I woke up the next day to find an army of men in my front yard. My first thought was would they wait until I finished eating? I didn’t like to fight on an empty stomach. My second thought was how would I convince Saylor to stay inside while I dealt with this?
I knew Death Mob wasn’t going to come shoot up my house—it wasn’t their style. And it wouldn’t give them the satisfaction they wanted. I figured they would try to catch me off guard, then capture me before taking me to an undisclosed location where they would remind me of why I was dying and then torture me until I finally did.
I wasn’t worried about that either. I wasn’t caught off guard very often, and never when someone said they wanted me dead. This wasn’t my first rodeo with a bunch of pissed-off people looking for revenge. I’d dealt with it many times before.
I put some pants on, trying not to wake Saylor. I pause, forgetting the men in the yard and just stare at her sleeping form. It wasn’t often I had the opportunity to watch Saylor sleep. She usually beat me up every morning. Laughter outside reminds me of who’s waiting for me, and I look out the blinds in Black’s room to get a better count of them. But counting wasn’t necessary. The more the merrier. Because these men aren’t Death Mob. They are Sinner’s Creed.
I open the front door and am greeted by Chaps, who looks pissed off at the world. Like he always does.
“Got some bad news, Dirk.” There was no need for any more words, but I knew they were coming. “Roach is dead.”
—
It’s tradition with our MC that chapters gather when a brother dies. All states meet at a neutral spot and spend the next few days remembering the one who died. The ones who didn’t know him well listen and learn. We aren’t a group that mourns—we celebrate. I guess my house was the meeting point. And I knew why.
The club might have followed protocol, but they damn sure didn’t want to. I could see it in all of their eyes when they spoke to me. Having the gathering here gave them an opportunity to get to know my house, familiarize themselves with my surroundings, and offer their protection to me and to Saylor, as long as they could. This was family. This was love. I still wasn’t comfortable with saying it, but it is what it is.
Over forty members fill my house and yard, and more are pouring in by the minute. There will be close to a hundred by the time they all arrive. Saylor emerges from the bedroom and into the chaos. She looks nervous, then confused, then excited when she realizes it’s an opportunity to show off our newly renovated home. She’s dressed in a thick jogging suit and I notice layers underneath. Her rosy cheeks alarm me and when I press my lips to her forehead, fever burns them.
“You’re sick,” I tell her and she shakes her head at me.
“Don’t. I really need the company.” Her serious look morphs back into a smile when she greets someone else. I am forgotten as she busies herself in the kitchen making coffee. She still doesn’t know the reason for everyone being here. When she asks Shady, he looks at me. I nod to him and he tells her. She covers her mouth, shakes her head, and I read her lips when she says, “He was such a nice man.”
The commotion and attention is enough for her to forget the sadness of Roach’s loss and maybe even enough to not remind her of what she’s going through.
Even though I knew Roach was dying, it still didn’t make today any easier. But knowing that he wasn’t suffering anymore made it a little more tolerable. I’m just glad he went out before he had to depend on someone to feed and bathe him. His pride didn’t matter to us. I’d have stood in line to do my share of taking care of him just as everyone else in this room would have. But that’s not what Roach would have wanted. It damn sure wasn’t what I wanted. I wondered if Saylor felt the same way.
Jimbo comes up to me, breaking my concentration, and it’s a relief to see his face. It’s an even greater relief to see the regret in his eyes. At least I know he is feeling some remorse about the deal with Death Mob.
“You got some big shoes to fill,” I tell him and he manages a smile.
“Yeah, yeah I do.”
“Nah! That fucker had the littlest feet. You remember how tiny they were?” someone says, and everyone laughs at the memory of Roach’s size-eight boots he sported so proudly. I can’t help but smile at the memory myself. He did have some little-ass feet.
I look over at Saylor, who is ever the hostess, laying all our damn groceries out on the counter. She is offering an endless buffet of shit that I know they will eat just ’cause it’s there.
I follow Nationals outside, thinking how that word will never have the same meaning now that Roach is gone. They tell me that they are gonna cremate him and I agree with the arrangement. I know it’s what he wanted.