28

WE BURIED SAYLOR the following Sunday. I arranged to have the service in the evening, just as the sun was setting in the Nevada sky. The funeral was small with only our closest friends present.

Hardly anyone spoke, but there was no silence. I could hear Saylor all around me. I could hear her laughter in the birds that nested in the trees surrounding her grave. I could feel her in the wind that carried the slightest scent of citrus from a source I had yet to find. She was everywhere.

Before I met Saylor, I felt empty inside. I was surrounded by nothing but hate, greed, and power. I never missed her, because I never knew she existed. But now that I’ve had her and she is gone forever from my life, the emptiness is back, and it’s worse.

I’m void of any emotion. Nothing exists inside me. I feel no pain, no fear, no anger . . . nothing. It’s like I’m just here being a waste of space and sucking up air that could be better used by anybody other than me.

Yesterday, after the last shovel of dirt was placed on her grave, I wondered how I would move on. Saylor once told me that I was her reason and now that she had me, she wasn’t needed in this life anymore. So, if I was her purpose and she was mine, then why in the hell was I still here?

I can’t keep the saying the good die young from invading my thoughts. If that’s the case, I’ll live forever. But what is worse? Living a life here on earth without her, or living an eternity in hell without her? It didn’t matter. I knew my fate, and it was well deserved.

—

“We delivered Cyrus’s daughter back to him this morning,” Shady tells me Monday afternoon.

We’re sitting on the couch—the last place I held Saylor in my arms. Shady hasn’t let me out of his sight since the funeral. I know he is worried about me, but I couldn’t offer him any reassurance that I’m okay. Because I’m not.

“That’s good,” I mumble, my thumbs rubbing over the leather-bound diary that was Saylor’s most prized possession.

“Dirk . . .” Shady runs his hand through his hair. I know what’s coming, and somehow I find the strength to help ease my brother’s turmoil.

“I know, Shady. I know.” My impending doom was quickly approaching. And I’d never welcomed death more than now. I couldn’t feel like this any longer. Maybe there wasn’t an afterlife for people like me. Maybe hell was just a myth. Could I be that lucky?

Standing, I cut my eyes to him. “Follow me.” I lead him down the hall into Black’s old room, which now belonged to Shady. Saylor had made it a point to tell him that this house was his home, too. After I’d told her he’d never had a place of his own or even his own bedroom, she’d insisted that we designated this room solely to him.

I open the safe in the closet, making sure he knows what the code is. I pull out a manila envelope, and hold it out to him. “Everything I own belongs to you. I had Cleft draw up the paperwork.”

Immediately, Shady shakes his head. “Dirk, it doesn’t have to be this way. We can hold them off. I’ll help you leave. Hell, I’ll fuckin’ go with you.”

Brotherhood.

My relationship with Shady was the definition of it.

I meet his eyes that are full of sorrow and regret. I feel something twist in my chest. I thought my heart died with Saylor, but apparently a piece of it still remained. And it beat for Shady.

“If there is a man in this world who will understand what I’m about to say, that man is you.” Wrapping my hand around the back of his neck, I narrow my eyes on him. “I’ve never felt peace. She was the closest thing I ever had to it. But even with her, my mind raced with thoughts of when I would lose her, or how I could be a better man for my club. I don’t want to be here anymore, Shady. There’s nothing left for me.”

Tightening my hold, I place my forehead against his and do the one thing I’ve never done in my life. I beg. “Please, Shady. Just let me go.”

Without warning, he pulls me in. I welcome his embrace and tell him everything in this one moment that I’ve never said out loud. I want to remain silent. I want to hold tight to my dignity. But there is no pride where he is concerned—not anymore. Not after everything he’s done for me. And if Saylor taught me anything, it was that sometimes words were needed.

“You’re the greatest brother I’ve ever had,” I say, my arms wrapped around him. “You’re the only one I’ve ever fully trusted. My love for you goes beyond the patch, Shady. You’re not just my brother. You’re my best fucking friend.”

My heart is shattered. Everything I’ve ever held dear I’m saying good-bye to. I can’t do it anymore. I’m mentally exhausted. I’m ready to leave. I’m ready to meet my fate. I’m ready to die.

Pulling away from him, I shove the envelope against his chest, forcing him to take it. In my other hand I hold the most precious thing to me. Only because it was the most precious thing to my love. I hand Shady Saylor’s diary. “She loved you. She’d want you to have this.”

He looks down at the diary, his eyes transfixed on the book of Saylor’s life. Before he has a chance to say anything, I walk out of the room. I don’t give a second glance to anything in the house. There is no need for me to look—I have all the good memories already memorized.

On my bike outside, I sit in the darkness. My eyes roam over the dirty patches on my vest. The years of blood, sweat, and tears in my threads blaze through my mind as the memories come flooding back. Everything I’ve done wrong. Everything I’ve worked so hard for. All the lives I’ve taken. They’re all a constant reminder of my life as Sinner’s Creed.

As I pull out of my driveway for the last time, I don’t feel any regret. I don’t wonder what my life might have been. I am who I am. I’ll die as the same man. Sinner’s Creed was my home, my life, and my legacy. This world could take everything it wanted to from me. But it couldn’t take this. My Saylor was gone, but my club still thrived.

Sinner’s Forever . . .

Forever Sinners . . .

In the end, I might lose the battle. But I’ve won the war.

Alive or dead, I am the victor.

I am Sinner’s Creed Nomad National Dirk . . .

And that’s the fucking truth.

—

I’m riding hard, void of feeling, void of emotion, void of her. All I have are her memories, but they’re not enough. So I ride harder, letting the sound of the wind and pipes silence the screaming in my head. But there is another sound that can’t be silenced. It’s familiar.

The loud rumble of pipes behind me is powerful enough to vibrate the concrete beneath my tires. And then I see them. Countless headlights shine through the dark desert night, and roaring engines speed behind me, creating a perfect two-line formation.

My first thought is that it’s my brothers, coming to support me, to let me know that I’m not alone. But as they gain on me with no intentions of slowing, I know they are not my brothers. They are my enemies.

I wait for the familiar feel of adrenaline to course through my veins. I anticipate the heavy beat of my heart against my chest. I rack my brain for the knowledge of what to do. I’m sure the will to survive and desire to fight is coming.

But it doesn’t. Just like Saylor, everything fades. I can almost feel the weight of peace as it settles over me like a blanket.

I hear the sound of a bullet being forced from the barrel of a gun. I can hear it whistle as it travels through the air. I can even hear the sound of flesh tearing, splaying open my skin, as it rips through the thick leather of my cut and connects just behind my left shoulder.

But I feel nothing.

My eyes begin to close and the sound of screeching metal against concrete and the thud of my helmet against the road is loud in my ears.

Still, I feel nothing.

Then, there is silence.

My eyes focus on the lights that shine down the two-lane road in front of me. Heavy footsteps surround me and a dark figure blocks the beam of light from my view. I somehow find the strength to meet the eyes of the man who stands before me. Cyrus.

He says something, but I can’t hear him. Before the darkness completely consumes me, my last vision is of the shiny, metal barrel of his gun.

Then, nothing.

—

I don’t know how long it’s been, but I begin to feel. I wait for the smoldering heat to be so intense that my body ignites in flames. I wait for the sound of painful cries and torture to fill my ears. I keep my eyes closed because I know that if I can feel and I can hear, then I can see. And I have an eternity to look at the misery before me.

But something isn’t right. I feel warmth, but not an agonizing, flesh-burning heat. What I hear is loud, but not cries of repent or suffering screams. I crack open one eye, and a shining, blue sky looks back at me. I open the other and stare up into an endless sea of blue sky and puffy white clouds.

My hands move beside me, and the softest granules of sand sift through my fingers. I sit straight up, and miles of ocean water stretch as far as I can see. I can feel, hear, and see so much, but I only have one thought.

I’m dead. And someone fucked up.

There is no fire. There is no darkness. There is no Black. There is only me, the ocean, and the sky. The peacefulness is almost overwhelming, but it settles inside of me, infiltrating every part of my body.

Instead of panic, I feel comfort. Suddenly, I don’t know my name. I don’t know who I am or how I got here. I’m just here. Everything that seemed wrong and foreign only minutes ago seems right, and I know I belong here.

I inhale deeply, letting the scent of salt water and fresh air invade my lungs. There is a hint of citrus in the air. I know I should recognize it, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.

I pull my boots off and sink my toes into the sand at my feet. It feels like satin. I walk to the water, letting the tide cover the tops of my feet, and it feels warm and cool at the same time. The perfect temperature.

Then I feel something. Something magnetic pulling at me, causing me to turn my eyes back toward the tall palms that line the beach.

And I see her. She is a vision in white. Her hair is blond, curly, unruly, and sticks out over her head like she stuck her finger in a light socket. She is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

Her smile is wide, two full, pink lips framing a set of perfect white teeth. Her dress flows at her bare feet that she places one in front of the other, bringing her to me. She stops inches from my face, closes her mesmerizing emerald eyes, and holds her arms out to her sides. The light breeze from the ocean swirls her hair around her head and I have the overwhelming urge to close my eyes too. Her scent fills me as memories come flooding back.

I’m a child, crying in the back room of a house. There is a man there, Black.

I’m a man, confused and torn on the inside. There is a knife in my hand and an unrecognizable man laying dead at my feet.

I’m wearing a vest. Thick, black leather covered in patches. I’m a Nomad for Sinner’s Creed.

Images of death, feelings of pain, memories of darkness, they overtake me and remind me of who I am.

Then there is her. She is scared. She is distracted. She is singing, dancing, crying, laughing, sick, hurt . . . Then there is me. I am angry. I am powerful. I am a monster. I am feeling, loving, caring, smiling, laughing, praying . . . I open my eyes and she is still in front of me. This angel. She looks shy, maybe even a little nervous. Then, she speaks.

“You’re late.”

“I’m Dirk.”

“I’m Saylor.”

“I know.”