by Kim Jones
“Now I see why he doesn’t have any friends,” Saylor whispers, but it’s loud enough for Shady to hear. When he starts to protest she laughs, he smiles, and I’m so caught up in this moment that all I can do is what I do best these days, memorize. And the sound of her laughter is stored in that part of my brain I’ve reserved only for her.
Nationals are sitting outside, where it’s forty degrees, when we arrive. I guess they like the peace and quiet more than the warmth. I want to tell Saylor to stay in where it is warm, but she is latched onto my arm. I shake Jimbo’s hand, salute a few patch holders, then wait until Roach is finished talking with someone before I go to him. I’m not nervous, but I’ve got my guard up considering the last time I saw him he was chewing my ass.
We hug and there is no recognition of my fuckup on his face. He all but pushes me aside to greet Saylor, who takes his hand in hers and kisses his cheek. He offers up his seat under the heat lamp, and my worry about her getting too cold somewhat fades.
Small talk is made and I’m sitting on pins and needles waiting for him to get to the reason for our visit. He finally motions for me to walk to the other end of the outside patio with him. I look back at Saylor, who is being offered a cup of coffee by Shady. He sits down next to her and even though I don’t like it, I’m glad he is there to warn off any men with death wishes.
After about fifteen minutes of bullshitting, Roach leads me over to the other side of the patio, away from everyone else. “We got a problem, Dirk.” I freeze at his words. Not because of the weather, but because for the first time in my life, I’m not gonna be around to handle the club’s problems. I’m going to have to say no to him. To the club. I’m not torn about deciding between the club and Saylor; I’ve made up my mind. I choose her.
“Death Mob set us up, Dirk. They baited us and you took it.” Roach seems to age a year every second that passes. He’s scared. And because he’s scared, I’m scared too.
“What do you mean they baited us?”
“They ain’t building no army. They rolled up a few guys just to send them to Texas to die. The plan was for them to find your weakness. They found it when they found Saylor. They knew you would retaliate if they fucked with her. They didn’t do enough to warrant death though, Dirk. All they did was speak to her. It wasn’t bad enough for twelve brothers to die. They knew that. Now they have the ammunition they need to start a war.”
If Death Mob was willing to kill twelve of their own, then I know their reasons have to be good. I can’t imagine what could be worth so many lives. “What do they want?” I ask, already dreading the answer.
“They want Texas.” Roach’s words are whispered, but there is no denying the powerful impact they have. Texas couldn’t be traded. Sinner’s Creed needed it to survive. Death Mob knew there was no way Dorian would just take it from us without probable cause. But to prevent a war, they would.
It was all about the business with them, and business couldn’t be conducted if we were too busy killing one another. So they forced me to kill, and were going to take it to Dorian if we didn’t hand them Texas. They would simply tell him of my transgressions, prove they have every right to retaliate, and inform him of a brewing war. To prevent it, Dorian would simply pull the plug on Sinner’s Creed, and Death Mob would take over our entire territory. We would become nothing. Our patches would burn, our brothers would be out of work, and our legacy would die.
“Put in a call to Dorian. Beat them to the punch. Tell him what happened. Don’t give them any names, just let them know that there was an altercation and one of your men took it too far. See what their solution is.” I can see the wheels turning as Roach contemplates my advice. It might not be the smartest move, but it’s the only one we have.
Roach starts to shake his head, already weighing the options and not liking the outcome. “I’m afraid that when this news hits the Underground, they’re gonna make Sinner’s Creed pay for it.”
“It’s the only shot we have. If we don’t give Death Mob what they want, then a war starts. More lives will be lost and Sinner’s Creed will still bleed, if not fold altogether.” I place my hand on Roach’s shoulder. “It’s our only hope. Maybe they have a solution. If we can stay whole, keep Texas, and get Death Mob off our asses, then it’s worth whatever price we have to pay.”
It takes a few minutes, but Roach finally agrees. “I’ll make the call.”
—
Shady took me and Saylor home and is staying for supper—Saylor’s request, not mine. They laughed the whole way here. It’s innocent and doesn’t piss me off. I like that they get along, and it gives me time to deal with what’s weighing heavy on my heart—Sinner’s Creed.
I leave them, mumbling some excuse for going out to the garage. In the cold night air, I try again to process everything I’d learned only hours ago. I didn’t know what the outcome would be once Roach notified the Underground of my transgressions, but what I did know was that it wouldn’t be something we liked. Being an outlaw came with a price. And I had a feeling we were fixing to pay for it.
“Dirk?” Shady’s voice cuts through my dark thoughts. Shit. From the look on his face, I can tell he has no clue. “You okay, man?” He knows something is wrong, but he is probably thinking of anything other than the truth.
“I need to do something. I’ll be back in about an hour. I need you to stay with her.” He nods his head, and I avoid his stare. I’m not one that is easy to read, but I don’t want to take any chances.
I take Shady’s car to the bar, where I find Roach along with all the other Nationals, still seated outside. An uneasiness begins to settle over me at the sight of all of them together. If they’d called a Nationals meeting, then I should have been invited.
Roach asks everyone to leave us, and they do. On their way out, not one of them can meet my eyes. When it’s only the two of us, Roach gestures to the chair next to him. “We need to talk.” His voice is weak and it’s like he isn’t here. He is only the shell of the man I once knew. He shifts, flinching as he does. When I lean in, he waves me away. I can’t make out much in the darkness, other than his face. It’s illuminated by a fluorescent beer light that hangs on the wall next to him.
“My days are limited, ya know?” I know, but it’s not something I want to think about. He has been old since I’ve known him. That’s been for over twenty years.
“There’s so much I wanna tell ya, Dirk. So much you need to know.” For some reason, I get the feeling he isn’t talking about the shit with Death Mob or Dorian. “I know you found that letter Black left you. I know because I went to your house and found the safe there empty.” I’m not angry Roach was in my house, if it’s mine, it’s his, but I am bothered by the fact he knew there was a letter.
“When you were born, I was told your life was destined to receive greatness. But the world you would’ve grown up in didn’t want you. I don’t know who your parents are. The man who took you to Black wasn’t even your daddy. He was just some guy who was supposed to watch over you. He got into some trouble and needed a place for you to stay. So he came to me. He wanted Sinner’s Creed to take you on as one of our own. Black owed me a favor. A big one. Life or death. So I made him a deal. If he took you on, raised you like his grandson, then I would forgive his debt to me. I’ve regretted it every day since. ’Cause ya see, Dirk. I owed some favors too.” I’ve never known Roach to apologize to anyone. And I’m sure this is as close to it as he will ever get.
“When I agreed that Sinner’s Creed would take care of you, my debt was forgiven. But instead of keeping you for myself, I threw you off on Black. I never should have done that to you. The only man who knows who your real parents are is dead. I can’t even offer you the peace of knowing.” It didn’t matter who my real parents were. Hell, they didn’t want me, so they hadn’t earned that title—or my respect. Roach was the closest thing I’d ever come to having a parent. And Black might have been evil, but at least he kept me alive—that was more than anyone else had ever given
me.
I wait patiently for Roach to continue. I see him fumbling for something and pull my smokes out, lighting one and passing it to him before lighting one for myself. He coughs, which seems to cause him great pain, then wipes his mouth with a black bandana. If it were white, it would be stained in red with blood from his throat. This, I’ve seen for years. I’ve always ignored it because he did. No man wants to be pitied. Especially a man like Roach.
Once his breathing is under control, I brace myself. “I thought by giving Black a chance to raise you, it would change him. It didn’t. It made him worse. I’m not gonna apologize for that because I think your life with Black was better than the alternative. I knew Black was taking money for years, and I kept his secret. Because of you. I knew if they killed him my efforts would’ve been for nothing. If they put him out bad, I was afraid he would take his anger out on you. This club life ain’t for everyone, Dirk. It’s for sorry sons of bitches like me and Black. And troubled souls like you. But Saylor has changed you. You ain’t the soldier you once were.”
When Roach puts his hand on my shoulder and looks me in my eye, I feel a piece of me die at the desperate man looking back at me. “I didn’t talk to Dorian. I talked to Cyrus.” My heart stills. My breathing stops. My blood turns to ice in my veins. All because I know what’s coming next.
I’d given my whole life for Sinner’s Creed. My loyalty to the club was my greatest achievement. The MC was my world. It was all I had ever been good at. I’d never experienced anything outside of the club. Saylor was the closest thing I’d ever gotten to freedom from it. And she was the closest thing I’d ever get.
When my heart begins to beat again, when my breathing becomes regular and my blood warms, I know that I’m okay with this. I’m at peace with my decisions in this life, and I’m at peace with the decision that will take me from it.
I place my hand on my brother’s, trying to offer him some sort of comfort. Tears flow from his eyes moments before he breaks. I love this man. And I know that he’s loved me like I was his own flesh and blood.
“It’s okay, Roach,” I say, meeting his dead, lifeless eyes. The look in my own tells him that I can handle this. Once he composes himself, I light us a cigarette and lean back in my chair. “So, what was Cyrus’s counteroffer?”
“You already know that answer,” Roach says, the gravel back in his voice. This is the man I know. The one-percenter who trained me. The man who puts the club first—always, because that’s what a real soldier does.
“And you know I have to ask.”
If it weren’t for the regret in his eyes, I might think he didn’t care. But I know better. With a coolness only Roach is capable of, he delivers my answer in true Sinner’s Creed fashion—no bullshit, no reservations.
“You, Dirk. They want you.”
19
I ALREADY KNEW it, but now the reason behind the Nationals meeting without me was confirmed. They had to vote on Death Mob’s offer. With something as extreme as a brother’s life, the vote had to be unanimous. If anyone at the meeting tonight had voted differently, then Roach and I wouldn’t be having this conversation. This tells me that everyone agreed to Death Mob’s demands. But there was still a National that had a decision to make. The patch I wear below my bottom rocker allows me to have a say. My vote was always the deciding factor because I showed no partiality, not even to myself. Sinner’s Creed was a brotherhood that went far beyond just one patch. It wasn’t worth losing over one man—even if that one man was me.
Silence surrounds us as I wait for Roach to make the final move. After what seems like forever, he finally does. Without meeting my eyes, he gives me the order in the most grief-stricken voice I’ve ever heard. “I need your vote, Dirk.”
I am a Nomad National for the Sinner’s Creed Motorcycle Club. And I will be until the day I die—no matter how soon that is. So I treat this time as if it were any other. As if my life isn’t the one at stake. Because I am a soldier, and I will fight to the death for my club. And I will do it with the same honor and respect it has shown me all of my life.
With my head held high, the weight of my leather on my back, and determination in my voice, I cast my vote and issue the verdict. “I vote yes.”
And just like that, the sacrifice is given—my life for Sinner’s Creed.
—
Two blunts and a bottle of whiskey later, we’re still sitting in silence. I’d asked about Shady, and Roach had assured me that he was safe. There was no mention of him even being there. Good. The Prospects had listened; so had the patch holder. My life would be taken, but it would be the only one. I wouldn’t let another brother take the fall.
Time seemed to stand still on the back of the patio, in an old bar, in Jackpot, Nevada. But the real world was still happening outside this place. And in that world was Saylor. Roach needed my company. He needed my reassurance that I had no hard feelings against him or any of my brothers. But I’d given him all I could. Now I needed to devote the time I had left to the other most important thing in my life—Saylor Samson.
“Thank you, Roach. And I don’t just mean for telling me this. For everything,” I say as I stand to leave. He stands with me and I embrace him in a hug.
“I love you, Dirk. Love you like you’re my own. ’Cause you are.”
“I love you too, brother.” And the words feel right. And I see peace in the eyes of the man before me. When I leave, my last image of Roach tells me this is our good-bye. But it’s not me who will die first. Roach is knocking at death’s door, and my life is just getting started.
I’ve made a promise to a woman and I don’t plan on breaking it. I also made a promise to myself that if death came for me, I would fight him. I’m not scared to die, but now I have something to live for. And I’m not scared of Death Mob. I know that once they get the okay from Nationals, they’ll come looking for me. I sent the message that I wanted all those motherfuckers to come, and I meant it. I’ve got something for them. And it sure as fuck ain’t my life.
—
I get back to the house to find Shady and Saylor watching TV and eating ice cream. Saylor smiles when I come in, and I wonder what lie Shady told her to keep her calm. I lean down and kiss her, give her a smile, then tell her I need to holler at Shady a minute. I see the question in her eyes, but I shoot her a wink and it’s reassurance enough that everything is okay.
Shady follows me out back and I fill him in on what I was told. It goes about as well as I expected.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I shhh him, then stop and replay the moment in my head. I’ve never shhhed someone in my life. What the fuck was wrong with me? But Shady didn’t notice because he is still ranting.
“Calm the fuck down before Saylor hears you.” He bites his lip, then kicks the dirt, runs his hands through his hair, then makes a grunting noise before finally calming down and turning his attention back to me. “It’s my decision. I won’t let the club take the hit for what I did. It’s my fuckup, my responsibility. This one is on me. It’s protocol, Shady. Don’t act so surprised.”
“Well, I am fucking surprised. I’m surprised that the club you’ve devoted your whole life to isn’t ready to go to battle for you. Instead, they just want to turn you over to the wolves with a pat on the back and a ‘thank you very much, have a nice fucking day.’ You may have a say, but you are not the deciding factor. I don’t care how important you think you are.”
He’s right, but my only other option is to run, and I refuse to put Saylor through that—not that I would even if she wasn’t in my life. I’d rather stay and die than to go out like a coward.
“Fuck, Dirk. I can’t sit back and let these motherfuckers just take you out.” Shady kicks at the dirt again and mumbles a string of fucks, using the word every way imaginable. His behavior isn’t unusual, but tonight I find it more comical than I normally do. So much so that I smirk at him. “What’s so fucking funny?”
“You. I don’t know if I should be offended or honored.”
“Offended? How is that offensive? And what am I doing in this moment that is so honorable?” Shady looks like a whiny-ass teenager, and I find it so funny that my smirk forms into a smile that soon turns into me laughing. He looks at me like I’m crazy. Hell, maybe I am.
“I’m honored that you think so highly of me as your brother to be bothered by this.” He nods in understanding, and when I don’t continue, he throws his hand out and looks at me expectantly.
“And?” My laughter is short lived, but I’m still smiling.
“And I’m offended that you think I’m actually gonna let these motherfuckers get to me. When have you ever seen me lose, Shady?” He shakes his head, his own shit-eating smile replacing the look of confusion on his face.
“Never, Dirk. Never.” Losing was something I didn’t know how to do. And it was something I refused to learn.
—
I woke up the next day to find an army of men in my front yard. My first thought was would they wait until I finished eating? I didn’t like to fight on an empty stomach. My second thought was how would I convince Saylor to stay inside while I dealt with this?
I knew Death Mob wasn’t going to come shoot up my house—it wasn’t their style. And it wouldn’t give them the satisfaction they wanted. I figured they would try to catch me off guard, then capture me before taking me to an undisclosed location where they would remind me of why I was dying and then torture me until I finally did.
I wasn’t worried about that either. I wasn’t caught off guard very often, and never when someone said they wanted me dead. This wasn’t my first rodeo with a bunch of pissed-off people looking for revenge. I’d dealt with it many times before.
