Blowing a puff of air through his nose in a silent laugh, Cain shakes his head, his untamed hair flicking around him as he stalks past me and through the door. From over his shoulder he calls, “Better think of a better nickname then.”
A smile pulls at my lips—the first one I’ve felt in weeks—as I grip the top of the chair I still stand next to. For the first time since leaving New York and arriving in Ridgewood, a sense of belonging has settled within me.
These men may not be my friends, nor are they my family, but they are my new community. Through time, the friendships may come, but I no longer feel completely alone in this town that is slowly becoming my home.
The pain in my heart may still be a pungent feeling—an everlasting throbbing that may never cease—but another feeling is blossoming next to it. One that I was skeptical I would ever feel again.
Hope.
Hope for a life that could still be rewarding.
Hope that in the future, I may not feel so desolate.
They say time heals all wounds, but I have come to the realization that I do not want this wound to fully heal. If it does, it will be as though Vincenza was never there, and I would rather the memory of her be through the sting of remembrance than not at all.
Chapter 4
Sly
The ride to Northwood takes longer than expected, but it is a smooth journey, at least until we arrive at the police station.
One by one, we pull into the parking lot, the loud engines roaring and calling attention to our presence. Two officers standing by a squad car stop speaking to each other, turning their focus on us, their mirrored aviators doing little to hide the scowls behind them.
Gravel crunches beneath the soles of my boots as I climb off my bike and remove my helmet. The rest of the Sinners do the same, and Cain tips his head at the officers nearby in greeting.
“Morning, fellas,” he says, his voice gruff as it typically is though I can tell he’s attempting to take on a friendly tone.
Rather than waiting to see if they return his salutation, he jogs up the few stairs that lead to the entrance. The rest of us follow.
The police department is bustling with activity—phones ringing at the reception desk, officers passing by, some with piles of paperwork and folders, and some with steaming cups of coffee.
A mother and child sit on the plastic waiting chairs, staring straight ahead, void of emotion. There’s a hollow look in her eye as she cradles her son to her side, his ragged teddy bear dangling from his grip.
I find myself staring—my heart aching and longing to help them—but I know I cannot. And it kills me.
Pulling my gaze, I find Damon studying me, his head cocked as though I’m a riddle he can’t quite solve.
I’m unsure of how I feel about Damon. He’s a quiet man, always watching and listening, which I suppose is what makes him so good at his job. But his lack of engagement in conversation and the way he prefers to be alone, even while amongst a large group of people, has me keeping my guard up around him.
I believe he has the best interest of the club at heart, but I can also see the self-preservation trait within him and have no doubt he ultimately lives with anevery man for himselfmindset.
Cain speaks with the officer behind reception, who looks frantic, as though that’s not their typical place of duty. The man's hands are shaky as he attempts to navigate the phone system and alert his superior of his visitors.
I’m curious as to the relationship between the captain and our president. It is easy to say you have a connection with someone, but the likelihood of thatconnection being severed at the head without the other’s knowledge—especially in situations such as these—is a possibility.
Northwood Police Department believes the Sinner’s Warlord is behind the robberies, and we’ve walked right into the snake pit.
“Cain?” a deep voice says before the body follows. A police officer with dark skin and a wide smile rounds the corner, coming into view. “Cain fuckin’ Michaels? Is that you?”
Cain's head lifts, and from the angle I am at, I can see a wide smile overtake Cain’s face.
“Javon?” Stepping forward, he clasps hands with the officer, and they meet for a half hug, quickly clapping each other on the back before releasing. “When did your ass become a pig?”
Javon laughs, dramatically shaking his head as he crosses his arms over his chest. “It’d be wise of you not to call us pigs, Michaels. You’re standing inside of the police department.”
“Sans cuffs this time too, whaddaya know?” Cain lifts his arms and twists his wrists. The grin on his face is broad as he drops his hands.
“Maybe not for long. This vest full of patches still tells me you haven’t cleaned up your act fully.”
