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

by Kim Jones

  I think of Saylor and what they will do to her if they kill me. Then I think of Shady and how he is now only five minutes out and will likely be able to track them down and get her back, if they even take her. Fuck it.

  I put the gun behind my back and open the door, making sure my facial expression tells whoever is on the other side that I’m fucking pissed. When I see Cyrus standing with his arms clasped in front of his waist, showing me that he isn’t holding a gun, I immediately feel the fear of dying leave me. Then I get pissed that it was ever there in the first place.

  There are four men standing around Cyrus, but none of them wear cuts. Even though Cyrus is proudly wearing his. I open the door wide, then walk backward to retrieve the phone from the floor, never taking my eyes off the five men crowding my doorway. I hit redial and put the phone to my ear.

  “Two minutes.” He must have taken a shortcut.

  “No need,” I respond, watching as the corner of Cyrus’s lip turns up slightly.

  “I’ll be two blocks over. I’ll have eyes on you; you’ll have none on me.” I hang up, knowing in two minutes, Shady will be in the shadows if any of these men try anything stupid. The knowledge is reassuring.

  “We’ll be in the parking lot across the street when you’re ready.” Cyrus turns to leave and I shut the door, watching his retreating back. I find Saylor still in the bathtub. This time, she is praying. Or asleep. When I say her name, her eyes open and prayer is confirmed.

  “I’m going across the street to talk to some people. Shady is close and nothing is gonna happen, but I need you to stay in here until I get back. I’ll only be ten minutes.”

  My words do nothing to ease her mind and I know she is fixing to fire off questions at me. I open the door wide and point to the alarm clock on the nightstand that is visible from where she is. “Ten minutes.” I pull on some jeans and a shirt, tucking my gun in the back of my pants, and slip my boots on. I walk outside, lighting a smoke on my way over to where Cyrus and his men are standing. I position myself so that I can see the front of the apartment in case someone has balls big enough to try to go in.

  “No one is gonna mess with your girl, Dirk.” I remain silent, knowing that my ten minutes have already dwindled to eight. “I know that wasn’t your call. I know Tick, the SA your man Shady shot, initiated the fight. You say he made it personal. I don’t care. You know as well as any man that wears a patch that right and wrong goes out the window when it comes to your brothers. I didn’t know the club had taken it upon themselves to seek out Saylor.”

  The mention of her name from his mouth makes me want to pull my gun out and end this all now. And I don’t try to hide how I feel. He already knows Saylor is my weakness. And I know he is lying. He was fully aware of what they did.

  “The twelve men I buried, their blood is on your hands. And their deaths will be avenged.” He pauses, and I see his eyes flick to the pocket of my jeans. “I’m gonna ask you for a cigarette, Dirk. I don’t want the men whose guns are trained on my head to fire when I reach for my own.” He knew Shady was here. It doesn’t make him good, it just makes him experienced. He would be stupid to think I would walk out here all alone.

  I hand him a smoke and even light it for him, then offer one to his men, who refuse. I don’t want a gunfight any more than they do. “But avenging my brothers’ death is only worth it if I get something out of it. When Sinner’s Creed offered your life in return for peace, they had one exception. They wanted me to give them six months. I refused, so they sweetened the deal. Not only are they giving me you, they’re giving me five mil on top of it. So, if you think about it, your club is actually paying me to take you out. I never thought Sinner’s Creed was the type to turn on their own. I guess I was wrong. But killing you won’t bring back my brothers. So I have a new demand. Your club has something I want. Something that can make this all go away.”

  I watch his eyes as they dance with pure fucking elation at the question that he thinks is running through my head. What the fuck could he possibly want? But I already know what they want. If he’s waiting for me to ask, he’ll be waiting all night. Or at least he would any other time. But I don’t have all night. I have four minutes.

  “What?” I ask, feigning boredom.

  “I want Texas.”

  “Why?”

  “Why is not important. All that you need to know is Texas belongs to Death Mob. If a Sinner’s patch rolls through, he better have permission from me before he does.”

  “You already know that’s not going to happen.”

  “I was asked to spare your life for six months. That was two months ago. Now I’m rethinking the negotiation. So it would be in your best interest to make this happen.” Cyrus’s suggestion sounds so simple coming from his mouth. And just like Jimbo predicted, he is going back on his word. But what he doesn’t know is that I have something he wants too.

  “I don’t think you’re in a position to negotiate,” I say, unable to hold back my smirk as I watch the fear spread across his face.

  “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “It means that you made a deal. You gave your word. But, because we’re aware of what a lying piece of shit you are, we collected something of yours.” The monster inside me becomes ecstatic at the thought of his reaction when he finds out what it is I have.

  But he surprises me when he laughs. “What the hell do you have that can be more important to me than Texas?”

  I give him my best smile. One that wipes that shit-eating smirk right off of his face. Shady really was the best at what he did. And he found out a secret Cyrus never thought would ever surface.

  “I have your daughter.”

  23

  “I PRAYED TODAY,” I tell Saylor when we are back in bed. Her back is to my front and I feel her tense in my arms.

  “What did you say?”

  “I prayed today.” She turns to face me, the light from the scent warmer on the dresser just enough for me to make out the unbelieving smile on her face. It makes her so happy that I elaborate. “I prayed for both of us,” I tell her, and I see a glint of sadness in her eyes before she smiles wider.

  “That’s great, Dirk.” She kisses me before snuggling in closer. But I want to tell her more.

  “It worked,” I say, still not believing that it did. I’m sure God did it for her, but the fact that I asked and he actually listened was enough. She pulls her head back, and this time confusion floods her face.

  “I don’t understand.” Then I realize why she doesn’t. She thinks I prayed she would get better. Maybe I should have. Maybe I will.

  “I don’t want to go into detail about it. I just needed something to go away for a while so I could concentrate on you. I know that no one will take care of you like I will, and I think God knows that too. So I asked on your behalf if he would give me a little more time before I had to deal with it. Tonight, I got confirmation that he did.” Maybe that was a little too much information. Now Saylor is propped on her elbow, and I have her full, inquiring attention.

  “Deal with what? Are you in trouble?” I laugh at her concern, even though it really isn’t funny. She smiles, and I watch her eyes as they fall to my mouth. She likes when I laugh.

  “No, baby. I’m not in trouble. It’s just some club business I have to handle. I thought I was going to have to do it sooner rather than later, but it worked in my favor. Maybe it was just coincidence.” This has her head shaking furiously.

  “There is no such thing. If you asked and got it, then it was ’cause he gave it to you. Don’t go looking for any other explanation than that.” I can already tell she is fixing to go into a huge spill about God and how wonderful he is and how magnificent he is and all that, so I shut her up with a kiss. Then I do what I done last night. This time, I make sure that yesterday wasn’t better, by making sure today is the best.

  After Saylor is asleep, I walk outside and stare up at the sky, thanking God for the first time in my life. I called in my favor, and he gave it
to me. Shady found the leverage we needed, Cyrus found something more valuable than Texas, and Death Mob would give me four months of life before getting their revenge. And it was all the time I needed.

  —

  Tuesday, I got the first taste of what the next six weeks would consist of. Saylor was fine one minute, drinking chocolate milk at the kitchen table. The next, she was vomiting all over the floor. There was no warning, it just hit her suddenly.

  It stopped as suddenly as it started, but when she realized the mess she’d made, she began to get upset and insisted on cleaning it up herself. Because she begged me, I stepped outside and smoked while she did.

  That night, she was laying in bed, sound asleep, then woke up vomiting. Before she could make it to the bathroom, the diarrhea started. This time when she tried to push me away, I refused to leave.

  I helped her shower, then put her clothes and the sheets in the wash before remaking the bed. I placed a trash can by the bed, but since her sickness was so sudden, I wasn’t sure it would work. We spent the next hour sitting up while she sipped a glass of Gatorade. I was sure it wasn’t enough to hydrate her, but she said she couldn’t stomach any more.

  —

  Wednesday morning, she got worse. When Donnawayne and Jeffery came over with doughnuts, she was only two bites in when the nausea hit her again. I expected them to freak out or be grossed out and make a scene, but they simply helped me clean up, ignoring her feeble attempts to do it herself and reassuring her it was okay every time she apologized.

  By that night, her throat was so raw that every time she threw up what little bit she drank, tears would fall from her eyes from the pain. But she never complained. I called Dr. Zi on the cell number he gave me, and told him what was happening. He said it was normal, and that the steroids were wearing off, that was why she was experiencing the sickness now.

  He told me a home health nurse would be over Thursday morning to give her an IV of fluids, so she wouldn’t have to go out.

  When the nurse arrived the next day, she gave Saylor two bags of fluid, and before she left, I could already tell a difference. That night, she managed to eat some applesauce and Jell-O. By the time we went to bed, she was in a much better mood, and had some of her strength back.

  Friday morning, we had to be at the hospital for treatment by ten. Saylor ate some oatmeal, drank two glasses of water, and bathed me when we showered. I tried to stop her, but she told me she needed it.

  When we arrived at the hospital, they did blood work first and found that Saylor was still dehydrated. They upped the dosage of steroids, administered two more bags of fluid, and this time, Saylor took the green bag of Skittles. While she was in treatment, I went out and brought back the Skittles you can eat, and she managed to eat ten or twelve with no problem.

  She had lost three pounds, but it wasn’t enough to notice. By the time her treatment was over, I was sure Saylor had put makeup on. The color was back in her cheeks, the life was back in her eyes, and she was laughing. It still sounded like she had a cold, but her laughter was heart wrenching in all forms.

  After we said good-bye to everyone, Saylor and I were asked to go to the maintenance department. There, we found sixty new ceiling tiles that would replace the old ones in the room where she took her treatment. They were painted in bright colors consisting of different scenes. I wasn’t surprised to find a sunset, a rainbow, and a clear blue sky. The maintenance man promised her that he would have them installed tomorrow.

  —

  Our weekend was good. Saturday, the high was in the sixties, which wasn’t unusual for January in Mississippi, and I took Saylor out for a ride on the bike. Sunday, Donnawayne and Jeffery came over. I grilled, then they all sat down to watch chick flicks. I chose this time to go over to the clubhouse and hang out with Shady.

  On Monday, Shady, Rookie, and Carrie came over and the guys drank beer while the women sat and gossiped, or did whatever in the hell it is women do. Saylor was doing so good that I figured the increased dosage on the steroids was enough to keep her body fighting against the medicine. But it’s Tuesday morning and Saylor has been puking her guts up for the last ten minutes.

  I know she doesn’t have much dignity left and if it gets worse, she will lose it altogether, so I give her some space. She had said that the vomiting isn’t as embarrassing as the diarrhea. It doesn’t bother me though. I love her, and nothing she does could ever make me think less of her. I just see it as her body ridding itself of poison, no matter what orifice it chooses to come out of.

  I fix Saylor a glass of water, grab the trash can and a bottle of Gatorade, and then head back to the bathroom. When I tap on the door, I get no response. So I open it. And my heart stops. Saylor is lying on the floor in her pajamas that are covered in vomit and feces, shaking and crying. Sobbing. And in her hand is a clump of her beautiful hair.

  “It just keeps falling out.” She cries, pulling another wad of loose hair from her head. I fall to my knees beside her and take her in my arms. Not knowing what do to. She wails so loud, it scares me. She hiccups in the back of her throat, and another round of vomiting begins. It’s all over me before I have the chance to position her over the toilet, but I don’t pay it any attention. My eyes are drawn to Saylor’s scalp, which is visible through the large bald spot in the back of her head. “I’m so sorry,” she manages, while trying to catch her breath.

  “Baby, it’s okay,” I tell her, rubbing her back while her head rests on the side of the toilet. The scent of the room is off and I take notice of what’s around me. This isn’t vomit; it’s bile. I’m glad I’m equipped with a wrought iron stomach; I just wish Saylor was too.

  She continues to vomit until there is nothing left and the scent alone has her gagging and dry heaving. I struggle to pull her pajama top over her head, which is a task considering she lacks the strength to hold herself up. I sit her on the toilet and remove her pants, hiding them so she can’t see what they’re covered in. Not wanting to wash her hair for fear that it will fall out and add to her distress, I sit her in the tub and grab the glass beside the sink to bathe her.

  When she is clean, I leave her sitting in the tub while I clean up the bathroom. Once her clothes are washing, the bathroom floor and toilet are clean, and the loose strands of hair are disposed of, I wrap her in a towel and carry her to the bedroom, propping her in the middle of the bed against the pillows.

  “Saylor,” I say and a piece of me dies at the sight of how sad she looks. I could beat around the bush, but I’m not. This is her and I’m me and she wants it straight. This shit might affect our daily lives, but it doesn’t change who we are.

  “Your hair is falling out pretty bad. I remember what you said to me the other week. And if you still want me to, I will.” She cries a little harder, but nods her head. I leave her to get a chair from the kitchen, a towel, and the scissors. Then I position her in front of the floor-length bathroom mirror behind the door so she can watch.

  “Will you take a picture?” she asks, and I leave to retrieve the camera and throw some sweats on in the process. I come back and take my first-ever bathroom mirror picture. She manages a smile and I give her a smirk before snapping a few more. I grab her hair in my hand, at the base of her neck, watching as some of the strands fall out with the slightest pull.

  “You ready?” I ask, meeting her eyes in the mirror. She takes a deep, staccato breath and nods. I lean down to her ear, never taking my eyes off of hers. “You will still have your power, Saylor. It’s in your heart, not in your hair. And you will still be you.” A tear falls from her cheek and it causes a burning in the back of my own eyes.

  I look away long enough to line up the scissors, then meet her gaze before making the first cut. She closes her eyes when the sound echoes in the bathroom, and I look down to finish cutting the ponytail in my hand away from her head. When it is gone, I hold the long locks out to her and she takes them from me.

  While she strokes them, I concentrate on cutting the remaining lon
g strands, then take the clippers and run them over her head until the only thing left is a short fuzz that I’m sure will wash off in the shower. I step in front of her, kneeling down and lifting her chin so she is looking at me. “You are beautiful.” And she is. Her hair was something I found remarkable about her, but now I find that she is even more perfect without it. It allows me to see a part of her that I haven’t seen, which is just as flawless as every other part of her body. “I like that I can see more of you. Too much of a good thing is a good thing, and I will never get too much of you.”

  —

  When Saylor is asleep, I call Donnawayne and Jeffery and ask them to come over. It’s only been ten minutes and they are at the front door. Judging by their disheveled looks, they came in a hurry with no regard to their appearance, which speaks volumes for them.

  “I need a favor,” I say while I pour my coffee. My back is to them because I can’t look them in the eye. I know it’s stupid. They care about Saylor too, but it’s a blow to my pride to ask them for help when I should be able to handle everything.

  “Whatever you need, Dirk.” Donnawayne’s voice catches me off guard. I know he is doing this for Saylor but the fact that he is addressing me says we are making progress.

  “I shaved Saylor’s head this morning.” This time, I meet their eyes and the room is filled with a silent sadness so thick you couldn’t cut it with a knife. “I don’t know much about fashion, so I was hoping y’all would go get her a wig or some head scarves and shit. Something to make her not so self-conscious. We all know how important her hair was to her.”

  “We will take care of it. Anything else she needs?” Jeffery asks, not bothering to wipe the tears from his face.

  “Some more pajamas. Maybe some that button up.” Diapers probably wouldn’t be a bad idea either, but I don’t want Saylor having to wear those. I could never ask her to do that. Cleaning her didn’t bother me anyway.