Sinner's Redemption: Soulless Sinners M.C., page 1
Contents
SINNER’S REDEMPTION
DEDICATION
SPECIAL THANKS.
SINNER’S REDEMPTION
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Soulless Sinners
Rebecca Joyce’s M.C. & Mafia World
Other Books by Rebecca Joyce
Social Media & More.
SINNER’S REDEMPTION
Soulless Sinners M.C.
REBECCA JOYCE
ABOUT THE E-BOOK YOU HAVE PURCHASED: Your non-refundable purchase of this e-book allows you to only ONE LEGAL copy for your own personal reading on your own personal computer or device. You do not have resell or distribution rights without the prior written permission of both the publisher and the copyright owner of this book. This book cannot be copied in any format, sold, or otherwise transferred from your computer to another through upload to a file sharing peer to peer program, for free or for a fee, or as a prize in any contest. Such action is illegal and in violation of the U.S. Copyright Law. Distribution of this e-book, in whole or in part, online, offline, in print or in any way or any other method currently known or yet to be invented, is forbidden. If you do not want this book anymore, you must delete it from your computer.
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
SINNERS REDEMPTION
Soulless Sinners M.C.
Copyright © 2023 Rebecca Joyce
Proofreader: Jenni Spalding
Editor: Kelly Wyvell
Copyright Editor: Rose Jung
First E-book Publication: July 4, 2023
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
DEDICATION
Never give up. Never surrender.
SPECIAL THANKS.
To my Ravenous Ladies ~ Wow, what can I say? You ladies ROCK! When I started this crazy ass journey of writing, never in my wildest dreams did I ever think an AMAZING group of ladies would bend over backwards to be a part of my world. Taking time out of your days to read, promote and share my crazy world means so much to me. Everything you all do, from listening, offering advice to just letting me be my spasmodic self. It’s because of women like you that make what I do worth it.
Jayne ~ Oh, my dear Jayne. My friend, my drill sergeant, my spreadsheet QUEEN of the Universe. There is not a single person on the planet that can ever come close to you, though maybe a book Heroine, but she better be a damn good woman! Thank you for all the conversations, the advice, the help, the swift kick in the pants. There are not many people out there who will take the time to calm down a crazy person with multiple personalities, but you have taken on the challenge and tamed them all. Everyone in my head LOVES you!
Jenni ~ Words cannot describe the depth of gratitude and respect I have for you. Your keen eye and gentle nature blows me away. To offer help when I was struggling and then to jump right in…you are a godsend. An ANGEL. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Kelly ~ The woman who refuses to let me bite off more than I can chew. The woman who keeps me grounded to reality. My best friend. The woman I call at a moment’s notice, even when you’re barely awake. I know these last months haven’t been the greatest, but know that I am always here for you. ALWAYS.
Rose ~ The best thing about doing what I do is meeting people like you. A simple hello can change a life forever. Thank you for reaching out to me when you did. I think what we have the is beginning of a beautiful friendship.
SINNER’S REDEMPTION
Soulless Sinners M.C.
Rebecca Joyce
Chapter One
Montana
The wind blew against the harbor as the smell of rotting death surrounded me. Straddling my bike, I watched as the Port Authority Harbor Police dredged the murky water the of Hudson River. They had been at it all day. I knew they wouldn’t find shit. All this crap because of a tip. A tip that came from inside my club. That meant I had a fucking rat.
I fucking hated rats. Rats were like the plague. Once it started, it wouldn’t stop until it infected everything. The only way to stop the destruction was to find the culprit and eradicate it. That was exactly what I planned to do.
Reaching into my cut for my pack of cigarettes, divers come up from the polluted water empty-handed, again. I could have told them they were looking in the wrong place. But I wasn’t going to. Wasn’t going to do their job for them. Lighting my cigarette, I took a long drag and watched the red cherry burn the rich tobacco as my lungs absorbed the smoke. Any other night I’d be balls deep in a hot pussy. Not tonight. Tonight, I was making sure that no one ever found what I hid. As far as I was concerned, he was on his way to becoming fertilizer.
“It’s taken care of,” my brother said, as I watched the divers sink beneath the dark murky water once more.
I sighed. It was done. Taking another drag, I flicked my cigarette towards the pier and watched as the water snuffed it out. What was another cigarette butt in an already polluted water way? Reaching for my helmet, I put it on, then started my bike.
“Clubhouse?”
I said nothing as I revved my engine, pulled away and never looked back. That was one thing my brothers could count on. I never looked back. The past was the past. That would never change. I looked toward the future and what it would bring. That was what I cared about. That and the Soulless Sinners M.C.
Riding into the night, the city was alive tonight.
As it always was.
New York City.
My city.
God, I loved this place. My city had everything. From culture to historical beauty to the dregs of society. Most people turned a blind eye to the latter. All of it, crammed into a place no bigger than a shoe box. But this city was my home, and I loved every fucking inch of it. My city was the mecca, the breeding ground of everything good and evil in this world. And I was smack dab in the middle of it.
Born and raised in the Big Apple, I straddled two worlds. The one I was born into and the one I chose to live in. One abounded with fancy dinners, social niceties and money. The other, well, it was nothing like the other. My family wasn’t like most families. Oh, I had parents and siblings, even a sprinkling of cousins running about, but that wasn’t what made us different.
It all started with a man called Gregory Stone. He wasn’t originally from New York City. He was a simple country boy with big dreams. Dreams that brought him all the way from Nebraska to New York. That’s when shit went sideways, of sorts. Not even in the city a week, my great- grandfather met a woman named Ophelia Sumner and instantly fell in love.
His first mistake.
The second was trying to prove his worth. Ophelia was the daughter of a wealthy business tycoon, Franklin Sumner. He came from what the New York Society liked to call Old Money. The problem? Ophelia’s father refused to let his daughter marry hillbilly trash with no breeding. Now, great- grandpa understood that the only way he was going to marry Ophelia was to prove to her father that he could provide a living accustomed to the one she lived.
Great-grandfather scrimped and saved every dime he could over the next year, knowing no matter how hard he worked, he would never have the funds to satisfy Franklin Sumner. That was when he met a man named Anthony Romano, an up-and-coming mobster. The two men formed a friendship of sorts and in the months that followed, both men made a name for themselves. Another year passed and when Great-grandfather arrived at Sumner’s home in a limousine, wearing an expensively tailored suit, carrying a bag full of money and demanding Ophelia’s hand, Sumner laughed in his face.
Well, that pissed him off.
Now, family lore asserted that Great-granddad Gregory asked his good pal Anthony for a favor because six months later, ol’ Greg was married and Franklin Sumner was dead. The friendship between Anthony and Gregory lasted until Anthony’s death one summer in the early fifties. My great granddad passed only days later.
As for my family, well, Great granddad took his relationship with Anthony and the money he made and invested in it, creating a multi-billion dollar a year industry that my family still controlled today. The business that started it all, well, that was a well-guarded family secret.
On the outside, my family came from money, was part of New York’s Social elite, the high muckety-muck of polish and sophistication. On the down-low, Great-granddad was the patriarch of the Soulless Sinner M.C. Handed down from father to son over the generations, I became the president when Mom threatened to divorce Dad if he didn’t retire from the club. It wasn’t that Mom didn’t like the club life, she just wanted to spend time with Dad with no distractions. So, Dad was now ensconced in the company’s high rise building doing paperwork and shit while I ran the club.
I took over the club eight years ago when Dad officially retired from his patch. Fucker still showed up all the time and even rode with us occasionally. It didn’t matter what Mom said or did. She could put Dad in a fancy suit and plant his ass in an office, but when those pipes sounded, my father was like the rest of us - needing the freedom of the open road and a finely tuned machine between our legs. Nothing compared to riding a motorcycle as the wind whipped around us. Freedom. Plain and simple.
Fuck the suits.
Fuck the fancy house.
Fuck the family company.
Give me my bike, my club brothers and an open road any day.
The clubhouse was in the warehouse district close to the Port Authority. Perfect location if you asked me. Plus, having a biker club close to a police station was like giving ‘Johnny Law’ a slap in the face. Fuckers couldn’t do shit about us and they realized it. With easy access through air, sea and land, my area of NYC looked shady as shit but there was no crime, no threat to me or mine and it was safe to walk the street at night.
Motto number one: Never shit where you sleep.
The Soulless Sinners may be one of the most feared motorcycle clubs, but we were still a club. We stayed true to our beliefs that men were men. Fuck with us and we will fuck you so hard your grandchildren will feel it. None of us played games with the club. The club wasn’t some pussy-bitch weekend getaway. Never was and never would be. We played the game by our rules and if anyone thought to fuck us in the ass, we rammed a pole up theirs. Most clubs were under the misapprehension that the Soulless Sinners were a one-percenter club, wrought with guns, drugs and skin trade. Fuckers would shit their pants if they knew the truth.
No, the Soulless Sinners were unlike anything any club had ever seen.
Motto number two: Looks can be deceiving.
On the outside, a Soulless Sinner looked like any other Joe Schmuckatelli on the damn street. Every brother owned their own business and contributed to society in their own way. While a few wore suits, the majority dressed casually. To the unsuspecting eye, my brothers were just everyday Joes. Only that was the farthest thing from the truth. Unlike most of the weak pussy fuckers in this town, the one thing that made my brothers stand out was the brand on their backs. Under those fancy, high priced clothes, the brothers bore the brand of who they truly were. A Soulless Sinner.
Like the brothers, our clubhouse didn’t look like much, just a raggedy, run-down warehouse that had seen better days.
A football field long, the clubhouse was more than a clubhouse. It was a home away from home. Yes, we still had the main recreational room with a bar, pool tables and other forms of enjoyment for brothers to pass the time. There were also offices for the officers and the boardroom where we held club meetings or church, as other clubs called it. There were rooms for the brothers and visitors as well as a large kitchen where a hired staff of four cooked anything we wanted. The booze was plentiful and the bitches were hot. Everything a brother could want.
Another thing about the Soulless Sinners, the National Chapter didn’t wear colors. Unlike the rest of the clubs scattered around the world who wore the cut to tell everyone where their allegiance lay, the National Chapter, the one I ruled, the brothers wore the brand of their commitment on their backs because that’s where I put it.
Coming to a stop, I backed my bike in my spot and cut the engine. Removing my helmet, I could hear the thumping, pounding music coming from inside. It was just another typical day for a Soulless Sinner. When the work was done, it was time to play.
Proceeding into the clubhouse, I looked around to find brothers milling around playing pool, drinking, throwing darts or feeling up their piece of the week. Just another hump day for the club.
God, I loved this place.
Taking off my leather gloves, I shucked my jacket, handing it to a prospect. I didn’t need to tell the fucker what to do with it. He fucking knew.
“Where’s Mercy?”
“In his office, Prez,” the prospect informed, before scurrying away. Grabbing a beer from the bar, I walked off in search of my V.P., Caleb ‘Mercy’ Davenport, owner and operator of the largest construction firm in the city. Mercy built high sky rise buildings that many visitors to my city oohed and aahed over. The man was always in demand, but he ran his business like I ran my club. With an iron fist. Mercy did nothing he didn’t want to do. When he made a decision, it was game over. As the prospect said, I found Mercy in his office, sitting at his desk typing away into his computer. Not bothering to knock, I walked in and made myself comfortable.
“Gonna go blind staring at that fucking thing.”
“City Hall wants the bid in before midnight. Don’t trust anyone else to do it.”
“How many jobs you got going now?”
“Three,” Mercy sighed. “I get this one and I will fill the company’s quota for the year.”
Shaking my head, I knew not to argue with the fucker. Mercy was one of the most determined, committed and biggest overachievers I knew. More importantly, I fucking appreciated him. Bastard didn’t comprehend the meaning of quit.
“Douche canoe’s taken care of.”
“About time. Did you call Kali and give her the good news?”
“Payne will take care of it.” Swallowing another long pull of my beer, I noticed the framed picture Mercy had on his desk. Reaching for it, I picked it up and smiled. “She’s gotten big. How old is Sophia now?”
“Almost six.”
Returning the frame back to where I found it, I cautiously asked, “How’s Largo?”
“Fine, I guess.”
“She still not talking?”
“Nope.”
Out of all the brothers, Mercy was the only one who had a wife and a kid. Well, had being the relevant word. Mercy’s wife, Largo, left him two years ago for no apparent reason. One day she was here, the next she was gone. None of us understood why. Before we could even find out what made Largo do a runner, she served Mercy with divorce papers and that was all she wrote. Now, Mercy saw his daughter every other weekend and for two weeks in the summer.
“She still living in that shitty apartment near Chinatown?”
Mercy sighed, looking from the computer at me. “Yeah. I’ve tried to talk her into moving into a safer area, even offered to put her up in an apartment in one of my buildings, but she refused. Won’t even take alimony. The courts had to order her to take the child support.”
“Makes no sense, brother.”
“Tell me something I don’t know. One minute I’m happily married, the next I’m living alone wondering what the fuck I did wrong. I miss my kid. My wife isn’t saying shit and the more I think about it, the more pissed off I get. So, no Montana. I haven’t talked to Largo,” Mercy almost shouted, before turning back to his computer. Knowing he wasn’t going to say anything more, I got to my feet.
“Boardroom in fifteen, brother.”
Mercy muttered something as I walked out of his office and bumped into Storm. “Sorry, Montana.”
“No problem. Got a minute?”
“Sure.”
Two doors down, I walked in behind Storm, shutting the door behind me.
“What’s up?” Jason ‘Storm’ Calloway, the club treasurer, questioned as he took a seat behind his desk. Storm was the president of Calloway Investments, one of the city’s top investment firms. Storm inherited the company after his father and uncle died in one of the towers on that shitty September day. Resting against the wall, I looked at all the remembrances Storm had around him. From pictures to a piece of rubble, Storm refused to forget what he lost that day. While we all lost something, Storm lost half of his family. Not only his father and uncle, but a good portion of his family. Unlike his father and uncle, most of the Calloway Clan, as they liked to call themselves, were firefighters. Storm himself was gearing up to train to become just that when the world changed. Instead of following his dream, he took over his father’s company and never looked back. Storm was also one of the biggest adrenaline junkies I knew and a brother I could count on in a heartbeat.
