Page 109 of In the Light of Sin

Fucker was trying to change the damn subject, but I took the bait, shaking my head. “No. I just finally saw the light.”

He chuffed in disbelief. “One girl is going to make you question your loyalty to me?”

“She didn’t.” She just opened up my eyes to a reality I was locking away without thought. I’ve always been a man with a strict routine, needing structure, or I’d kill everyone in sight. She taught me to shake things up and see things from her pretty eyes. Be more cautious, so I’d always come home to her. “You did.”

“I have my reasonings, Sarge.” He turned, walking towards the window. His eyes were deep in thought. The slight wrinkles around them from stress showed in the pale moonlit glow. “Just know if I had to choose between myself and this club. I’d choose my brothers any day.”

I didn’t share that sediment anymore. “I’d kill any motherfucker in this club and not think twice about it for her.”

He turned, making the moonlight cast down on his face, accenting his anger. “You’re not a true brother in this club if you’re willin’ to kill for a piece of ass.”

“She’s not just a piece of ass!” I took a step forward, almost giving in to my want to knock his teeth out for talking about her like that. But I held back. “You talk to her like that again, Prez or not, I will fuckin’ kill you.”

“You got somethin’ worth protectin’ now.” His shoulders shook with laughter. His smile was ominous under the moon’s glow. “I need men who aren’t afraid of dyin’. You’re useless to me now.”

“Ain’t scared of dyin’.” Unease settled in my chest. “Are our lives a fuckin’ pawn to you?”

“Men who have committed a sin they can’t be forgiven for aren’t afraid to die.” He turned to me, fully facing me. His head held high as he looked me dead in the eye. “All you need to know is if you’re afraid of dyin’, you can give me your cut and get the fuck out.”

“You’re plannin’ on killin’ us? Men who have been blindly loyal to you for years?”

“I’m not the executioner.” He walked by me, his footsteps louder than his words, telling me in a few words that this club was more fucked than I originally thought. “I’m just the messenger.”

I reared towards the door, seeing he already stepped out. My mouth was dry, a knot forming as I was rooted to my spot. Prez has always been reserved, only telling us what we needed to know or what we wanted to hear to do his dirty work for him. But this… this was new. He made it a point to tell us he valued us all. That we were just a fucked up family of people who were bonded by past mistakes. Despite Prez saying he made the club to find Nyla, it was more than that. We were all stupid, blinded by the grief and guilt to see the actual reason why we were here.

We were just pawns in a game our brotherhood wouldn’t make it out of. A sordid thought crossed my mind at possibly discovering the true purpose of the Souls.

… Was Prez the rat?

* * *

My mind is going in different directions of what to do. Should I call a secret meeting? Tell some of the other brothers about the shit that just went down between Prez and I? I didn’t fucking know what to do or how to handle this. Just like me, the rest of the brothers only knew a life we couldn’t go back to and the one we forged together. There was no other option for us.

I stopped in front of the room door I kept in the clubhouse, hand on the doorknob, debating on my next move. Maybe I should’ve showered Douglas’ dried blood on my skin off, but part of me wanted her to physically see that I painted the ground red with his gore. Maybe she didn’t want to see the aftermath, though? I didn’t know how to handle this fucking situation. I’d never given a single fuck about offending anyone before, but this was a delicate situation. Praying to whatever God that would accept me that I didn’t fuck this moment up.

The door creaked when I pushed it open, my girl sitting on the window nook looking at the stars. Should I turn the light on? Should I still be the shadow that consumed her every thought? She knew I was here. I didn’t know if she could hear me, but she could feel me.

I stood in the doorway, mesmerized by the beauty that was Joslyn. The soft light of the moon reflected off her features. Her sunkissed skin looked pale in the glow. Her green eyes shined with a reflection of the horrid life she’s lived the past decade. She was wearing the club hoodie she made for everyone, specifically mine. My scent brought her comfort. It made her feel safe.

I hadn’t made anyone feel anything but useless. Making a woman like her depend on me for safety didn’t make sense, but maybe it was a second chance to get shit right. I wouldn’t get another one— I wouldn’t need another one.

My life started and ended with Joslyn. If she ever stopped breathing, I’d be lying lifeless with her. I was comforted by the thought that she would be free of the agony of nine years of living with a trauma no one deserved to go through.

“I felt… peace.” Her soft words broke my thoughts. Her head twisted to face me as I began to step towards her, forgoing turning on the light. There was no going back now. The moon and stars above would be enough to show her the demon I slayed for her. Her vibrant eyes were strangely dull, trailing down my body as they stopped on the evidence on my arms. “It was brief. But it felt like… something was exorcized.”

I didn’t say anything as I continued to move towards her until my large body was in front of her delicate one. She could see that I took care of the demon that haunted her more than the ghosts that came with him. Her dull eyes gained understanding as they floated back up to my face. “That’s not your blood.”

“No.”

The corner of her lips twitched a fraction as she stood, the oversized hoodie hitting her knees as she stood in front of me. The top of her head was just below my chin. She had to crane her next to even look me in the eye when I exposed my face to her. I still struggled with showing her this side of me, especially now that she knew everything that came with me, but she was still here.

And that told me all I needed to know.

Her hand reached out, going for my arm, but I stepped back before her fingertips could be exposed to his filth. She looked hurt, confused about why I would refuse to let her touch me after so long of getting addicted to it. “I told you. You’ll only feel me. He’ll never touch you again. That includes his blood.”

She tried to drop her hand from mine, but I slipped our palms together, interlacing her perfect hand and my mangled one with missing knuckles. It was a perfect metaphor for us. “Always protecting me even when he’s dead.”

“He’s gone physically. But he’ll always be there mentally.”

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