The Sinners is not the same as it was when my father was alive. We no longer do anything illegal. All right, that’s not entirely true. They don’t do anything illegal. For me, this club is a front for the shit I do. It sure as hell isn’t drugs, as Calla obviously thinks. Drugs can fuck you up. You start selling that shit and the next damn thing you know, you’re fucking using it. Hooked. No fucking way do I want any of that shit around here; the things I do are bad enough.

For the record, I recognize my own hypocrisy regarding the law. I wanted to be on the good side of the law my entire life. My dad went and screwed it all the hell up for me by lying.

We’re just a group of people who like to get together and have a good time for the love of our bikes, son.

Liar. If not for his lies, everything could be different right now. I could be inside that house making love to my wife. Be a cop like I wanted to be. Instead, his death left me with no choice but to try to clean up the brewing pot of shit-stew he created. That’s entirely not true, either. I was given a choice of doing right or wrong, and I chose wrong. But to me, I chose wrong for the right reasons.

Here’s where the problem lies. I turned this place around, into what I wanted it to be; a clean-cut bar, the way it should have been all along. We’re legit. Everyone has well respected jobs. Families. The whole nine yards. One man left when we found out he was dealing, and he’s the piece of shit who killed my father and Darcy to get back at me, all because I shut his shit down.

When I found out Kryder Banks was into dealing, we came down hard. He and his entourage of drugged-out coke and heroin addicts broke the fucking law every damn time they left here, selling to little kids, or moms who should have been using that money to feed and shelter those kids.

Kryder was given the choice to either back the hell off, or leave. He chose the latter. Went in with the Savages, or so I thought. He had been a member of that club for years and brought that shit in here. Now that lying son of a bitch is one of the biggest drug dealers in the Midwest. Or he was, until the pussy ass disappeared.

Bringing myself to a halt, I look back at my old house; the house I haven’t stepped foot in for several years. I wonder to my asshole self why I even brought Calla there. Why I left her in a room where the last time she saw me I was balls deep inside of Emerald.

Little does she know, I did it to save her life. Save her from this shit that surrounds me. I’m a bastard for doing that to her, and I’m an even worse bastard for telling her half the crap I told her and then storming out like I did. I’m completely fucking this up with her. The best thing I can do is stay as far away from her as I can, finish this meeting, and get lost in a bottle of whiskey.

Fuck me, I wish I could get lost in her right now. I wish I could take us far away from here and start the hell over.

I just need some space and time to think.

I wasn’t expecting her to come here today. I knew she would one day, but why the fuck didn’t Manny give me the heads up that she was headed here? Fuck, I ought to beat his damn ass!

I won’t, though. He’s one of a handful of people I trust. The one person who has kept my wife safe all these years while I’ve pretended to be a man I’m not. I almost gave myself up to her a few minutes ago when she sat on my floor and cried. And then I went and fucked things up even more by tainting the one night in my life I will never forget; the night we lost our virginity to each other.

It kills me to see the pain in her eyes that she’s trying so damn hard to hide. She’s changed, but no matter how hard she denies her feelings for me, I know she still cares. I know she still loves me in spite of all that bullshit about wanting a divorce so she can move on. Fuck. The truth is, she’s not mine anymore. But God, how I want her to be.

My emotions are normally well hidden under my dark exterior. Being a brutal son of a bitch does not permit me to be liked or loved; it gets me feared. They say I’m ruthless, a man who takes what he wants and stops at nothing. A take-no-prisoners kind of man. And if you cross me, my fists become my weapons of choice.

I’ve got so many sins on my hands. Murder is not one of them, but I would do it for her if I had to. I would do anything to keep her safe.

I don’t give a shit about anyone except about the woman who I want nothing more than to give this all up for. She’s my weakness; the one person who could cure my soul, the only one who can bring me to my knees and get my head spinning out of control. It’s going to take my balls to turn into brass to be a prick to her again. To make her think I don’t care when all I want to do is bring her into my arms. Tell her I never once stopped loving her.

Damn it! My chest explodes with rage. I fucking can’t do it. She needs to think I’ve gone bad.

I’m still trying to figure out who is the mole in this club. Everyone around here knows I’m married. They were all sworn to keep their damn mouths shut or suffer the consequences of my wrath, but someone talked. That’s why Manny was sent off to Canada to take care of her. This shit is so deep that I wanted to keep my wife as far away from it as possible.

Now that she is here by my side, I need to stick to my master plan of finding the assholes who killed my father, starting with Kryder Banks. He knows I’m after his piece of shit ass. Ever since word got out about Calla, he’s been lying low, keeping his whereabouts a secret while he has his parasites do all of his dirty work.

Even though every part of me wants to go back and take my wife in my arms, I have shit to get done. Turning around, I take about five steps before I see Emerald stalking my way with a determined look on her face. I need to end this shit with her here and now.

She’s been nothing but a means to an end for me for years. All she has ever been to me was a quick release for my dick, and she knows it. The pitiful bitch has been begging me to let her ride on the back of my bike, to officially make her mine. Little does she know that I know what the cunt does when I’m not around... she’s on her back or on her knees for Coon.

I laugh at the nickname we gave him. Coon Dog. All he likes to do is fuck doggy style, and doesn’t give two shits if someone watches him do it, either. He’s into that kind of exhibitionist shit. This is how I know he’s been screwing around with Emerald. Don’t care either. He can have her. That bitch screams louder than a banshee when she’s being fucked. Good thing I tune her ass out. Every woman I’ve been with, I tune them out and pretend I’m inside Calla.

These bitches around here have been fucked by so many hen-pecked pussy-whipped sons of bitches it isn’t even funny anymore. I have never fucked another woman bareback. Never gone down on another woman, either. None of them have sucked my cock, and I sure as hell won’t kiss them.

Emerald gets close enough to reach out and try to touch me.

“Come on, Cain. Talk to me, please.”

“Go home. Get out of here, NOW!”

I make it to my office, settling into my chair to discuss business when my VP Beamer walks in, all six foot seven of him lean and tatted up muscle. Those tats look damn good on him; they fit his badass persona to a tee. Me, on the other hand? I have one tattoo, in a spot no one has seen except me and the man who put it there. I never had the desire to mark myself with one unless it meant something to me. This one means every damn thing to me.

Call me crazy for marking my dick with a tattoo. I don’t give a shit. It’s never been a problem to keep it from any of the women I’ve screwed. None of them touches my dick, sucks it, or looks at it. I get straight down to fucking and then kick their asses out the minute I get my balls off.