13

SAYLOR HAS FUCKED me in every room of my newly renovated house, in every position, on every piece of furniture, every day since she asked me if I loved her. That was a week ago. I’m wondering if she is trying to fuck the words out of me. If she keeps it up, it might even work.

Every room in my house is a different color. Every room looks totally different, and every day I find the old memories fading and being replaced with new ones of me and her.

Black’s room wasn’t as hard to go through as I thought it would be. Lucky for me, he didn’t have very much shit in there. His personal items like his clothes, hats, and shoes were all burned. Even his furniture and linens. The closet held two boxes full of shit. One was full of patches, pictures with the club, and a few corny-ass letters from some bitches while he was in the army. The other box was filled with his father’s things.

There were some old pictures of Black and his dad, two American flags, his parents’ death certificates, and a box of old jewelry—probably his mom’s. In the back corner of his closet, I found a safe. I couldn’t figure out the combination to save my life. When Saylor suggested I try my birthday, I did just to humor her. Surprisingly, it worked. My heart did some funny shit and I thought of love. If using my birthday as a combination to a safe was the only love he could ever show me though, he could keep it. But what I found inside changed my perspective on Black—slightly.

While Saylor ogled the hundred-dollar bills I pulled out, acting as if she had never seen so much money, I focused on the letter with my name on it. I opened it up, fighting the shaking in my hand, and saw that it was dated just days before he died.

Dirk,

If you’re reading this I’m dead. The club knows about the money I’ve been taking and I’m sure they’re gonna kill me. I hope it’s you that does it. At least it’d be well deserved. I didn’t know your mama. Hell, I barely knew your daddy. I didn’t want you, but I didn’t have much of a choice. I owed a favor to someone and that someone told me we would be square if I took you in. Much like you I’ve never had a family other than the club. A biker is what I am and what I’ll die as. I ain’t no daddy. Never claimed to be. But I want you to know that I did what I did because that’s the only way I knew to teach you. I never told you before because I didn’t know how. But I’m proud of you, Dirk. I always have been. From the very first day you came into my life, I was proud to call you mine. You’re a better man than I ever was. A better brother too. If I got to live my life over, I’d want another shot at being a daddy. And I’d want my son to be just like you.

Black

In two days, I bet I’ve read the letter a hundred times. I kept trying to find closure in it, but I never did. I finally burned it yesterday. The words were now permanently imprinted in my memory. I couldn’t figure out if it made me hate him more, or like him less. Each outcome was just as negative as the other.

Who in the fuck did Black owe a favor to? And why the fuck would that someone trust him to raise a kid? If I knew, I’d kill them myself. They deserved to pay. They are responsible for a monster that was created over something as simple as a favor. If Black hadn’t raised me, I might have had a shot at a decent fucking life. But he poisoned me and I have, in turn, poisoned so many others. He was proud of me. He said so in a fucking letter. Had I known then what I know now, I never would have killed that man all those years ago. I would have taken my life in a different direction.

But because I wanted his love and pride so much, I was willing to take a life to earn it. That was the beginning of the train ride I would take to the deepest depths of hell. If he got a chance to live life over, I’d kill him before he had a chance to ruin anyone by turning them into me. Nobody wants their son to be like me. Nobody.

Today, I’m just sitting on my new couch, while Saylor writes in her diary, debating on whether or not I should go dig up his body, just so I can watch it burn. Maybe that would make me feel better.

Tomorrow, Saylor has to go home while I go to Texas. I don’t know how it will be without her, but I know I’m already dreading it. By the sad look on her face, she is too.

Something happened and Nationals decided that I need to get there as quickly as possible. So Saylor and I will be flying to Houston in the morning. It’s a layover for her, but a drop-off point for me. My brothers from a chapter there will pick me up. I’ll get a bike from the shop and hopefully only go about three days without seeing her. Tonight, I just want to hold her, but the hungry look in her eyes tells me I’ll be fucking her first. That’s fine too.

—

Saylor has a sad look in her eyes as we pack up to leave. Just as we are about to head out, she asks me to wait a minute. I watch as she stands in the kitchen, closes her eyes, and inhales deeply. Long gone is the scent I’m so familiar with. It is now replaced with something that smells like pomegranate or some shit.

She touches everything, memorizing it as if she might not ever see it again. I want to reassure her that she will, but I don’t. I’m too caught up in how sorrowful her face is. I don’t follow her down the hall because I feel like this is a moment she needs to herself. And then I hear her voice. She is singing. I’ve never heard the song, but she is telling me she came to my house and asking me if I would forgive her for doing it. Her voice is haunted. I’ve never heard Saylor sing with such emotion.

I cautiously walk down the hall to where she is. She is looking out the window of my bedroom, staring blankly into the backyard, her voice even more pained. I don’t understand what’s happening. I don’t know what’s triggered her song or her actions. But, as I listen to the words, I feel her painful emotions and they’re like a knife through my heart. When she is finished singing, I stand for an eternity waiting for her to say something. Do something. Fucking something.

“When I was a little girl, I imagined living in a house like this. With a husband and a family.” She is whispering and I have to strain to hear her. When she turns from the window, a distant look is in her eyes.

“You told me that you didn’t know what love really was.” She looks up at me, and the sadness in her eyes is so intense that I’m forced to look away. But when she speaks again, I’m drawn back to her. This time I focus on her mouth rather than her eyes.

“Real love is wanting someone to experience the same, deeply powerful feeling that you do. The one that takes your breath at certain moments and speeds your heart at others. And it’s wanting it without any regard to who that person chooses to share it with. That’s the love I have for you, Dirk. And I would give anything in the world for you to feel what I feel. Even if it isn’t for me.”

She leaves me alone and I know she is letting me process her words. There is no need. I know what she feels, because I feel it too. I don’t need a definition. I don’t need to think about why I’ve never felt it before. Because it doesn’t fucking matter.

It’s taken me thirty years to have a feeling like this, and it’s been worth every second. If I could do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing. Because what I have shouldn’t be wasted on anyone but her. She deserves it all and she has it. It’s not just a four-letter word. It’s not just a feeling or an emotion. It’s not just something you say. It’s a necessity. A vitality. A need that can’t be filled. A reason. A purpose. It’s a sunset. A clear blue sky. A rainbow. It’s everything that’s anything that makes you happy. Everything that’s anything that makes you whole. It’s the only thing that can save my soul, and the only thing I’ve ever wanted.

Love.

I’m tripping over my feet trying to get to her. I don’t want another second to pass in this life without telling her how I feel. She already knows it, but I want to say it. I want the words to sound as beautiful to her ears as hers did to mine. I find her in the living room, touching the furniture and memorizing a place that I won’t let her forget.

“You once said you would give anything for me to feel what you feel.” She opens her eyes to look at me, and I can see everything she told me, spelled out in the sparkling green pools.

“I feel what you feel. I have no pride when it comes to you. You have everything. I love you, Saylor. And the only reason I’m telling you those words is because I want you to have it in every way I’m capable of giving it to you. But they’re just words. I’ll show you I love you and I’ll spend every fucking day of the rest of my life convincing you that what I have is just for you. You’ll never have to worry about me feeling like this for anybody else, because there will never be anybody else. If what I feel for you is love, then you are what love is. And it doesn’t exist if you don’t.”

I stand there, waiting for a reaction. In movies, I’m sure this is the part where she runs and jumps in my arms and we kiss. In a book, this is where she gets teary eyed and says Oh, Dirk, in that way that makes women swoon and men want to vomit. But, in real life, her reaction is only a knowing smile, then a sigh, a lip bite, a sadness that pools in her eyes and a wrinkle in her forehead.

“I am not love,” she says, and I notice she is getting fidgety. Her arms are crossed over her chest, her bottom lip tucked in her mouth, and she is staring down at the floor, shifting her weight from one leg to the other.

“What you feel for me is love. What you felt for Black, that’s love. Your brothers, you love them. Love is all around you, Dirk. It always has been. What you think is respect and loyalty and all that shit—that’s love. Maybe not the way you feel it for me, but you have it for them too. If I don’t exist, love will still be here. And you will find it in the family around you.” She looks determined. Like she wants me to believe in love more than anything. Yet she hasn’t actually ever said the words to me. Only in a roundabout way.

Her words are pounding in my head. They demand attention and I know my brain won’t sleep until I process what she said. I think of Black and I wonder if I ever loved him. I did. It wasn’t like this, but it was an intense feeling that I’ve never felt for another man. He was the only parent I had and I wanted his love more than anything. Maybe more than Saylor’s.

I think of my club. Roach, Jimbo, even Shady means something to me. It goes beyond the patch and the respect I have for them. I never wanted their love because they never denied me of it. They love me because I’m their brother. All this time, I’ve loved them too. I love.

I’m not awestruck by the fact; I guess I’ve always known. Saylor has that look in her eyes and I know she is aware of my revelation. She could probably recite my unspoken words verbatim. When her eyes become watery and a smile spreads across her face, she doesn’t have to tell me, but I know she will.

“I love you, Dirk.” And it’s perfect.

—

Saylor seems shocked when she looks at her ticket and sees we are flying first class. I’m beginning to think that she thinks I’m poor. Not that I care either way.

I like how fascinated she is with all the extra shit that comes with flying first class. I like how she has a sparkle in her eyes and kisses me in thanks and ignores the stares of people around us. I like how she asks the flight attendant if the drinks are free, then tells her to keep ’em comin’ when she finds out they are.

By the time we land, she is buzzing and happy and has that sexy, dreamy look in her eye, and I find myself smiling down at her. A real smile.

I love her.

I find the gate that will connect her flight from Houston to Jackson, and for the first time in my life, I wish I wasn’t in the club. I want to stay with her. Just the thought of not being with her for three days has my stomach knotting and my mind searching for a way to stay. But it comes up empty-handed, just as I suspected.

“I don’t want you to go. I want you to fly with me to Jackson and fuck me in the bathroom at thirty thousand feet.” Saylor’s pout turns into an eyebrow-jumping suggestive attempt at sexy. It works, until she hiccups. Shit. That’s sexy too.

“I have to. I’ll be back on Monday.” It was Thursday. That was three days, seventy-two hours, and too damn long to not see her face . . . smell her hair . . . feel her body . . . It’s official. I’m a pussy.

“Well, don’t tell me good-bye. Just leave,” Saylor says, turning her back, hitting me in the face with her hair in the process. I smirk at her, even though she can’t see me.

I grab her shoulders and turn her to face me. It’s an easy task considering she doesn’t fight me. I knew it was exactly what she expected me to do. I have only a few minutes left, and in the time it takes me to walk to my waiting car, I have to transform from a pussy to the Nomad for Sinner’s Creed I was before I met her.

I lift her chin with my finger and look down at her green, watery eyes. “Three days, baby.” She blinks up at me and gives me a sad smile.

“I like when you call me baby.” I lean down and kiss her softly, wondering how the fuck I’m gonna survive without tasting her. “I love you.”

“I love you,” I say without hesitation. It’s natural. And I like the way it sounds on my lips. And I like the way she smiles when I say it. And I have to leave so my nuts have time to drop before I get to the clubhouse.

I hand her her backpack, then pull a phone from mine. “My number is the only contact in here. If you need me, call me. If you just want to talk, text. If I don’t answer you back right away, I’m working, but if you call, I’ll always answer. Let me know when you land.” She takes the old flip phone and laughs. This time I know what she’s thinking. And she is right.

“Let me guess, untraceable prepaid?” She shakes her head and puts the phone in her back pocket. “I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t exciting dating a criminal.” I smirk at her comment, then give her my own before turning and leaving her.

“I’d be lying if I said you make me not want to be one.”

—

I’m not surprised to find Shady behind the wheel of the black sedan that is waiting outside for me. His computer skills and ability to find out information on anyone is just as important on this mission as my muscle and power of enforcement is. I’m glad he’s here, because if anyone can put me in a shit mood, and pull me out of this Saylor trance I’m in, he can with his corny-ass jokes and goofy-ass personality.

“Lover boy!” is the greeting I get, and a death glare is his. “Right.” He closes his mouth and pulls out into traffic, passing me an envelope in the process. I open it to find pictures of men that I’ve never seen wearing a cut I’m very familiar with.

“Death Mob is making a move. They’re trying to set a chapter up just north of Houston.” Shady’s information doesn’t come as a surprise to me.

Death Mob is the second-largest 1 percent MC in the states. Sinner’s Creed is the first. They have their territory that mostly covers the northeast part of the U.S., where we cover the majority of the south and the southwest. Including Texas.

“I’ve done some diggin’,” Shady starts, and from the way he says it, I know what he found isn’t gonna be something I like. “They’re handing out patches like they’re fucking candy. They’re taking MCs and turning them into one-percenters overnight. My best guess is they’re preparing for a war. Roach don’t want ’em in Houston ’cause of the business we got with the border, he don’t want to start a war, but my guess is they do.” My jaw clenches at the news. I can feel the blood moving through my veins as time stands still. Motherfuckers like me and Shady earned our shit. It wasn’t given to us.

Being a one-percenter is about more than numbers. Quality over quantity and all that shit. We hung around for five years, prospected for one, and some probated for two. It took a lot to earn the trust that was given and the respect that was needed. I’d give my life for a brother I’ve never met because I know he’s had to prove himself. And he’d give his life for me—no questions asked.

Our patch united us because we all sacrificed something to get it. Our pride, our freedom, and our lives. Even though one-percenters were their own government, we all had to answer to someone. And that someone was Dorian, the infamous don for the Underground Mafia. We actually worked for Dorian, as did Death Mob. While we handled the majority of the transfer and did all the illegal dirty work, it was Dorian who handled the distribution—which was considered to be the most important and riskiest part of the illegal operations. Therefore, they got the biggest cut and they called the shots.

Sinner’s Creed and the Underground had been in business together for a long time. History had proven our loyalty to them, but at the end of the day it was all about business. And engaging in a war with Death Mob was bad business. Dorian had the power to pull the strings on all of us. If Sinner’s Creed lost their position with the Underground, then the club would fold.

“We can’t do shit about how they run things. All we can do is keep an eye on them and let them know where we stand. I’m here for the paperwork; you’re here for the dirty work.” Shady sticks out his lower lip. “You get to have all the fun.”

“You sound like a fag.” He laughs at my response. Nothing against men who like men, but I can’t stand a man that acts all prissy-fied. Shady couldn’t be more gay in this moment if he wore a dress and lipstick. Considering he is still laughing, I know he did it on purpose. Glad he can prove my theory. The best way to go from pussy to Nomad in less than five minutes was to be in an enclosed space with Shady. I guess that’s why I love him. Fuck.