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

by Kim Jones

  I shake their hands, something else I’m getting pretty good at, and introduce myself just as Dirk. I don’t need a title. The love that sparkles in Saylor’s eyes couldn’t make our relationship more obvious than if I wore a name tag that said I’m her man with a big arrow pointing at her.

  The doctor introduces himself as Dr. Zi, and then his colleague Dr. Marks, who is a little older, but not by much. I’m guessing he is about my age. I wish they were uglier.

  Saylor is talking and I snap myself back to the present, wanting to slap myself for even noticing their good looks when a woman as beautiful as her is so much better to look at. She is telling them she feels good, is ready to begin, and is aware of the side effects. She says this like she doesn’t want them to confirm it. In front of me. They look back and forth between us, and I grab Saylor’s hand, bringing it to my lips and kissing it with a reassuring smile. I can handle it.

  The doctor is saying something about him needing to inform her of what’s going on, for legal purposes and all that shit, but neither of us are listening. When he clears his throat, Saylor pulls her eyes from me and nods her head at him, giving him the okay to start the process of ruining our lives. I shouldn’t think like that, but I can’t fucking help it.

  “Your blood work is good. I’m going to administer some fluids to help prevent dehydration, and some steroids to help your body endure the impact of the chemo.” He takes a deep breath and I just wish he would get on with it. Thankfully, he does.

  “What we are giving you is a liquid form of chemo that will be administered intravenously. You’ll lose your hair, your blood counts will likely bottom out, and you will experience extreme fatigue, nausea, and vomiting. These are just some of the side effects. But they are the most common.”

  He clips a picture of Saylor’s brain to a board, and turns a light on, illuminating the image. “This is the tumor.” He points to a dark spot the size of a golf ball on the right side of Saylor’s brain. “Usually, the problem with treating a brain tumor with chemo is that most chemo drugs don’t have the ability to cross the blood-brain barrier, but this chemo is stronger. Radiation is capable of penetrating the body externally. But, in your case, it won’t work. This particular chemo is too strong to be used with radiation.

  “So, what we have here is a type of chemo that can pass the blood-brain barrier, but will still affect the rest of your body, where radiation would only effect the area being treated. Most of the time, both chemo and radiation are used together, but we are hoping with the success of this drug that we will be able to eliminate the malignant cells with only one form of treatment. Again, this is something new. We don’t know if it will work, but right now, we don’t have anything to lose.”

  I start to say something, when Saylor squeezes my hand. By the look on the doctor’s face, I’m sure he knows he just fucked up. We have a lot to lose. We have months of good, quality life to lose. We have memories and dreams and Saylor’s ridiculous fucking bucket list to lose. She is doing this as a favor. And in doing that favor, she is losing the only thing she has—her life.

  “My apologies. I didn’t mean to sound so insincere. What I mean is, there is no medicine available to treat Saylor’s condition. This is the only thing that could possibly work.” Now he has my attention.

  “Work? You mean cure?” My heart is beating out of my chest and the hope in my voice is evident. Even the doctor’s hand in the air and shake of his head telling me to hang the fuck on a minute aren’t enough to kill my mood of elation.

  “No, sir, I mean work as in the treatment will reduce the size of the tumor and possibly give her a little more time. Saylor’s condition is too far advanced to cure. But, if it works, it could possibly cure cases like hers if caught in time.” I feel my heartbeat slowing, and look down into Saylor’s face. She isn’t defeated. She gives me a wink before turning back to the doctor.

  “Okay, enough with the lesson. I’ve done my research, Doc. I’m familiar with what’s happening. Say what you gotta say and let’s get on with it.” I didn’t know it was possible, but I fall in love with her just a little bit more. She’s the strongest person I know. Stronger than me.

  “Well, okay then.” The doctor smiles and I can’t figure out what in the hell he is so happy about. “We are going to do this in six different treatments. Due to the power of the drug, each dose will be a little stronger as your body becomes accustomed to the impact. I know there isn’t much happiness to be found right now, but hopefully this will brighten the mood a little.”

  He pulls six clear bags filled with colored liquid from his pocket. “This isn’t the actual medicine, of course, but I wanted you to see what it looks like.”

  The colors are yellow, green, blue, purple, orange, and red. It reminds me of something, and I feel myself smiling.

  “There is a long name even I have trouble pronouncing that we use to refer to this medicine. When explaining it to patients, we like to use something with a simple name that resembles what the drug looks like or how strong its effects are. Like Red Devil that is red in color and gives your throat the sensation of being on fire due to the sores that form in the back of your mouth and down your esophagus. Or Purple Haze that is purple in color and clouds your memory. This particular one doesn’t have a name yet. I was hoping you would do the honors.”

  Saylor sits for a second, staring at the bags, and then looks at me—her smile matching my own. When she answers the doctor, I mouth her answer as she speaks it out loud.

  “Skittles.”

  —

  I was informed that I could visit Saylor during her chemotherapy but I couldn’t stay. I didn’t like being told that, but then Saylor said that if she was going to be absorbing Skittles through an IV, it was only fair that she eat some too. So, on my ride to the store, I take the time to go over everything the doctor said.

  She would receive one treatment a week. Every Friday. There would be six cycles before they did another CT scan to see if the medicine had worked. A port was placed in her arm to prevent damage to her veins and to make her visits less painful. They weren’t sure when or how often the side effects would take place. They didn’t know to what extent they would be either. She would more than likely have nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, mouth sores, weakness, fatigue, hair loss, weight loss, and a lot of fucking discomfort. But the talk of blood transfusions and low immune system was what concerned me most.

  She would be more prone to infection, which could result in her being hospitalized. Dehydration was another potential side effect, which would also cause her to be hospitalized. My job was to try and make sure none of these things happened. I couldn’t prevent all of it, but I could keep her eating, drinking, and away from any sneezing, sniffling motherfucker within a hundred-mile radius.

  When I’m back at the clinic, I’m led to a room where the brightest thing inside of it is Saylor and her yellow, stage-one bag of Skittles. The room doesn’t offer any privacy. A dozen reclining chairs are arranged in a semicircle with a big nurse’s desk that sits centered in front of them. All the chairs are occupied, with Saylor sitting in the one third from the end.

  There are people ranging in age from teenagers to senior citizens. Saylor seems to be having a conversation with the two old men sitting next to her. The doctor warned her that these people would likely be the same people she saw every week. He also told her that it was very common to come in and find that someone has passed. His suggestion was to not mention it or discuss it with other patients, because studies showed that it caused a decline in people’s health when they experienced the loss of someone fighting the same battle they were.

  I don’t see why in the hell they would make you sit in a room full of people fighting for their lives anyway. It’s fucking depressing. Couldn’t they put them in a cubicle or something?

  When Saylor’s laugh fills the room, I’m drawn to her, and I notice everyone else is too. I wonder if this place has ever been graced with someone like Saylor. Even though these peopl
e are sick and possibly dying, they should be happy they are getting the gift of Saylor Samson. I’m sure she will win them all over and, judging by their smiles, she already has.

  “Dirk!” Saylor calls, motioning with her hand for me to come over. She is the happiest I’ve seen her all day. I make my way over, and am introduced to the two old men beside her. “This is Hershel and Ralph. Guys, this is my Dirk.” I like how she says my Dirk. I shake hands with the men, whose grips are strong even though their bodies look tired and weak.

  I pull a chair up next to Saylor and present her with a bag of Skittles. Lucky for everyone else in the room, I bought several bags. After Saylor orders me to get some medicine cups from the nurse’s desk, we begin filling them with candy and then I’m instructed to pass them out. An hour later, I’m asked to step out while they begin unhooking some of the patients, and I leave to a chorus of “bye, Dirk” and “thanks for the Skittles.”

  I call Shady once I’m in the waiting room with the other chemo patients’ families, who all look like they’ve done this a few times before.

  “Yeah.” The distress in Shady’s voice has me turning my back to the unmindful people in the room.

  “What’s wrong?” I bark, trying to keep my voice down.

  “Nothing that you need to worry about. I’ll be there in the morning.” I don’t like Shady’s attempt at blowing me off, and I’m thinking that he isn’t alone.

  “Who is with you?” I ask, this time making sure to lower my voice as much as possible. It’s not the people in this room I’m worried about; it’s the ones in the room with him.

  “Nobody. I’m just having a bad day. How’s Saylor?”

  “She’s fine. Stop trying to change the topic. What the fuck’s wrong?” This time I growl, and the lady sitting closest to me frowns, but doesn’t look up from her crossword puzzle.

  “We bought you the six months you needed with cash. But I’ve been doing some digging and it looks like they’re planning an attack. They’re gonna go back on their word, Dirk. Or either they’re fixing to demand more. The club can’t afford to give them any more.” Fuck. I drop my head and walk out, knowing I’ll have to walk a block to smoke a cigarette and knowing it will be worth every step. Fucking smoke-free environment.

  But when I’m outside, I light up immediately, needing the nicotine more than I care about the ticket I’ll get if I’m caught.

  “How much more you need? I’ve got about half a mil. I can probably get that much more.” Just the thought of paying those assholes any amount of money pisses me off, and I’m sure there will be indentions in the concrete with every stomp of my foot.

  “We’re already giving them five, Dirk. Something tells me an extra million isn’t going to make much of a difference.” His words shatter me. My club was giving up a lot just to spare me six months. I guess they thought it was the least they could do considering I was preventing them from losing the club altogether.

  This was my family. And they were willing to lose every dime we had just to grant me my dying wish—to live long enough to take care of Saylor.

  “Shady, I don’t know what to do here.” I’m the epitome of the phrase stuck between a rock and a hard place. For the first time in my life, I am lost.

  “I’ll find something, Dirk. I swear. I’ll find something more important to them than money, more than Texas, and more than you.”

  —

  I hang up the phone and make my way back to Saylor. I have a woman who needs me. I’ve made a promise to her. She trusted me when I gave her my word that I would be there until the end. But I’m terrified that death is knocking on my door.

  I finally have a real purpose in this life. I can’t be defeated. I can’t give up. I know Shady will do everything he can, but I’m afraid it might not be enough. Before I’m opening the door to the small chapel provided at the clinic, I’ve got a plan forming for death if he comes. And I’m calling in a favor.

  22

  I MAKE IT back to Saylor just as they are unhooking her. She is all smiles until she sees my face. When her brow wrinkles, I force the corner of my lip to turn up, and diminish all thoughts but her from my mind.

  She looks fine. Great. Better even, but I know all that can change in a matter of minutes. I ask her how it went and she tells me all about the new people she met. Apparently, she is now on a first-name basis with everyone she will be sharing a room with every Friday.

  She talks animatedly about her plans to brighten up the room, and has already talked to the doctor and gotten his approval. She even contacted the art department at Jackson State University, and they promised to have her request filled by Thursday of next week. The local Home Depot would be donating the supplies, and she asks me to forgive her for using up some of her charm to convince the manager to do it. I do, of course, and then wonder if the manager was a man and if she was using the word charm instead of flirt to keep me from paying him a visit. I decide that the excitement Saylor has about her project is more important. At least the “charming” was done over the phone.

  She wants ice cream, and I drive through Dairy Queen and am introduced to the Peanut Buster Parfait. It’s the most delicious fucking thing I’ve ever tasted, other than Saylor, and we agree to make it part of our Friday post-treatment routine.

  When we get back to Saylor’s apartment, Donnawayne and Jeffery are there waiting. Because we flew home and Saylor doesn’t have a car here, we borrowed theirs for the day. Shady was driving ours back from Nevada. He claimed he would be here in the morning. I sure as hell hope so. Driving a hybrid was sucking all the masculinity out of me.

  While Saylor told Donnawayne and Jeffery about her visit, I stepped outside to call Shady back. But not before kissing Saylor’s lips and telling her to holler if she needed me. This earned me a sigh from Jeffery and an eye roll from Donnawayne. Even after everything, he still didn’t like me. I started to tell him that the fucking shirt he was wearing so proudly was bought with the money someone paid me to kill a man that looked similar to him, but then thought better of it. I didn’t want to upset Saylor.

  —

  “What was wrong today?” Saylor asks while we are lying in bed. I’m rubbing her naked thigh, staring at the ceiling while she writes in her diary. I want to tell her the truth, but I can’t.

  “How do you feel?” I ask, avoiding her question. She gets it and doesn’t push the issue.

  “I feel great. I have tons of energy.” We both know that this won’t last long. The doctor warned us that the steroids would give her a false sense of well-being and to not overdo it just because she felt good.

  “You still drinking?” I ask, catching a peek of her bare ass as she leans over and grabs her half-empty bottle of Gatorade off the nightstand.

  “Yep.” She turns the bottle up and drains it. Glad I have something to do, I get up to get her another one out of the fridge. My job as a Nomad was to always pay attention to my surroundings. I heard things and noticed things that wouldn’t attract most people’s attention. So when I hear the sound of muffled voices outside the kitchen window, I know they are not the voices of Saylor’s neighbors.

  Even though the next-door neighbors often hang out on their back patio this time of night, and their sound often travels through our kitchen, I can decipher between what is and isn’t familiar to me. And these are the voices of people I’m not familiar with.

  I walk casually back to the bedroom and stand in the door, waiting for Saylor to notice me. Within seconds she looks up and smiles, then I watch her face fall and head nod when I put my finger over my lips. I walk to the bed, making sure to put my body between her and the window, and take her hand, leading her into the bathroom, where there are no windows.

  “I need you to lay down in the tub. Don’t make a sound. There are some men here and I don’t know what they want.” I turn to leave and she grabs my hand, panic filling her eyes. “I’m coming right back. I promise.” I kiss her softly on her lips and leave, hoping like hell she listens to me
.

  I pull my gun from my bag at the foot of the bed, then poke my head back into the bathroom to find Saylor laying in the tub. Her eyes are wide and scared, so I shoot her a wink. She offers me a small smile, but my wink does nothing to ease her worry.

  I close the door, and when I’m out of her sight, I put my gun up and make my way down the hall. I’m sure nobody is inside, but I don’t know Cyrus or what he is capable of. If he wants me dead, I’m sure he is the kind of man that will stop at nothing to get just what he wants. I grab my phone off the table, making sure it’s on silent before I punch in Shady’s number.

  “Yeah?” This time, Shady must sense something is wrong because he is anxious.

  “I got a problem,” I whisper into the phone, and the sounds I hear on the other end tell me he is already on his way.

  “Six minutes,” he answers, and I hang up, putting the phone on the floor because there is nowhere else to put it considering I’m only wearing boxers. I hope like hell they don’t kill me tonight. Mainly because of Saylor, but I damn sure don’t want them to drop me wearing nothing but my fucking underwear, and I don’t have the time to waste getting dressed.

  The voices are now in the front parking lot instead of out back. I don’t know how long I have, but I’m sure that within six minutes, someone is gonna be dead. A knock at the front door has me nearly jumping out of my skin and shooting out of impulse. The thought of being caught off guard is more terrifying than what’s on the other side of the door.

  I can hear my heart beating in my ears and I wonder why I’m so worked up. Maybe it’s because I’m so wired. Maybe it’s because Saylor is here. Or maybe it’s because for the first time in my life, I’m scared of dying. A knock sounds again and this time I expect it. Unless Cyrus is stupid, or just don’t give a fuck about respect, he isn’t gonna shoot me as soon as I open the door. His street cred would go to shit for being such a pussy. Taking out a man like me should be done in a more brutal way. This will ensure you high respect and earn you the fear of other men. Shooting me at my door, well that just shows that you were too weak to take me on.