“You lied to me.” The words hurt more when I say them out loud, and I’m searching for anger to replace pain, but it’s not working. She’s shaking her head, panic welling in her eyes.
“I didn’t know how to tell you. I could never find the right time.” Her words help me find the anger I’ve been searching for. I grab her wrists, pulling her hands from my face and pushing her away. She reaches for me and I step back. I don’t want her touching me. I don’t want to look at her. All her actions make sense now. She isn’t a heartbroken woman with a broken past; she is a dying woman that wanted to live on the wild side and mark biker off her bucket list before it was too late.
“You used me.” I’m whispering. The realization of being a pawn in her fucking sick game of limited life did more than slap me in the face. It ripped out my fucking heart. Maybe the next time she prays, she should ask God to shed some mercy on her soul. Because it’s gotta be pretty twisted to allow her to do what she’s done to me.
“I never used you, Dirk! I love you!” Her desperate cries would hurt me, if she hadn’t made me so numb.
“You love me?” I can’t hide the shock in my voice. I should have known love was a fucked-up thing. Black actually did do something for me. He shielded me from the one thing that could hurt me more than anything else. Fucking heartbreak.
“Dirk, please don’t hate me. I need you.” Hate her? I could never hate her. But I had to leave. She knew that.
I find my voice, laced with as much malice and ice I can find. I’m digging into the deepest, darkest, most tainted part of my soul to tell her the last words I ever want her to hear me say.
“Out of all the endless hours I’ve spent with you. All that fucking time and not once you could tell me? You should have told me before I ever let you into my life. I gave you everything and what are you giving me? A six-month notice that what I thought I’d waited my whole life for was going to die?”
I’m not angry at Saylor, but I know I’m taking my frustration out on her. It’s not her fault this is happening. But who else can I blame?
“I need you, Dirk.” I shake my head at her words, wishing I could forget everything.
“I have to go, Saylor. I have a job to do.” I grab my bag and turn to leave. I was a fool. A fuckup. I knew she was too good to be true. I don’t deserve her. I never did and now the universe is proving it. So I do the only thing I know how to do. I run.
“Will you be back?” Her sweet voice hits me right in the chest.
“I just need some time.”
I chance a look back at her, wanting nothing more than to hold her in my arms. I step closer, allowing her scent to engulf me. When I’m close enough, I lean down and kiss her head. I’m giving her the only thing I have left. A good-bye and words that I’ve vowed never to say, but have spoken twice to her. “I’m sorry, Saylor.” Because that doesn’t seem to be enough, I wait until I’m on my bike before I whisper the words she will never hear. “Good-bye.”
—
“Whiskey,” I snap to the Prospect whose lack of eye contact and silence are the only things keeping him alive. For some reason, they put this new blood behind the bar in Houston. I guess they thought it was a good way to break him in. If he could survive me after the shit mood I’ve been in the past week, he could survive anything.
Roach called yesterday telling me that we needed to make a move on Death Mob. It seemed they wanted more of Texas than what we were willing to give. My job was to ask them to leave. I knew it wouldn’t turn out good and Roach did too, but he considered me trained enough to handle it. And I would. Alone. I dared a motherfucker to try and take me out. If I went, I’d take a hell of a lot of ’em with me. Life wasn’t that great these days anyway.
Death Mob didn’t have the relationship with Dorian that Sinner’s Creed did, but Cyrus had a lot of reach. He had several connections in his pocket, and word on the street was that he was sniffing around about our business with Mexico. That wasn’t good for us, but it sure as hell wasn’t good for him.
I finished off the bottle of whiskey, letting it numb the pain I still had in my chest over her—the one whose name we don’t speak. My anger turned to resentment, my resentment turned back to anger, and when I couldn’t find things to get pissed off at anymore, I became sad. That’s where I am now. Fucking sad. Heartbroken. Crushed. Devastated. All those fucking words that express that dying feeling inside of you. It’s more painful than being shot, stabbed, and beaten to a pulp. I’ve experienced all three and none of them can compare to this.