Page 12 of Filthy Sinner


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I snorted, but accustomed to the secrecy, especially when jobs were assigned by the council, I didn’t give him any crap. There wasn’t much point.

Sure, I’d have preferred to be more involved and to take a deeper cut, but there was time for that.

Considering the setbacks I’d had, I figured I was advancing nicely in the Satan’s Sinners’ MC hierarchy.

Both of us finished off our beers, and we parted ways at the bar’s entrance, him going to the main office—the place where Rex, our Prez, reigned supreme—and me heading to the gatehouse.That was when I noticed the bike of our Enforcer—Nyx—was out and the saddlebags were stuffed full.

Eyes narrowed at the sight, I stretched, letting some of the meager sunlight from the chilly day beat into my bones.

After a short stroll down the driveway, I clapped Jackson on the back in greeting. He’d heard my booted feet against the gravel and had come out to meet me, eager to hand over the tedious as fuck duty.

“It’s okay, brother, you can go and get some rest now.”

Wearily, Jackson complained, “Jesus, it’s been a long morning.”

That was the boredom.

Anyone who had guarded these gates, which was pretty much everyone as it was a basic job that each brother was tasked with at some point, knew how fucking soul-sucking it was to just hover beside them, waiting for somebody or nobody to show up.

It was an important duty but boring all the same. We had alarms and other kinds of security systems in place, but it was tradition to have somebody standing at the gate, waiting to let brothers in and to keep enemies out.

Jackson wasn’t in a talking mood, mostly he just yawned as he trudged toward the clubhouse, leaving me to shuffle inside the gatehouse, where I perched my ass on the uncomfortable armchair that had more springs sprung than were held in place.

Kicking my feet up against the wall, I crossed them at the ankle and decided that wasting time on my phone was the only way to go.

I’d have preferred to have been in on whatever business Sin was handling for the council, but I got it. Not only was he older than me, he had an in with the council even though he wasn’t a part of it.

His father, though a son of a bitch, was MC royalty. Grizzly might have been a fucker, but Rex and Bear, Rex’s dad, were all about family loyalty.

Kendra: Where are you? Wanna hang out?

When the clubwhore sent a picture of her pussy to me, I rolled my eyes, deleted the shot of her cunt, and ignored her.

Wishing that I’d grabbed my iPad before I’d come down to the gatehouse, instead, I went through the photos on my camera, deciding which one I’d be replicating in a few hours’ time.

Nobody knew that I was into art, and I wanted to keep it that way. My brothers already gave me crap about being a nosy bastard—like I could help ferreting out the truth—but adding on the art stuff was more than I wanted to deal with on the regular.

My brothers—Rex, in particular—weren’t dumb fucks, but we led simple lives. Sure, there was a lot of violence and crime tucked away in our schedules, but we existed for our hogs. Lived for the freedom of flying down the highway, no one yanking our chains other than the council we entrusted our futures to and the men we chose to be our kin.

Art wasn’t simple. Art wasn’t about riding down Route 66 just for the sheer fuck of it.

And my stuff wasn’t technically necessary. I knew what people would ask. Why replicate a photo when the photo was enough?

I had no answer, but I liked doing it. Storm liked getting high, Nyx liked killing pedophiles, and me? Well, I just liked duplicating a photograph with a number two pencil.

It wasn’t as if my hobby was illegal. It didn’t hurt anybody and didn’t ruin lives—even if some lives deserved to be ruined.

A few hours later, I’d welcomed five brothers back home and had watched Sin join a small run as they left for ‘town.’

Fucking bullshitter.

No way they were just heading into West Orange. Not with their saddlebags bulging so much. And not with Link, our Road Captain, and Steel, our Secretary, tucked into Nyx’s mix.

Did Sin think I was an idiot?

Whatever.

“Sorting out shit in town, my ass,” I muttered to myself.

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