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.

I put some pants on, trying not to wake Saylor. I pause, forgetting the men in the yard and just stare at her sleeping form. It wasn’t often I had the opportunity to watch Saylor sleep. She usually beat me up every morning. Laughter outside reminds me of who’s waiting for me, and I look out the blinds in Black’s room to get a better count of them. But counting wasn’t necessary. The more the merrier. Because these men aren’t Death Mob. They are Sinner’s Creed.

I open the front door and am greeted by Chaps, who looks pissed off at the world. Like he always does.

“Got some bad news, Dirk.” There was no need for any more words, but I knew they were coming. “Roach is dead.”

—

It’s tradition with our MC that chapters gather when a brother dies. All states meet at a neutral spot and spend the next few days remembering the one who died. The ones who didn’t know him well listen and learn. We aren’t a group that mourns—we celebrate. I guess my house was the meeting point. And I knew why.

The club might have followed protocol, but they damn sure didn’t want to. I could see it in all of their eyes when they spoke to me. Having the gathering here gave them an opportunity to get to know my house, familiarize themselves with my surroundings, and offer their protection to me and to Saylor, as long as they could. This was family. This was love. I still wasn’t comfortable with saying it, but it is what it is.

Over forty members fill my house and yard, and more are pouring in by the minute. There will be close to a hundred by the time they all arrive. Saylor emerges from the bedroom and into the chaos. She looks nervous, then confused, then excited when she realizes it’s an opportunity to show off our newly renovated home. She’s dressed in a thick jogging suit and I notice layers underneath. Her rosy cheeks alarm me and when I press my lips to her forehead, fever burns them.

“You’re sick,” I tell her and she shakes her head at me.

“Don’t. I really need the company.” Her serious look morphs back into a smile when she greets someone else. I am forgotten as she busies herself in the kitchen making coffee. She still doesn’t know the reason for everyone being here. When she asks Shady, he looks at me. I nod to him and he tells her. She covers her mouth, shakes her head, and I read her lips when she says, “He was such a nice man.”

The commotion and attention is enough for her to forget the sadness of Roach’s loss and maybe even enough to not remind her of what she’s going through.

Even though I knew Roach was dying, it still didn’t make today any easier. But knowing that he wasn’t suffering anymore made it a little more tolerable. I’m just glad he went out before he had to depend on someone to feed and bathe him. His pride didn’t matter to us. I’d have stood in line to do my share of taking care of him just as everyone else in this room would have. But that’s not what Roach would have wanted. It damn sure wasn’t what I wanted. I wondered if Saylor felt the same way.

Jimbo comes up to me, breaking my concentration, and it’s a relief to see his face. It’s an even greater relief to see the regret in his eyes. At least I know he is feeling some remorse about the deal with Death Mob.

“You got some big shoes to fill,” I tell him and he manages a smile.

“Yeah, yeah I do.”

“Nah! That fucker had the littlest feet. You remember how tiny they were?” someone says, and everyone laughs at the memory of Roach’s size-eight boots he sported so proudly. I can’t help but smile at the memory myself. He did have some little-ass feet.

I look over at Saylor, who is ever the hostess, laying all our damn groceries out on the counter. She is offering an endless buffet of shit that I know they will eat just ’cause it’s there.

I follow Nationals outside, thinking how that word will never have the same meaning now that Roach is gone. They tell me that they are gonna cremate him and I agree with the arrangement. I know it’s what he wanted.

There is no mention of Death Mob, but when conversation dies and everyone starts looking around avoiding the topic, I know it’s on their minds. I guess they want me to say something.

“I’m not worried about Death Mob.” The sound of my voice has every set of eyes in the yard turning on me. Eventually, the crowd around me grows and I have everyone’s attention. I’m glad Saylor is still inside, where I hope she’ll stay. The last thing I want is for her to be worried about me.

“I’m gonna reach out to them. Tell them what happened and give them an opportunity to stand down. If they don’t, then I’ll handle it. Roach said they only want me, and that’s all they are gonna get.” I light a cigarette, using the distraction to make sure I don’t choke up or get pissed at my next announcement. It’s an important one.

I take a deep breath, making sure to meet the eyes of all my brothers so they know my next words are for them. “I’ve never asked the club for anything. I’ve earned everything I’ve ever gotten and then some. I’ve devoted my whole life to this club. It’s always been my reason. But now, I have another reason.” I pause, waiting for that feeling of weakness to hit me. And I wait, but nothing is there. There is nothing undignified about my confession of love for Saylor. And by the looks on the faces of the men before me, they don’t take my news as a show of weakness, but more as a show of strength and trust. Trust in them. Something not many of them feel when it comes to me.

“It’s no secret that Saylor is sick.” Dying. “I plan to spend every day she has left by her side. So, I’m asking you, brothers, to do me a favor. I would never ask the club to suffer for my mistake, but I will ask that you help me where she is concerned. I want to keep her safe, and with the heat that I have, I don’t know if I can do it alone. I need your word.”

I know what their answer will be. There is not a man standing before me that will deny my request. But club comes first, and that’s something I have to respect. I’m not asking for an army, I just need a few soldiers.

Chaps, who was standing near the back of the crowd of men, is now making his way forward. When he is in front of me, I feel my uneasiness grow. I can read just about anyone, but today, this man is unreadable and I don’t know what he is fixing to say. I’m beginning to prepare my counter speech to his “club comes first” reminder, when he speaks.

“It’s a sad day when we are forced to sacrifice one of our own because of business. But we all know that with this patch, there is a chance that we are gonna have to prove that club comes first. That being said, I don’t see any reason why we can’t do something to hold them off until this is over.” By over, I know Chaps is referring to Saylor’s life. I don’t like how he said it, but the shadow of sorrow in his eyes says that her death will be a great loss. And that it’s something he doesn’t wish on her. Or on me.

“I’m sure we can come up with something,” Jimbo, the new national president, says. “Shady.” Shady, who has been standing beside me, closes the distance between him and Jimbo. By the way his fingers are already twitching, I know he is ready to work at Jimbo’s command. “Find a way to buy us some time.”

—

I stand around, listening to everyone bullshit, and feel more like myself now that the intense conversation is over. I catch Chaps before he walks away and do something I never thought I’d do. I stick my hand out to his, and when he grabs it, I pull him in for a hug.

I owe this man more than my respect and should have given it to him long ago. Where Black is responsible for making me the monster, Chaps is responsible for teaching me how to survive like one. Even though this is enough, I give him more. Maybe it’s because of our loss of Roach. Maybe it’s because Saylor has taught me how short life is, or maybe it’s because I now know that words aren’t always a bad thing. Whatever the reason doesn’t matter. There is something I need to say and something he needs to hear.

“Thank you, Chaps. For everything.” My words are repetitive. I’ve said the same to Shady and to Roach. But each man deserves to hear them and each time I say them, they have a different meaning.

“You’ve earned it, Dirk. Every bit of it.” I watch Chaps walk away to join the cloud of smoke coming from the end of the porch. Then I look out at my yard full of brothers that are owed so much more than what I’ve given them. I’ve spent my whole life living inside the walls I’ve built around myself. Who knew someone as fragile as Saylor would be the one capable of knocking them down.

—

I walk inside and find Saylor in the kitchen, trying to clean up the mess the club has created. When she turns so I can see her face, I know she’s overdone herself. Her cheeks are red, her eyes heavy, and her movements slow.

“Hey, baby,” I say to her, placing my hands on the side of her face. She looks exhausted.

“I just need to lay down a little while. I’ll be fine.” I walk with her to our room and watch as she climbs under the covers. Leaning down to kiss her head, I tell her I love her. But she is already asleep.

—

“Everything’s taken care of, brother. You don’t have anything to worry about for a while,” Jimbo informs me once I’m back outside. I look at him, and he knows I want answers. But, he don’t want to give me any. “It’s not for you to worry about. It’s handled and that’s all you need to know.”

I didn’t like being on a need-to-know basis, but if Jimbo thought it was best, then I guess it was. He was the man now and I had to respect that. It would take some getting used to, but eventually I would.

“Thank you, Jimbo.” He waves off my words and we drink in silence. Rookie comes to the porch to grab a handful of beers out of the ice chest, and when he leaves I know our silence won’t last long.

“Looks like we are gonna be getting a new brother down in Houston sooner than we thought. Rookie must have made a hell of an impression,” Jimbo says, opening the door for conversation. I just sit there, hoping he won’t ask too many questions. Roach and I had the type of relationship where questions weren’t necessary. If I said something, he believed it, respected it, and upheld it. No questions asked. Jimbo wasn’t quite that easy. “Is there something special about him that maybe I should know?”

“Do you doubt my judgment?” I ask, wanting to know the truth and hoping he tells me.

“Not at all.” I look at him and he is telling the truth, but his curiosity is what gets the better of him.

“Then there is nothing you need to know.” I walk away from him but not before he smirks and shakes his head. Rookie would have his patch, and he would have his innocence. Carrie would have a good man and the club would have a good brother. And my word in the club was still influential. I missed Roach, but Jimbo would do just fine in his place.

“Dirk,” Jimbo calls out, and I turn to find him pulling something from his vest. I walk back and take the black bag from his hand. “Ain’t a man here that loves this club more than you. I brought these with me, figured today was just as good a day as any.” I look down at the bag, knowing what is on the inside of it. I remember the feeling of completion the day this bag was handed to me. This isn’t just fabric. It’s not just thread woven together to create a design. It’s not something you wear on weekends or something you do for fun. It’s a lifestyle. A passion. A love for something bigger than yourself. It’s proof that you are a part of that 1 percent that differs from everyone else.

“Rookie!” The thunder from my voice is loud and carries across the yard. Silence descends, and I stuff the bag in my cut before turning to find a wide-eyed Rookie staring at me. I could give him a hard time. I could drag this out. I could make him do stupid shit to prove that his pride still belongs to the club. But my emotions aren’t where they usually are. And I’m pretty sure the woman laying in my bed is responsible for that. I’ll have to remember to tell Rookie to thank her.

The crowd has gathered and word has already spread. Everyone here knows what’s fixing to happen. Everyone but Rookie.

“There are three things a patch holder doesn’t do. What are they?” I ask, my death glare on him making his hands shake and his brain kick into overdrive, trying like hell to remember anything he might have done to fuck up. Okay, so maybe my emotions aren’t that fucked up. I could still be a dick.

“Lie to a brother. Steal from a brother. Disrespect a brother.”

“What is Sinner’s Creed?”

“It’s the life of a man willing to sacrifice himself for his club. It’s the blood that flows through my veins, the steady beat of my heart, and the reassurance that I’m never alone. It’s loyalty at any cost, love in all forms, and respect in the highest. It’s what I was born for. What I’ll die for and what I want to be.” His lines are rehearsed, but they are sincere.

“It’s not what you want to be.” I let the confusion sit on his face for a minute before throwing him the bag beneath my cut. “Sinner’s Creed is who you are.” And just like that, a soldier is born.