The coordinates tell me I’m going to Banks, Alabama. I know Banks. It’s a small town of about two hundred people. I know who is in Banks, and the other 199 people there will be better off once he is gone. Saylor sits behind me, patiently waiting for me. When my work is finished, I get off the bike and hold my hand out to help her.
“I was thinking.” So was I, but her thoughts have got to be more interesting than mine. “We should take a picture.” I don’t agree, and a small part of me wonders if she will be upset when I tell her this. But pictures leave a paper trail. Just like the credit card I use to get gas. The difference is this credit card isn’t mine. It’s a fake. A picture with my face in it with Alabama in the background links me too close to the crime scene. And that reminds me why this was a bad idea. If Saylor told anyone where she was going or who she was with, I would have to call this whole thing off. That would piss off the club, which in turn would piss me off. I slam my fist into the gas pump. I’m so fucking stupid.
“Who did you tell about me?” I ask, my eyes closed.
“Nobody.” Her voice is small, but unafraid.
“Saylor.” My tone is warning—warning her she better not be fucking lying to me. She says nothing and I turn, expecting that look of guilt liars wear. But she is sad. Sad because I don’t believe her? Sad because I’m yelling? I don’t fucking know, but she needs to tell me.
“I don’t have anyone to tell, Dirk. It’s just me.” She is being honest, but I have to be sure.
“You have friends.” She rolls her eyes at my words.
“Friends? Define ‘friends.’ I have two and they are in Europe. Nobody knows where I am, Dirk. Just me and you.” My anger fades a little. Not enough for her to notice, but enough for me to not want to rip this pump out of the ground and throw it through the building.
“Where is your phone?” I demand, and she takes a step toward me. I don’t move, but I should. I’m too mad for her to be close, but fuck she smells good.
“Do you know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t come back when you did?” I search her face, wondering if she wants an answer or if she just wants to remind me what a fuckup I am. She wants neither.
“I would have left. You know I was planning on leaving that day. I had to get outta there, Dirk. I had to leave. Whether it was with you or on my own, I was gone. There are three people in this world that really mean something to me. The two that I really mean something to are in Europe for the summer. It’s not their job to keep tabs on me; they’ve never been able to. It wouldn’t be surprising to them to find me gone. I don’t work, I’m not enrolled in classes right now, and there is nothing about me not being home that will throw up a red flag to anyone. Nobody is gonna miss me, Dirk. If that pathetic reason isn’t enough to convince you why I thought this trip was a good idea, then nothing is. And to answer your question, my phone is at my house, on my dresser. Right where I left it.” She walks past me toward the store, and the need for her to answer the question that is pounding in my head outweighs the need to remain myself—the man who never asks questions.
“What about the third?” I call out to her. “What about the third person who really means something to you?” She turns and her voice carries across the parking lot and flows through my ears like honey.
“I’m looking at him.”
I’m putting my life and Saylor’s on the line, and all I have to go on is her word. If she lied to me, I would be crushed. Her word means more to me than any man’s. I trust her like I trust my brothers. Many of them have the power to put me behind bars for the rest of my life. She has the power to put me in the grave.
I made a decision long ago to trust my brothers. I knew it would be worth the risk because I couldn’t live life without the Sinner’s Creed MC. Today, right now, I make the same decision to trust Saylor, because I can’t live life without her either. And I still don’t know why.
—
The tank is full. I’ve smoked two cigarettes. I’ve done a pretty good job of sorting shit out in my head. It’s been over twenty minutes and Saylor still hasn’t returned. I’m getting worried. And I gotta piss. I scan the store and I don’t see her. When I stop outside the women’s bathroom, I hear her voice. She is whispering, and I make out my name in her hushed words. I see red. She lied. She is on the fucking phone. She is talking to someone about me. I should just leave, but the pain in my chest is knee weakening. And it makes me angry.
So fucking angry that I kick the door in. And then I see her. She is on her knees, in this shitty-ass bathroom, and she is . . . praying. Her face is panicked when she sees mine, not that I blame her.
I have to hold on to the doorjamb to keep from passing out. That’s how relieved and ashamed I feel. I don’t pray, but I respect people who do. I disrespected her. Shame is not something I have felt in a really long time, but it is here now and it’s worse than I remember it.