Sinclair

Chapter Thirty-Four: I Need You

THERE ARE VERY FEW moments in my life when I can recall feeling content. In fact, I think I can count on one hand how many times in all of my life I have truly felt like I belonged somewhere. Most of those moments, however cliché it may seem, always seemed to involve Sinclair or The Iron Order. Even now was one of those times.

The sound of twenty plus motorcycle engines thundering as we all sped down the practically barren roads was almost deafening. In the blue dark, you could hear the guys hooting and hollering, each and every one of them excited for the free round of drinks they would receive. Each of them celebrating the fact that they and their comrades had lived to see another day. Sinclair's bike was in the center as some of the guys zoomed past him to do tricks while the others egged them on.

It was stupid.

It was reckless.

It put a huge smile on my face.

We had just gotten back from Sinclair's own warehouse where he had proceeded to store all of Lucky's weapons that now belonged to him. A few of the guys had driven the Hummers back to Carla's so Carla and Bruiser had gone back with them. Carla had made it clear that she didn't want anyone alone in her bar touching her liquor. That and she didn't trust them to be alone in her bar and not drink every single ounce of alcohol the place contained.

And as for me, I was just relieved that everyone was safe for the time being. Obviously, I knew that this was far from over. Sinclair had completely humiliated Lucky, putting Lucky's lackeys in the hospital and stealing important weapons from him on top of all that. From what little I knew about Lucky, I knew he wouldn't be the type to just let that go. Undoubtedly, he was holding a grudge against both Sinclair and me. After all, I had kicked The Sandman's ass and that had to greatly damage both Lucky's and The Sandman's street cred.

The lights of the bar came into view before the actual building itself did. The lights shone through the glass of the windows and lit up the parking lot. I saw the familiar powder blue convertible that belonged to a group of Iron Order groupies parked outside. The lights from the bar gleaming on the shiny blue paint job. It was an easy car to spot in a parking space filled with motorcycles and my own plain, unnoticeable car.

Once we step inside the bright bar and the blue dark is behind us, everything—the loud chatters, the gruff laughter of the guys and the giggles from the groupies, the sound of pool balls smashing against each other and rolling across the pool table—all stops. The only sound that is reverberating through the bar is Led Zeppelin as he sings of coming from a land of ice and snow. Everyone is looking right at us. Well, more like, everyone is looking at Sinclair. Everyone is waiting for him to do something, to say something. It's a lot like a pack of wolves looking at their Alpha right now, knowing that, only after their Alpha tells them they've won this battle, they can celebrate.

Sinclair, not seeming to care about the eyes on him at all, drags me forward by the hand, heading straight toward the bar. Carla seems to know what he wants as soon as she sees him coming, she sits down the glass with a clink that is audible in the nearly quiet bar and pours him a double scotch. I notice she's pouring the good stuff, too. The stuff she's stingy with. She really is showing her happiness for his safety in her own way.

Sinclair takes the glass, raises it once and says in a calm, clear voice that echoes over Led Zeppelin, "Screw Lucky."

Immediately, all the guys burst out in loud agreements and laughter fills the bar. Bruiser, who is sitting at one of the tables located at the far end of the room, shakes his head but there is a clear smile on his face. Sonny is hooting with the guys and I notice a shock of red hair beside him that belongs to his husband, Rixon. The groupies, as always, eye Sinclair the way I eye a carton of Ben and Jerry's before I begin shoving spoonfuls of the stuff down my throat. Honestly, why wouldn't they be eyeing him?