Sinner's Revenge (Sinner's Creed MC #2)(5)

Written By: Kim Jones

Even me.

So the club agreed to turn their head and look the other way. They understood what I believed had to be done. And if any of my other brothers felt the same way I did, then they’d look the other way for them too.

The conditions were firm; there would be no negotiating their terms. I was responsible for my army. The club would allow me the time I needed to handle business, but they would come first. If they called, I’d come with no excuses, and perform my duties with no questions.

They didn’t want to be aware of my plans. They wanted no knowledge of my intentions. And if Sinner’s Creed was ever accused, they would deny it. And it would be me who would take the fall and give the ultimate sacrifice. It was a risk I was willing to take six months ago. And one I would continue until my job was done.

The first five months were spent creating the perfect plan. With the help of a few of my brothers, I’d done enough research to finally start the process of taking down Death Mob. And today marks the twenty-fifth day of their fall.

It’s been two days since I’ve killed. Two days since I’ve slept. And two days since that crazy woman gave me that Atomic Fireball that I can’t get out of my f*cking head. But thoughts of her fade as I pull my black hoodie over my eyes and stare at the creature in the mirror. My thirst for blood is unquenchable. My need for revenge is overpowering. And my desire to kill has my heart pumping venom through my veins.

This is for Sinner’s Creed.

This is for brotherhood.

This is for Dirk.


I drive to Fitchburg, Massachusetts, to meet with Rookie and Tank. I was Rookie’s sponsor during his Prospect period. I’d taught him everything I know, and what he didn’t learn from me, he learned from Dirk. He’s my closest brother and only friend, now that Dirk is gone.

Tank is the sergeant at arms for the Houston chapter. He completed our three-man army against Death Mob to avenge Dirk’s death. He got his name from his size. He’s built like a tank and about as indestructible as one. With my smarts, Rookie’s heart and Tank’s size—we had everything we needed to get the job done.

I meet them at an abandoned store less than three miles from the local Death Mob chapter’s clubhouse. Every Tuesday night, several of the Death Mob members get together for a dice game. Tonight, there are eight playing, but only six will make it back home.

The plan is well thought out, but simple. It will seem as if they just disappeared. Once they pass the lookout point, Tank will set a Road Closed sign blocking all through traffic and any chance of witnesses, while Rookie and I do the same at the other end of the road. There will be no trace of their bodies, their bikes, or their cuts. There will be no witnesses, no clues, and no answers. But most importantly, there’ll be no discussion, no other solution, and no f*cking mercy. These men will die tonight in the same cowardly way they killed my brother.

If they survive long enough to ask why, I’ll point to the tattoo on my forearm.

GFSD . . .

God Forgives Sinners Don’t.


I’m calm. There is no rush of adrenaline or heavy breathing. My heart beats in a steady rhythm. The only sound is the crackle of burning paper as I take a pull from my cigarette. I’m more than ready. I look to Rookie and nod. He meets my dark glare and clenches his fist around the throttle of his bike—a silent gesture that tells me he’s ready too. Headlights shine in the distance just as my phone vibrates.

It’s time.

10:14 p.m.—Tank calls from his lookout.

10:15 p.m.—Two members of Death Mob roll through at a leisurely pace. Seconds later, Rookie and I fall in behind them.

10:16 p.m.—Twelve shots ring out into the night, hitting their targets directly in the back.

10:17 p.m.—Tank arrives with a truck and trailer. The bikes are loaded. The bodies are loaded. The broken motorcycle parts are gathered and loaded too.

10:22 p.m.—A truck with a trailer, two dead bodies, and two members of Sinner’s Creed drive north.

10:22 p.m.—I ride south carrying two Death Mob patches with me.

Eight minutes. A foolproof plan. Twelve shots delivered from two revolvers that still contain the shell casings. Two signs that read Road Closed. Two bikes that will be disassembled and destroyed. Two bodies that will decompose in shallow, unmarked graves that will never be found. And two Death Mob patches that will burn with the same fire of hell that blazes in my soul.


AFTER EVERY KILL, I’ve made it tradition to drink a beer for Dirk while I burn Death Mob’s patches. Tonight is no different. I lean back in my one and only lawn chair, listening to the crackle of the fire and watching the colors of Death Mob fade from red to black until there’s nothing remaining but ashes.

The quiet here is deafening. Nothing surrounds me but woods and a dirt road that is almost always void of traffic. The place is nice, a one-story cabin with a big shed located on thirty acres. But even the serenity isn’t enough to keep my demons at bay.

Nights are hard for me. Bad things seem to always happen in the dark. My fear stemmed from my childhood. Restless nights in group homes seemed to go hand in hand with being a child in the system. Every kid in my dorm suffered from insomnia. We were afraid that we couldn’t be protected. Mostly because we never were.

Even after becoming a member in the club, I never felt safe against the darkness. I could kill in the night and stay in the shadows, but fear of what would come when I closed my eyes kept me from sleeping. The sun served as my safety net. And after all these years, it still does. So, I find myself driving back to town to sit in a noisy bar, avoiding the demons that lurk behind my eyelids.

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