Page 11 of The Bane of a Sinner
“Fuck yes, that includes you too. In fact, you are first. I ain’t handing over my club to someone who ain’t my blood.”
“Excuse me?” Montana clipped, sitting up straighter in his chair. “What the fuck does that mean, you cranky old bastard? You saying you ain’t my dad? I look just like you, which isn’t much to write home about, anyway. What the fuck, Dad?!”
“I’m taking this club into the future, and I’m starting with a club-wide DNA database.”
Curious, I asked, “Is there any particular reason for this database? More importantly, who will have access to it? Because what you are asking of me is highly confidential, and if that information got out into the public, I could lose my medical license.”
“You ain’t gonna lose shit,” George scoffed. “Just set it up.”
“No,” I said, crossing my arms as I stood my ground. “Not until I know why you want the database. I took an oath. An oath before I even bled for this club. I didn’t work my ass off for years to piss it away because you want information you can’t get the old-fashioned way. So either tell me why you want this database or get someone else to do it.”
For a moment, the room went deathly still, heavy with the weight of my defiance. George’s eyes narrowed; bushy browsdrawn tight. Silence throbbed, punctuated only by the soft shifting of leather and the subtle clearing of throats. Montana angled his chair back, a low whistle escaping him as if to cut through the tension.
George’s eyes flashed with anger at my boldness, but he schooled his features, his voice calm and deceptively reasonable. “You’ll do it because I’m telling you to, August. Because you know the consequences of refusing my direct order.”
I felt a chill run down my spine at his words. He was right; I knew the price of defiance. But something about this request felt wrong, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it than he was letting on.
“I want to know who I can trust, and who I can’t,” George continued, his eyes sweeping the room. “There are traitors in our midst, and I aim to root them out. This database will help me do that.”
I considered his words. The tension in the room was palpable. “If that’s the case, then I’ll need to test everyone personally. I can’t risk the samples being tampered with or the results being compromised. It’ll take time, but it’s the only way to ensure accuracy.”
George nodded as a slow, calculating smile spread across his face. “Then it’s settled. You’ll have full cooperation from everyone here. And, August...” he added, his eyes locking with mine, “if you value your medical license, and your life, you’ll keep this confidential. Understood?”
I nodded, my heart pounding. I knew better than to cross George Stone, and now I was complicit in whatever scheme he was cooking up.
Chapter Six
August
It was late when I walked into my apartment on the Upper East Side. It wasn’t much, but it was close to the hospital and had everything I needed, and seeing Diana standing at the window looking down at the city below only made everything better... or so I told myself. The truth was, the apartment felt cramped, suffocating even. It was a far cry from the spacious loft I’d envisioned, the one I’d almost bought before... before the club. Before him.
That thought—a cold serpent—coiled in my gut. Seeing Diana, her silhouette framed by the city lights, should have filled me with unadulterated joy. Instead, a bitter taste lingered, the ghost of a life I’d traded for this. It was at that moment that I knew I wanted this forever... or did I? The lie tasted like ash in my mouth.
Walking over to her, I wrapped my arms around her as she leaned back against my chest. The familiar comfort was a fragile shield against the turmoil within. “I’ve been standing here thinking,” she said, her voice soft.
“About what?” I asked, my voice betraying none of the war raging inside.
“About how life gives us what we need when we least expect it. I thought I was happy before. Then I met you, and now everything before seems trivial, almost as if it doesn’t matter.”
Her words were a mirror, reflecting my own carefully constructed delusion. It was true; everything beforeseemedtrivial. But it wasn’t. It was a life built on a foundation of lies, alife where my ambition had justified actions I now recoiled from. “When I imagine my future, all I see is you. I know we barely know each other, August, but it’s the truth. This feels right, real.”
The truth? Right? Real? The words felt like accusations, highlighting the chasm between my professed feelings and the cold, hard reality of my compromise. I wanted it all—Diana, this new life—but at what cost? The price was a betrayal of everything I once believed in, a betrayal that gnawed at my conscience.
“I know what you mean,” I lied, the words catching in my throat. “Before we met, all I cared about was finishing my residency.” It was true, partially. But it was a half-truth, a convenient omission of the ruthlessness, the compromises, the deals struck in the shadows that had gotten me here. “Nothing else mattered. Not the club, my friends, not even my family.” A hollow ache formed in my chest. That wasn’t entirely false, but it was a gross simplification. “Now I can see, and I want what’s before me.”
“What about the club?” Diana’s voice was hesitant, a question mark hanging in the air.
“I never wanted the club,” I said, my voice tight. The lie felt heavier now, a lead weight in my stomach. “I wasn’t given a choice.” That was the truth, the terrible, inescapable truth. I hadn’t been given a choice, but I’d made one anyway. A choice I didn’t want to make, a choice I knew I would regret, a choice that would haunt me long after the city lights faded and the dawn broke.
Turning in my arms, she looked up at me. “What do you mean?”
My hands clenched into fists, the memory a phantom limb, aching and heavy. Releasing her felt like letting go of a lifeline, a desperate, cowardly act. I walked over to the small couch and sat; however, the plush fabric offered no comfort. “It’s notsomething I’m proud of,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “In fact, it’s something I can’t even remember.” My admission churned my stomach.
“I don’t understand,” she said, her voice laced with concern. “What don’t you remember, August? The choice is yours to join a motorcycle club or not. It’s not royalty where you are born into it. Even sons of club brothers are given a choice.”
Her words hit me like a physical blow. It wasn’t a choice, not really. It was a threat, a brutal, chilling ultimatum that ripped away my future, my dreams, my very sense of self. I had envisioned a life of healing, of helping people, a life guided by the Hippocratic Oath, a life completely at odds with the brutal, violent world of the club.
“I wasn’t given a choice,” I said, hanging my head, the weight of my deceit crushing me. “I was told to join... or kiss my medical career and life goodbye.” My unspoken words hung in the air. His threat hadn’t been explicit, but it had been chillingly implied, a subtle manipulation playing on my deepest fears and insecurities. Either I did as he said, or he would make my family suffer.
