“Jesus!” he shouts.
Smiling, I point the gun back at his face, then reposition it lower, his dick the target. I close one eye and aim.
He puts his hands protectively in front of his junk. “All right, all right. Let’s just… calm down.”
“I’m calm,” I say, ignoring the thrum in my chest, the pulse pounding against my eardrums. “And to answer your question,yes. I’ve killed someone. Watched the light drain from their eyes and all that fun stuff. So how about we skip the part where you patronize me, and let’s talk about why I’m here.”
The words come out casually, like the memory of taking a life doesn’t haunt me every waking minute. It’s easier if I pretend I don’t lose sleep over it. That’s all I’ve been doing. Pretending. Even in private. He deserved it. There wasn’t another option. He had to die so I could live. In the end, it was him or me, and I chose me.
Therein lies the problem.
Ikilledsomeone. That shit doesn’t just go away when you skip town. It followed me, and it’s been on my tail since the second I jumped on my bike and gunned it for the highway. The Raiders might be after me for their product, but when I ran, I left a body in my wake. They don’t just want their shit back. They want my head on a pike.
I exhale a quick, fortifying breath, tighten my fingers around the grip of the gun, steady the shake in my hand, and smile. “You took something from me. And I’d like it back, please.”
He huffs a humorless laugh. “Yeah? You shoot me, you’ll never get it back.”
I push up from the chair and take a step towards him, my arm outstretched, my grip tight, my resolve unwavering.
“Linc,” I grit. “Give me my fucking coke and my fucking money.”
“You sure it’s yours? Or did you steal it? It kind of feels like you’re running.” He treads closer, only stopping when the barrel of the gun is an inch from his chest. “That why you’re back? You got yourself into trouble and now you need your big brothers to scare them off?”
Anger and a hint of fear tangle around one another in my chest. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think I do. And I think you’re in over your head. Who’d you piss off? I’ll bet I can take a few guesses.”
Chin lifted, I pull my shoulders back. “Look at you, trying to play detective.”
“Itismy day job.” He looms closer, pushing up against the gun.
When he doesn’t stop, I shift my hold, moving the barrel to his throat.
This close, I can’t help but catalog his perfectly chiseled features, the bruise on his cheek, the fresh cut on his bottom lip. I almost reach out and touch it. The little bit of dried blood hugging the curve of his mouth, the frown lines carved into the ridge of his brow, the hard cut of his jaw.
God. Decker really is something to look at.
Every bend and curve of his face fits together like a daydream. It’s an effort not to trace my fingers all over him, explore his skin like I did under that truck.
He quirks a brow. “What’s your plan? You gonna shoot me?”
“I’d rather you just give me what I asked for so I can be on my way.”
And also… I don’t really know what to do with a dead body. After the kill, once the shock wears off, it’s kind of the first thing that comes to mind. What do I do with the mess? How do I hide it? How the hell do I get myself out of this?
Cut and run. It’s my default. Job getting a little too tedious? Boss getting a little too handsy? Situationship getting a little too clingy? Leave. New town, new life.
It’s cleaner.
Stab an eight-inch kitchen knife through the chest of my piece of shit biker boyfriend who also happens to be the VP of an outlaw MC?
Cut and run. Run really,reallyfast.
New town, new life.
Except what I left behind didn’t clean itself up. And I don’t know how to wash away the consequences. Not only of the life I took but of the product I stole. I’d forgotten he put it there. He needed afavour, and I had a bike and no priors. Ride it to the drop location and do the handoff. Easy. A sacrifice, he told me. A way to pledge my loyalty to the club. And a club is what I’d been looking for. Maybe this time, I wouldn’t have to leave. There’d be no more cutting. No running. I’d finally have a place to plant my roots. A family.
That’s what the Sinners were, before Jimmy made me leave.
