Page 8 of Sinner's Fury

“Now I’m really sorry I missed dinner.”

“Justin?” she sighed, sitting back on the couch, rubbing her face. “How much longer do we have to stay here?”

“I’m working on your extraction. Not much longer. I promise.”

“And you’re sure we will be safe with them?”

“Yes. Once you’re out of the country, you will be safe.”

I watched her sigh. “That’s good.”

“Just hold on a little while longer, okay? I know you’re scared, but these things take time. How’s he doing?”

“He still has nightmares. The fire really messed with his head.”

“Just give him time. He’s young,” I said, then added, “I need to go. I will call you in a few weeks. Maybe we can schedule another spaghetti night.”

She smirked. “Sure. I’ll have the pizza order on standby.”

Ending the call, I turned my attention to my computer.

Ignoring the many emails, I pulled up a secure chat.

Transmission started...

Secured Server 1: We need to meet.

Secured Server 2: I’ll be in the city the first week of March.

Secured Server 1: Same place?

Secured Server 2: Same time.

End transmission...

March 8th, 2024

Shame

New York City,

I peered over my shoulder, checking for any onlookers before quietly and discreetly entering the rundown diner situated in the middle of the Little Italy district. Although it was a somewhat dilapidated, forgotten mom-and-pop establishment, it proved to be the ideal location for my purposes. Once I was certain that nobody was trailing me, I cautiously entered the shadowy darkness and discovered a place to sit. Because the windows were boarded up tight, I felt no concern whatsoever about anyone being able to see inside the diner.

I was more worried about the tail that took me way too long to shake.

For the last few weeks, I’d noticed someone following me. They seemed to be ubiquitous, their presence a constant reminder that I was being watched and photographed, regardless of my location. I captured a few of my own images, expecting some sort of positive outcome, but ultimately, they amounted to nothing. The lack of identifying features on the car, which was unremarkable and displayed no license plates, made it impossible for me to determine the individuals’ identities. Despite my uncertainty, I knew this much to be true: the person responsible was persistent and my time was running short.

When my club asked me to step into the fray, the weight of my past hung heavy, and I knew the challenges ahead would be immense. A cult leader’s illegitimate son joining a motorcycle club to babysit a known criminal wasn’t something that happened every day. Fortunately, my biological father was entirely unaware of my existence, and my mother adamantly refused to acknowledge me, a fact that was, at least, in my favor. I only learned who I really was by a stroke of luck—a chance encounter that irrevocably altered the course of my life.

“You’re late,” a low, gruff voice said from within the darkness behind me.

Reaching for the cold steel of my gun, I swiftly turned. A sigh escaped my lips upon seeing him.

“Jesus Christ, man. I almost killed you.”

“Yeah.” The older man grinned, stepping out of the shadows. “Keep thinking that if it makes you feel better.”

Removing my hand from my gun, I walked over to the man and hugged him. Nothing special, just the typical bro-hug men did.

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