Chapter 7: War Paint
1613 Words
The boat didn’t slow.
Sinner bled across the VP’s shoulder, but his eyes stayed on me. Awake. Furious. Alive.
“Put him down,” I said. My voice broke. “Let me see him.”
VP laid him on the bench seat. Sinner’s cut was soaked through. A bullet hole just under his ribs. Same spot I took a graze for him two days ago.
He caught my hand. Pressed it to the wound. “Warm,” he whispered. “Means I’m still here.”
“Don’t talk,” I said. Tore my sleeve, pressed it to his side. “Save your strength.”
His thumb brushed my knuckles. Over the ring. “Already did. Married you.”
The boat engine roared. Behind us, fire lit the river. The tunnel was gone. But Diablo wasn’t. His boat cut through the flames, headlights like predator eyes.
“He’s following,” the VP said. Checked his gun. “Boss, give the word and I’ll turn us around. End this now.”
“No,” Sinner said. Didn’t look away from me. “You get her to the cabin. Off-grid. No phones. No names.”
“I’m not leaving you,” I said.
“You already did once,” he said. “Ran down that tunnel. Best thing you ever did for me.”
His breathing hitched. Pain. But his grip on me didn’t loosen.
The VP gunned the engine harder. We hit open water. The compound was burning on the shore behind us. Devil’s Blood vs Reaper’s Sin. War started with blood on an altar.
Sinner’s eyes fluttered. “Stay awake,” I begged. Slapped his cheek lightly. “You don’t get to die on our wedding night.”
He smiled. Barely. “Wife.” Just that. Like it was a prayer.
The Doc met us at the dock. No hospital. No records. Just an old cabin deep in the woods. Off every map.
They carried Sinner inside. Laid him on a table. Doc cut his shirt. The bullet was still in.
“Need to dig it out,” Doc said. “No anesthesia. He won’t survive the dose with blood loss.”
Sinner heard. Opened his eyes. “Do it. She holds my hand.”
Doc looked at me. I nodded. Took Sinner’s hand. Laced our bloody fingers. Ring between us.
The knife was hot. Sterilized in fire. Sinner didn’t scream. Didn’t make a sound. Just squeezed my hand until I felt bone.
Sweat poured down his face. My tears fell on his chest.
“Almost,” Doc said. “Got it.”
The bullet clinked into a metal tray. Sinner exhaled like he’d been holding the world.
Doc stitched him up fast. Rough. “He’ll live. If infection doesn’t take him. If Diablo doesn’t find us first.”
Sinner passed out. Finally. I didn’t let go of his hand.
The VP stood by the door. Watching the trees. “Reaper’s Sin will hit every road. Every dock. They have numbers. We have territory. It’s gonna get bloody.”
I looked at Sinner. Pale. Sweating. The president who burned his whole compound to keep me alive.
“What now?” I asked.
“Now we wait,” VP said. “And we prepare. Boss won’t run. Not with you. Not with his club bleeding.”
Night fell. I didn’t sleep. I cleaned Sinner’s wound. Changed bandages. Whispered his name when fever made him thrash.
“Angel,” he mumbled once. “Don’t let them take you.”
“I won’t,” I promised. “You made me yours. I’m not going anywhere.”
Dawn came gray and cold. The VP came in. Face grim.
“They found us,” he said. “Drone overhead. Diablo’s scanning the woods.”
Sinner’s eyes snapped open. Instant. No grogginess. Pain didn’t matter when threat did.
“How long?” he asked. Voice rough but steady.
“Maybe an hour,” VP said. “We can move deeper. Or we can fight.”
Sinner pushed up on his elbows. Doc swore. “You’ll rip the stitches.”
“Then stitch me again,” Sinner said. Stood. Swayed. I caught him. “I don’t hide, Angel. Not from him. Not for you.”
“You can barely stand,” I said.
“I can stand long enough to kill him,” he said. Looked at me. Really looked. “But I need you safe. That’s the only way I win.”
He walked to the wall. Took a box down. Opened it. Inside: guns. Knives. And a pot of black paint.
War paint.
He dipped his fingers. Dragged black across his cheekbones. Over the scars. Over his jaw.
Devil’s Blood markings. The old way. Before patches. Before clubhouses.
When a president went to war, he painted his face so death knew his name.
“Hold out your hand,” he said to me.
I did. He painted a single line down my cheek. Cold. Final.
“Now you’re marked too,” he said. “Diablo sees that, he knows you’re not just mine. You’re Devil’s Blood. Killing you means killing all of us.”
The paint burned. Not physically. Symbolically.
Boots outside. Heavy. Many.
VP chambered a round. “They’re here.”
Sinner picked up his gun. Left hand only. Right side still bleeding through bandages. He didn’t care.
“Stay behind me,” he told me. “Last time you didn’t listen, you got shot. This time you listen, or I tie you to the bed.”
“I’ll stay,” I said. “But I’m not hiding.”
He nodded. Proud. Possessive.
The door exploded inward. Not wood. Metal. Grenade.
Smoke filled the cabin. Shouts. Gunfire.
Sinner fired from the hip. Dropped two men before they saw him. VP took the window. Brothers came through the trees. Our brothers. Devil’s Blood. They’d tracked us. Followed the drone signal back.
Chaos. Blood on the floorboards.
Diablo walked through the smoke last. No gun. Just a knife. And a smile.
“President to president,” he said. “Let’s finish this.”
Sinner stepped forward. Left me behind him. “One condition. She walks. No matter who wins.”
“No,” Diablo said. “She stays. She saw me. She dies. Or she’s mine. Those are the rules.”
“The only rule is mine,” Sinner said. Lunged.
Knife vs knife. President vs president. Blood vs blood.
They moved too fast to track. Steel flashed. Sinner favored his right side. Diablo went for it. Every strike aimed at the fresh stitches.
I couldn’t watch. I couldn’t look away.
Sinner took a cut to the arm. Diablo took one to the ribs. Both laughed. Madmen.
“You love her,” Diablo said, ducking a strike. “That’s why you’ll lose.”
“Love makes me fight harder,” Sinner growled. Drove his knife up. Caught Diablo’s shoulder.
Diablo stumbled. Sinner pressed the advantage.
Then the cabin roof collapsed.
Beam crashed down between them. Separating them. Fire caught the curtains.
Diablo used the chaos. Rolled, grabbed a gun from a dead man, aimed at me.
“Angel!” Sinner roared. Threw himself.
The gun fired.
Sinner hit me. Took the bullet in his back. The same spot as before. Old wound. New wound.
He went down on top of me. Heavy. Warm. Protecting me even as he fell.
“Boss!” VP screamed.
Sinner’s blood ran down my cheek. Mixed with the war paint.
His eyes found mine. No fear. Just me.
“Told you,” he whispered. Blood on his lips. “No one touches my wife.”
Diablo raised the gun again. For the kill shot.
The cabin door flew open.
Not VP. Not brothers.
A woman. Older. Cut with Devil’s Blood on her back. Gray hair. Gun in her hand.
Sinner’s mother.
She fired once. The bullet took Diablo’s gun hand off at the wrist.
He screamed. Dropped the weapon.
She walked in calm. Stepped over bodies. Stopped over Diablo.
“Touch my son’s wife again,” she said. “And I’ll bury you next to your father.”
Diablo went pale. “You’re dead.”
“Not yet,” she said. Kicked his knife away. “Sinner. Can you hear me?”
Sinner didn’t answer. Too much blood. Too much loss.
I cradled his head. “Stay with me. Please. You’re the president. Presidents don’t die in cabins.”
His hand lifted. Shaky. Touched the war paint on my cheek. Smudged it.
“Mine,” he whispered. Last word. Then his eyes closed.
The fire spread. The roof creaked.
His mother looked at me. Then at him. Then at Diablo writhing on the floor.
“VP,” she said. “Get them out. Now. I’ll handle him.”
VP grabbed me. Pulled me up. Sinner’s body between us.
As we ran into the woods, I heard his mother’s voice behind us. Cold. Final.
“Diablo. You should’ve killed me when you had the chance.”
A gunshot. Then silence.
The woods swallowed us. Sinner’s blood on my hands. His ring on my finger.
And his last word echoing: Mine.
The VP dragged us to another boat. Smaller. Faster.
As we pulled away, the cabin exploded. Fire to the sky.
I didn’t know if his mother got out.
I didn’t know if Sinner would wake up.
I only knew the ring on my finger felt heavier than ever.
And in my pocket, my phone buzzed one last time.
Unknown number.
*MAMA BLACKWOOD WINS. BUT SONS DON’T. CHECK HIS PULSE, WIFE. -D*
The message was from Diablo’s number.
But Diablo’s hand was gone.
So who sent it?
- Writer
