Page 137 of Sinful

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We all watch it burn as the sun climbs higher.

Black smoke rising into the Texas sky, visible for miles.

Let it be a message: this is what happens when you fuck with us.

We don’t stay long.

We all know that the local fire department and police will be on the way, so we head back to the clubhouse.

The ride back is quiet.

No one talks. Just engines and thoughts too heavy to share.

I'm covered in blood—some mine from cuts I didn't notice, most from other people.

My hands won't stop shaking. Adrenaline crash hitting hard.

I keep seeing Miller's face. Keep seeing the men I killed. Keep replaying every shot, every death.

This is what I am now.

Killer.

Executioner.

Monster.

We stop at a gas station an hour out.

I go to the bathroom, try to wash the blood off my hands.

It won't all come off.

Stains are under my fingernails, even in the creases of my knuckles.

I text Helle:

It's over. We're coming home.

Her response is immediate:

Thank God. I love you.

Love you too. See you soon.

That's what I focus on, getting back to her.

To the life we're going to build.

To something good after all this death.

We roll through the Sharp Shooter Ranch gates a couple of hours later and she's there.

Standing by the gate like she's been there for hours.

Who knows, she probably has been.

I'm off my bike before the engine fully stops.

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