. “I just want to live.”

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

  Copyright © 2016 by Kim Jones.

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  eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-98770-4

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Jones, Kim.

  Sinner’s creed / Kim Jones.

  p. cm.

  ISBN 978-1-101-98769-8

  1. Motorcyclists—Fiction. 2. Man-woman relationships—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3610.O6267S57 2016

  813’.6—dc23

  2015028334

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  Berkley trade paperback edition / March 2016

  Cover photo by Claudio Marinesco.

  Cover design by George Long.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Version_1

  For my beautiful Saylor Grace

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  To God for giving me the gift of life, the courage to take a chance, and an eternal love.

  My husband, Regg. You are by far the best husband I’ve ever had. And even though you’re the only one I’ve ever had, it doesn’t make me love you any less.

  Amy—you’re not just my best friend, mother of my godchild, or favorite girl. You’re my inspiration—my rock. You’re the one who helped make me who I am—which is a pretty damn good person if you ask me.

  Mom and Dad—I know you’ll love me no matter how successful I am. For that I thank you. But I’m still not cutting you any slack in Phase 10.

  My sisters—eh . . . I don’t really have anything special to say about the two of you. Kidding. I love you both very much. Not everyone can say that they have sisters as talented as mine. I mean, one runs ninety-nine Dollar Generals and the other has given me nineteen brothers-in-law.

  Katy Evans—you helped make this book possible. Thanks for loving me and my stories. Your friendship, encouragement, and feedback played a HUGE part in this novel. You’re sweet, genuine, and make me feel like a superstar—which I really am.

  Joanna Wylde—thanks for helping me make the right decisions. You’re my voice of reason. Your guidance and support are two of the greatest gifts you could ever give me. And a car . . . that would be a nice gift too.

  To the girls who reassured me that Sinner’s Creed was truly everything I thought it was. Chrisy Morris, Sali with an i, Benbow hyphen Powers, Danielle Kendall, Brooklyn Brown, Katelan Awesomeness, Kathi Pepper and the Pepper girls—you are amazing. I couldn’t have done it without you. Or cigarettes. Definitely cigarettes.

  My family—my aunts, uncles, cousins, stepcousins, half cousins, ex-cousins, in-laws . . . There are too many of you to list. But you know who you are. And you know how much I love you. If you don’t, I’m telling you now.

  To my HNDW family—it is because of you that I have an infatuation with the lifestyle. Not only are you sexy, badass, and . . . sexy. You’re a true inspiration and your actions teach what true brotherhood is all about. A special shout-out to Jared . . . my Dirk.

  My editor, Cindy Hwang. Thanks for enduring me and my antisocial, early-morning behavior. I have a feeling that was just the beginning of a long and fruitful relationship. There’s no getting rid of me now. I’m like a fungus, baby—I grow on you.

  Last and certainly least, I’d like to thank my agent. Even though you sometimes ignore me, I still couldn’t have done this without you. Thanks for believing in me. And remember, I love you despite all your many, many flaws. Amy Tannenbaum—you’re my horse; I don’t care if you ever win a race.

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  PROLOGUE

  I KNEW THE man in front of me was doomed.

  This was a test. I had to prove my loyalty. The club had my pride, now they wanted my innocence.

  The knife I held in my hand would be kept as proof that I was guilty of murder. It wouldn’t help my case that the man was begging for his life, on his knees in front of me. We were the only two on the video. It was everything they needed. My fingerprints, my weapon, and my face. The club would use it against me if I ever turned on them.

  I wasn’t scared to take this man’s life. I knew he deserved everything he got and so much more. What scared me was knowing that if I did this, there would be no saving me from the depths of hell, from the fiery roads of eternity or the haunting sounds of this man’s screams, which I was sure would give me nightmares for the rest of my days.

  Bu
t, this club is all I know. I’m out of options. Either I prove myself now, or I walk away and never look back. I look up at my grandfather, who gives me a nod of encouragement. His black eyes are full of hate. They have the same effect on me now as they did when I was seven. He is the only man I fear, and the only man I don’t want to disappoint.

  The club means something to me because it means something to him. He is all I have. He has molded me into the monster I’ve become. If I knew for sure that not becoming a killer would ensure me a spot in the afterlife away from him, I would take my life right now. But, I know there is no place for me but hell. With him. For eternity.

  I can only hear the man’s screams, but I see my grandfather mouth “pussy.” He is growing impatient. I have to make a decision. So, I ask myself, Is killing this man worth pacifying the demon-possessed grandfather who raised me? Is taking a life really worth seeing the small, temporary sparkle of pride in his eyes that I’ve never seen in my twenty-one years? Is it worth the small mustard seed of hope that this will make him love me? You’re fuckin’ right it is.

  I kill the man with the brutality that the club expects, stabbing him multiple times until his face is unrecognizable. I let the faith I have in my grandfather’s love fuel me. I let images of him smiling and telling me he loves me fill my head, and block the sight of the face I am butchering.

  When I am finished, I search for him in the crowd, but he isn’t there. When I finally notice the men around me, the body is buried and the evidence has been collected. They all wear a look of pity on their faces. Their eyes apologize for what my grandfather is, and what I have become. They can keep their guilt. They can save their sorrow. My cold, dead heart is at the point of no return.

  The hell I once feared is now a desire. Satan isn’t there anyway. He is here. His eyes are black as night, his heart is cold as ice, and the words Sinner’s Creed are tattooed on his back. The same poisonous blood that runs through his veins runs through mine.

  Hell is my home and Satan is this man, the only father I know. And if evil is he, then evil am I. I don’t need his pride. I don’t need his love. He wanted a monster; he got one. I am the spawn of Satan. I am the son of Lucifer. I am Sinner’s Creed.

  1

  INNOCENCE.

  THAT’S THE FIRST thing I thought of the first time I laid eyes on Saylor Samson. Her eyes were wide. Her teeth were chattering, and her hair was stuck to her head as she stood in the rain, shaking at the sight of me. I was scaring her. It was pouring, dark, and a man she didn’t know was approaching her.

  I usually had women throwing themselves at me. Leather, rain, and sex seemed to go hand in hand with the women I knew. But, looking at her, I knew she was not like the women I knew. She was a girl, a young one. Maybe seventeen.

  I stereotyped her instantly, figuring she was one of those little cheerleading bitches that was out past curfew. Or maybe she told Daddy she was studying with a friend when really she had been fucking some guy outside the club that wasn’t too far from here.

  My kind didn’t visit her part of town much. It was probably the first time she had ever seen a biker face-to-face. But she was in my part of town now with a busted tire, no cell phone service, and completely at my mercy.

  I reached my hand out and she flinched. I wouldn’t hurt her, but she didn’t know that and I didn’t feel the need to reassure her. Instead, I kept my eyes on hers as I opened the car door and found the button to pop the trunk. I grabbed the spare and changed the tire, while she just stood in the pouring rain and watched me, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, probably to hide her tiny tits.

  When I was finished, I threw the busted tire in the trunk before giving her a salute and heading back to my bike. She never spoke and neither did I. By the time I was straddled across the seat of my Harley, she was gone.

  That was five years ago.

  SEXINESS.

  That’s the first thing I saw the second time I laid eyes on Saylor Samson. I was in downtown, a part of Jackson, Mississippi, where I wasn’t shunned and she wasn’t too out of place. She was walking down the sidewalk with her head down, texting, dressed in white cutoff shorts and a tiny tank top with a bikini under it. Her legs were long and tan. Her hair was blond and curly, and her eyes were hid behind a pair of aviators.

  When she crashed into me, I grabbed her arms to steady her when the impact of her small, soft body colliding with mine caused her to almost fall. When she looked at me, I knew she remembered who I was. Her mouth formed that small O that’s so fucking sexy on a woman, and when she released a breath of air, it was warm against my chin. I just stared at her, my eyes looking for hers through my own dark glasses. When she took a step back, I dropped my hand, gave another salute, and walked past her. By the time I got to the corner and looked back, she was gone.

  That was three years ago.

  MUSIC.

  That’s the first thing I heard the third time I saw Saylor Samson. She sang a song that immediately got my attention. It was beautiful. Just like her. Her hair was straight, and she looked elegant. Her body was hidden behind a piano, but her eyes found mine as I took a seat at the table closest to her.

  I twirled the beer bottle in my hand and watched as she sang to me. She was asking me to come away with her. I ignored the looks everyone in the restaurant gave me. I didn’t belong there. It was a nice place. People were wearing suits and shit, but I didn’t give a fuck. I didn’t want to sit at the bar where I half-ass fit in. I wanted to sit at the table next to the Aphrodite with the beautiful voice, right in the middle of the tie-wearing CEOs and their overpriced escorts. And she wanted me there. She hadn’t looked at me like I didn’t belong. She looked at me like I was the only man in the room. When the song finished, she left. Maybe she went on break. Maybe it was her last song. I didn’t know and never would. I left when she did.

  That was two years ago.

  PROTECTIVENESS.

  That’s what the fuck I felt the last time I laid eyes on Saylor Samson. I was in a bar, she was in a bar. I had a date, she had a date. My date was a smokin’-hot redhead I’d picked up on my way in that had already come on my knee twice. Her date was a fuckin’ prick who had jealousy issues. Not that I could blame him.

  Saylor wasn’t a little girl anymore. She was a full-blown woman whose dance moves had every dick in the bar twitching. Her hair was long. Really fuckin’ long. Down to her ass and thick and curly and crazy, kinda like she stuck her finger in a light socket. And it was sexy. Really fuckin’ sexy. I felt my dick press harder against my jeans, and it had nothing to do with the redhead humping my knee and sucking my neck.

  Saylor wore a skirt that looked like it was made out of glitter and was so short, the cheeks of her ass hung out every time Lil Jon demanded she get low. My eyes moved down her legs to her high heels that were so tall, it looked like she was walking on her toes. I don’t know how in the hell women wear that shit, but it was hot. Especially on Saylor Samson.

  She was dancing on a table with a group of her friends. Judging by the sash and tiara the girl next to her was wearing, they were celebrating something. It physically hurt when I had to drag my eyes from Saylor’s legs to find her date yelling at her. He was demanding she get off the table, and I could make out the words “go fuck yourself” on her lips. When he reached up and grabbed for her leg, I was already on my way over. I wasn’t pissed because it was Saylor who he was messing with, or at least that’s what I told myself.

  Usually, I didn’t get involved with relationship drama. This guy could be her husband for all I knew, but she was a chick and he was a dude, and I wasn’t gonna stand for that shit. I felt her eyes on me, and I didn’t want to look, but I did. The fight seemed to die out of her, and I knew it was because she knew I was there. I don’t know how she knew and I didn’t care. All that mattered was that she needed me. She needed me and she knew I could protect her. I could help her. She knew this shit, and she didn’t even know my fucking name.

  Adrenaline shot through my
body. I could feel my temples throbbing . . . my nostrils flaring . . . my teeth clenching . . . my hands balling into fists. I was gonna kill that motherfucker. She was telling me with her eyes she needed this. She wanted this. She wanted me.

  I grabbed the prick by the throat and he grasped my hand in a shitty attempt to pry my fingers from around his neck. I carried him through the crowd of people with his feet kicking in the air, trying to find the floor. Once outside, I slammed him into the street. I felt that familiar feeling of power consume me as I watched him struggle to catch his breath. People around us were screaming and cheering, wanting more.

  That feeling of power intensified as my fist met his bleeding flesh each time I landed a blow to his pathetic face. When I finally stopped, I stood over his body that lay unconscious on the crowded street. I turned to the cheering group of people, searching for only one face. When I found her, she was watching me.

  Her eyes were slightly narrowed and her face turned to the side as she appraised me. I wanted to know what she was thinking. I wanted to know why she didn’t look scared. I wanted to know why she was so calm, acting as if she already knew this was going to happen. But her friends were pulling her back into the building before I could speak to her. When she made it to the door, she turned back and before she disappeared inside, her left eye shut on a wink. And then she was gone.

  That was last night.

  —

  Today, I can’t get the images of Saylor over the past five years out of my head. It’s stupid. I know that. I’ve seen hundreds of women. I’ve fucked just as many. This one I haven’t even touched, but I can’t shake her from my thoughts. Two years ago, I’d asked the man at the bar she was singing at what her name was. All this time, that’s all I’ve ever known about her. But in just a few minutes I will know everything, or at least everything that has been documented on paper. I won’t know her favorite color or what makes her laugh or what her favorite food is or any of that shit. I’m sure I can find out if I really want to, and I wouldn’t even have to talk to her, but for some reason, this is shit I want her to tell me.