Page 45 of In the Light of Sin

My relationships before—if you could even call them that—had been warped and forgettable. “I don’t know how I feel about Sarge other than safe.” I sniffled. “I feel so safe for the first time in my life, Nyla. Someone who hasn’t treated me differently because of my disability. He doesn’t care that I’m deaf.” I looked to the ground. “He acts like he doesn’t care about me at all.”

Her eyes softened. “You really think he doesn’t care about you?”

“You don’t have to care about someone to have sex with them.” I wrapped my hands around my biceps, rubbing up and down, feeling vulnerable. Something I’ve never felt after sex until Sarge, but that could also be because everyone else I’ve ever had sex with, I numbed the act with alcohol.

“You have to care about someone to put all this effort into making sure they’re safe.”

A small smile graced my lips as I thought of all the ways Sarge “didn’t care” about me but did it anyway. Looks like he wasn’t as sly with the way he was to me in front of others. “I know.”

“It’s hard to see what he’s feeling since we can’t see his face.” Her smile has a teasing hint on it. “You always have to pick the difficult ones, don’t you?”

I laughed. I couldn’t deny it. I’d always been drawn to the ones who were a walking cry for help. I looked down at my feet. “I don’t deserve a life if I can’t try to save others.”

“You can’t save others if you’re dead, Jos.” Her truth wasn’t comforting.

“Can’t I?” I didn’t mean for the tirade to slip. It just did. “Jordyn’s life would be better if I wasn’t here.”

“Fuck Jordyn and what she thinks!” I was sure Sarge and Mitchell could hear Nyla’s scream from the front of the store. “She knowingly associates herself with men who hurt people for fun.”

I wasn’t proud of this, but I had to remind her about who I used to be. “You know I did at one point, too, right?”

“You’ve changed.” She defended me. “The best atonement is changed behavior.”

I looked towards the front of the store, where I knew he was waiting for me. Even after a heated argument, he didn’t rush out of the room like the night I found him at the Catacombs. With each minute we spent together, me talking and assuming he was listening, he was slipping into a pattern with me. I’ve changed for the better, even if it cost me everything.

Would it cost Sarge everything if he softened the rough exterior he tried so hard to keep?

I smiled, my optimism showing. I wanted to be enough for Sarge. Right now, I was lacking… but I felt, especially after recent events, that I was making my way back up to his good graces. “Hopefully, it’s enough.”

“Also,” Nyla walked over to the newly installed lockers Claudia got for us because she was tired of tripping over our bags in the backroom. “I have an extra shirt. Put it on. You smell musty.”

I bit my bottom lip shamefully, accepting the new shirt from her. I hope Sarge is happy with himself. I changed quickly while Nyla kept look out in case the men came back here before walking back out to the storefront. Mitchell and Sarge were talking–well, Mitchell was talking, and Sarge was grunting like the barbarian he is–before they both noticed we walked back in. I walked over to him, holding out my stained shirt to him. “This is your mess. You need to wash it.”

He took the shirt from me, my face burning when he gripped it by the sleeves and held it up for the world to see. I panicked, even though Mitchell and Nyla had already seen the aftermath, as I grabbed the hem of the shirt and bunched it up. “Sarge!”

“I wanted to see the mess I made,” he said simply, not caring if his club brother and my best friend were standing right next to us. He folded the shirt in half, throwing it over his forearm. “See you after work. I’ll be making another mess of you.”

He walked out the front door, leaving a cackling Mitchell, a snickering Nyla, and a very embarrassed me.

Chapter 12: Joslyn

Weddings have always brought tears to my eyes. The fact it was one of my best friends getting married meant a sob fest was going to happen at one point today. Nyla had a small wedding party with Oakley and me being her bridesmaids—but she invited Claudia, Victoria, and Libby to help her get ready. Victoria did her makeup while Oakley did the finishing touches on her hair. She didn’t want anything big and fancy, just a small ceremony at the club her father built when he spent the last twenty-two years looking for her.

And it was beautiful the way Libby, Claudia, and Victoria transformed the oversized man cave into something that could be on the cover of Vogue magazine.

Claudia owned Poppy Oaks, and while she loved flowers, interior design was just another calling of hers. She was talented no matter what she did. The common area of the clubhouse had a beautiful burgundy carpet that started right at the entrance of the clubhouse doors and ended just at the makeshift altar. There was an arch full of poppy flowers resting on a white-painted wooden overlay—apparently, those flowers were a symbol of Mitchell and Nyla. The chairs were also white with burgundy cushions facing the direction of where Mitchell and Nyla would be standing in less than thirty minutes.

Victoria also outdid herself, preparing a feast of breakfast foods and a burger bar with every topping imaginable for everyone who attended. She stocked up on enough cheap beer to make sure Tyrant and Knight were shitfaced before the fated kiss even happened. She also made sure to have a pitcher of virgin margaritas for me. She was a thoughtful woman.

Everything was red—which was the color of mine and Oakley’s bridesmaid dresses, with one shoulder strap that cinched our waists and fell to the floor. Red was such a passionate color, and what it represented today, I couldn’t help but let my empathetic ass get choked up a bit for my best friend. I sniffled as Oakley finished the last curl on Nyla’s hair. She looked over at me, concerned, “Jos? What’s wrong?”

“You’re getting married.”

She tilted her head as Oakley turned the curling iron off, her lips turned up in confusion. “You’re crying because I’m getting married?”

“I’m crying because you’re so happy.” I am an empath. I feed on people’s emotions. It’s something I don’t particularly enjoy, but I have absolutely no say in. Mitchell and Nyla went through absolute hell with Nyla’s adoptive father and discovered that Darrell was her biological father who gave her up because it was what was best for her, not for him. He lived with his decision every day, making the Souls in Nyla’s honor to help others from themselves.

He acted as a father figure to the ones in the club who would accept his rough ways. He still didn’t trust me, which stung even though I dug to understand the reason why. I put my life on the line for his club, but that still wasn’t worthy of a high opinion from him. I wasn’t sure what I could do to make him accept me as part of this club, that I was an ally and not a liability.

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