“When you were born, I was told your life was destined to receive greatness. But the world you would’ve grown up in didn’t want you. I don’t know who your parents are. The man who took you to Black wasn’t even your daddy. He was just some guy who was supposed to watch over you. He got into some trouble and needed a place for you to stay. So he came to me. He wanted Sinner’s Creed to take you on as one of our own. Black owed me a favor. A big one. Life or death. So I made him a deal. If he took you on, raised you like his grandson, then I would forgive his debt to me. I’ve regretted it every day since. ’Cause ya see, Dirk. I owed some favors too.” I’ve never known Roach to apologize to anyone. And I’m sure this is as close to it as he will ever get.
“When I agreed that Sinner’s Creed would take care of you, my debt was forgiven. But instead of keeping you for myself, I threw you off on Black. I never should have done that to you. The only man who knows who your real parents are is dead. I can’t even offer you the peace of knowing.” It didn’t matter who my real parents were. Hell, they didn’t want me, so they hadn’t earned that title—or my respect. Roach was the closest thing I’d ever come to having a parent. And Black might have been evil, but at least he kept me alive—that was more than anyone else had ever given me.
I wait patiently for Roach to continue. I see him fumbling for something and pull my smokes out, lighting one and passing it to him before lighting one for myself. He coughs, which seems to cause him great pain, then wipes his mouth with a black bandana. If it were white, it would be stained in red with blood from his throat. This, I’ve seen for years. I’ve always ignored it because he did. No man wants to be pitied. Especially a man like Roach.
Once his breathing is under control, I brace myself. “I thought by giving Black a chance to raise you, it would change him. It didn’t. It made him worse. I’m not gonna apologize for that because I think your life with Black was better than the alternative. I knew Black was taking money for years, and I kept his secret. Because of you. I knew if they killed him my efforts would’ve been for nothing. If they put him out bad, I was afraid he would take his anger out on you. This club life ain’t for everyone, Dirk. It’s for sorry sons of bitches like me and Black. And troubled souls like you. But Saylor has changed you. You ain’t the soldier you once were.”
When Roach puts his hand on my shoulder and looks me in my eye, I feel a piece of me die at the desperate man looking back at me. “I didn’t talk to Dorian. I talked to Cyrus.” My heart stills. My breathing stops. My blood turns to ice in my veins. All because I know what’s coming next.
I’d given my whole life for Sinner’s Creed. My loyalty to the club was my greatest achievement. The MC was my world. It was all I had ever been good at. I’d never experienced anything outside of the club. Saylor was the closest thing I’d ever gotten to freedom from it. And she was the closest thing I’d ever get.
When my heart begins to beat again, when my breathing becomes regular and my blood warms, I know that I’m okay with this. I’m at peace with my decisions in this life, and I’m at peace with the decision that will take me from it.
I place my hand on my brother’s, trying to offer him some sort of comfort. Tears flow from his eyes moments before he breaks. I love this man. And I know that he’s loved me like I was his own flesh and blood.
“It’s okay, Roach,” I say, meeting his dead, lifeless eyes. The look in my own tells him that I can handle this. Once he composes himself, I light us a cigarette and lean back in my chair. “So, what was Cyrus’s counteroffer?”
“You already know that answer,” Roach says, the gravel back in his voice. This is the man I know. The one-percenter who trained me. The man who puts the club first—always, because that’s what a real soldier does.
“And you know I have to ask.”
If it weren’t for the regret in his eyes, I might think he didn’t care. But I know better. With a coolness only Roach is capable of, he delivers my answer in true Sinner’s Creed fashion—no bullshit, no reservations.
“You, Dirk. They want you.”
19
I ALREADY KNEW it, but now the reason behind the Nationals meeting without me was confirmed. They had to vote on Death Mob’s offer. With something as extreme as a brother’s life, the vote had to be unanimous. If anyone at the meeting tonight had voted differently, then Roach and I wouldn’t be having this conversation. This tells me that everyone agreed to Death Mob’s demands. But there was still a National that had a decision to make. The patch I wear below my bottom rocker allows me to have a say. My vote was always the deciding factor because I showed no partiality, not even to myself. Sinner’s Creed was a brotherhood that went far beyond just one patch. It wasn’t worth losing over one man—even if that one man was me.
Silence surrounds us as I wait for Roach to make the final move. After what seems like forever, he finally does. Without meeting my eyes, he gives me the order in the most grief-stricken voice I’ve ever heard. “I need your vote, Dirk.”
I am a Nomad National for the Sinner’s Creed Motorcycle Club. And I will be until the day I die—no matter how soon that is. So I treat this time as if it were any other. As if my life isn’t the one at stake. Because I am a soldier, and I will fight to the death for my club. And I will do it with the same honor and respect it has shown me all of my life.
With my head held high, the weight of my leather on my back, and determination in my voice, I cast my vote and issue the verdict. “I vote yes.”