Page 5 of Sin

Well, it’s my fucking lucky day after all. I see a blue sporty BMW parked by the dumpsters. The asshole isn't gonna forget me anytime soon. I take my knife and pry open the gas tank cover, twisting the cap, until it comes loose with a hiss. I push my zipper down and am just about to take my dick out and make the fucker wish he didn't look at me like I'm a cross between shit at the bottom of his shoe and the one who may potentially end his life, when I see a headful of blonde hair in the backseat.

Pausing from the task, I lean in closer and peer in the window. That's when the flashback hits me. Blood everywhere, swollen, bruised cheeks. Her eyes dull, the spark gone, lifeless. Bruises covered her body; blood stains her legs. Her once shiny dark brown hair is now a mess of blood, mud and cum. Shaking my head, I continue to stare at the woman who is either asleep or unconscious in the backseat. Her eyes are closed, but I can tell they're swollen. Her lips are cut and chapped, dried blood in the corners. Before I can think, I react.

"Hawk." I bark into my phone. "I need you to head back this way with your truck. I'm at the Stop N Shop on this side of Odessa. Just get your ass here. I need you to haul my bike back." I end the call and open the door. She doesn't even stir.

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?" My brother screams as he storms out the front door of the clubhouse. The vein that's popping from his head, telling me that he's fucking pissed. It also tells me that Hawk ratted me out like the bitch he is.

I close the door softly so that I don't wake the woman who’s been passed out in the backseat for the last five hours or so of driving. I'm happy as fuck for that too. Who knows what would have happened if she woke up and saw me in the front seat of her car. I hear the rumble of Hawk's truck pulling up behind me. Thank fuck Hawk drove his truck with me to check into that distributor. I would have been shit out of luck if he drove his bike. Lucky for me, you can’t transport shit on the back of Harleys. He jumps out and doesn’t even glimpse my way, bypassing my brother and Lick, who followed Cut out.

"What?"

"What? You ask me what when you know damn well that you fucked up, brother." He comes up to me, standing chest to chest. I may be taller, but Cut has always been thicker. He points to the shiny blue luxury car. It's like a beacon of light on the darkness of night. A blaring sign that it doesn't belong among the steel and chrome.

"What makes you think you can kidnap a fucking rich bitch? What makes you think that any of this is right, Sin? Tell me, what was going through your head when you decided to load your bike into the back of Hawk's rig and then drive a vehicle, a vehicle that's not yours, with a fucking woman in the backseat, over state lines into our territory? Into my compound?"

"I had to." I turn my back on my brother and open the back door to pull her out.

"Don't." Cut squeezes my shoulder, stopping me.

"Dev—Cut, so help me God, you need to get your fucking hand off me."

"This is not happening, brother. Not here. You are not going to put this club in jeopardy because you have a savior complex. This isn't happening. Not on my watch."

I stare at the woman in the window, still unmoving. "Look, Cut." My voice is low, urging him to see what I see.

As soon as the recognition flashes in his eyes, he knows why I did what I did.

"Fuck!" He shifts towards me, barking orders. "Get her the fuck outta the car. Lick, call Doc. He needs to get his ass here, pronto. Hawk!" He yells at my best friend who’s standing by the front door of the clubhouse. "Get those fucking Fallen out! Tell the bitches we're closed for the next twenty-four hours."

With the go-ahead, I lean over and pull her from the car. She's light, warm. As soon as her body meets mine, she grabs on, nestling her face into my neck and whimpering. Her skin is like silk beneath my calloused hands. She continues to unknowingly rub her nose up and down my neck and it’s fucking with my mind; at the same time it’s sending signals I don’t need right to my cock. “Take her to one of the unused bedrooms in the back.” My brother tells me, but I have other plans. There’s no way I’m going to allow her to be in a room where anyone can come in and disturb her. She needs her rest.

Once my feet hit the entrance to the clubhouse, I head straight towards my room. I can hear Hawk barking out orders telling the Fallen, the club whores, to head out and not come back. Pushing the door closed, I place her gently on the bed. Again, she doesn’t wake and that’s starting to concern me. There’s no way it’s normal to be this dead to the world when you’re sleeping. Brushing her hair from her face, I inspect the damage. Purple bruises mar her face, but the destruction doesn’t take away from her beauty. I can only imagine what she’ll look like when her face is blemish free and her eyes are open and shining. The thought of this girl happy and smiling makes my gut twist.

*****

"What's the verdict?" Cut stands up as the doctor enters the room.

"Well, she's probably got a concussion. Her eyes aren't responding, as they should. She should really be admitted to the hospital. She may need additional tests that aren’t available to her here."

"You know that's not gonna happen, Doc. That's not our style."

"I know. That’s why I said 'should' and didn't insist that she go. She didn't wake the entire time I examined her. She's pretty beat up, but nothing in her face is broken. She's probably going to be sore for a few days and she's going to need a lot of rest. Once she wakes, if she's seeing double or throwing up, then I’m sorry, but you’ll need to bring her in."

"Thanks." I stand and shake his hand.

"Sin." Doc looks me in the eye. "You haven't gotten into any trouble with this girl, have you?"

"No, sir. Simply helping her out."

He raises his eyebrow at me then sighs. "How are you feeling?" He asks.

"I'm fine, sir. Nothing to worry about."

"Well, that's easier said than done." He walks out without a second glance.

The softness of the pillows engulfs my head. The air smells like gasoline and Old Spice, a scent that Tyson wouldn't be caught dead wearing. I pull the flannel sheets over my chest, to my chin when I realize that I don't have flannel sheets on my bed. Tyson wouldn't allow flannel anywhere in our house, let alone on our bed. My breathing picks up and I slowly open my eyes. The pain in my left eye is still fresh, the top swollen, cutting off my vision. Focusing my eyes, I notice the reason why I smell Old Spice and feel flannel. There's a man sitting across the room in a black high back leather chair. He's leaning over with his elbows resting on his knees, staring at me. His face is partially covered by a thick, dark beard. The contrast of dark brown only highlights the cornflower blue hues of his eyes. His nose is straight and well defined, and his lips are anything but hidden behind the tuft of dark hair. He’s stunning.

I take a mental note of my body. My muscles ache, a normal outcome after a physical episode with Tyson. I move my legs slightly, noticing that I can feel the warmth of the sheets against my skin. That means I have no pants on. Shit.