Page 6

Fury

A week later...

Sitting in the boardroom, I said absolutely nothing as Montana ranted, bitched, and moaned. He’d been doing a lot of that lately, and frankly, his display of arrogance and hostility was becoming a detriment to the club. I didn’t know what bug crawled up his ass, but if he didn’t get off his high horse soon, the club’s little ghost file problem was going to turn into a big fucking problem.

As it was now, I noticed Montana had been spending more and more time at the clubhouse than at home with his wife and kid. He’d also started drinking more. The moody fucker was going to go into cardiac arrest if he didn’t chill the fuck out and think rationally. If he didn’t, he was on the verge of losing everything. It didn’t take a genius to read the writing on the wall.

I’d been a businessman since college, and even I knew the warning signs. Yes, the Soulless Sinners were a motorcycle club, but we were also a business, and with all our firms embedded within the club, we all had a stake, a say in what happened and what we did.

The problem was, getting the annoying fuck to speak.

“Montana, just give the jagoff what he wants.” Mercy sighed. “The sooner you do, the faster he will back off.”

“Fuck that shit!” Montana roared, as he continued to pace the room. “I will not have a fucking Golden Skull sitting in my boardroom.”

“Uh...” Vicious grinned, holding up his hand. “You do realize I still bear the Golden mark, right? While I’m not a member of the club anymore, I can still walk in at any time.”

Montana rounded on my brother and sneered. “And the second you do, I will have your brand.”

“All I’m saying is, wouldn’t it be easier to have me in both places? You would know what Reaper is thinking, planning and so forth.”

“Exactly!” Montana clipped. “And the fucker would know what I’m doing too.”

“Boss,” Mercy groaned. “Reaper doesn’t care what you have planned or what you do, as long as you leave his club alone. He said as much the last time he was here.”

Plopping his ass back in his chair, Montana sighed, running his hands down his face. “I don’t trust him. I never have. I can’t have one of his men in my club. Not with everything we have going on. I just can’t, especially after what happened down in Alabama.”

Curious, I asked, “Speaking of which. What exactly happened down there? You never said, and you refused to allow any of us to go with you. I called Grudge, and even he kept quiet.”

“If he knows what’s good for him, he will keep his trap shut.”

“That’s not what I asked, Montana,” I reiterated, knowing damn well he was evading the question. “What happened in Alabama?”

“Nothing,” my president snarked, clearly lying his ass off as he leaned back in his chair. “We flew down there, used the Alabama club to find the kids, then flew home. That was it.”

“No,” I stated firmly. “You found those kids because Malice called Sinclair. He found them.”

Montana glared at Mercy, who simply shrugged.

“Not lying to my brothers.”

Changing the subject, Montana asked, “Any word on Pippen?”

Shaking my head, I replied, “No. I talked with my brother over at the State Department, and he hasn’t heard of any FBI warrants for Dante Sharp, Lena Collins, or Danny Franks.”

“Off the books?” Vicious asked.

“Maybe,” I admitted. “But I’m not sure. All we know is that the FEDs walked into this clubhouse and arrested our intern. The IDs and warrant looked genuine enough to me, so I didn’t question it. If it was an off-the-books arrest, then those three could be anywhere.”

“Don’t fucking care about the others. Only our intern.”

Glaring at Montana, I sat up and clearly said, “Well, you better care and fast, because not only was Pippen working on our own ghost files, but his brother is Silas Sharp and works for Crispin Sinclair. He is also best friends with Sypher, who, by the way, is a major hacker on the dark web. Both boys went to school together. They are best friends. Add in Phantom, who just happens to be married to Bullseye, Sypher’s cousin, and I’d say you have a big fucking problem. Those three people know all our secrets. Yours, mine, both clubs, everything. The longer all three are missing, the more information they could leak.”

“Phantom won’t say shit,” Vicious muttered. “Woman’s been to hell and back. Afghan terrorists held her captive and tortured her horribly. Woman never spoke a fucking word. As for Sypher, that kid fears Reaper more than you, Montana. Trust me. He will go to his grave before he utters a fucking word.”

“Malice, you know the intern. Will he talk?” Montana asked.

Turning in my chair, I watched as the enforcer for the club said absolutely nothing and reclined in his chair, feet up on the table as he munched happily on a green apple, only to shrug and take another bite.

Chuckling, Payne shook his head. “Words, brother.”

Swallowing, Malice simply said, “Only know Silas.”

“What the fuck do you mean by that?” Montana grumbled. “The intern is Silas’ brother.”

“Left when he was a kid. Wasn’t there to watch him grow up.”

“Malice,” Mercy groaned. “What is your gut telling you? Can we trust Pippen to keep our secrets?”

Dropping his feet to the floor, Malice threw what remained of his apple in the trash before standing up and adjusting himself.

“Like I said. I only know Silas.”

With that, Malice walked out of the boardroom, closing the door behind him. It didn’t take a fucking genius to know where he was going. Or should I say who he was about to do? Since Malice claimed Silver, the man rarely left her side, and neither of them had any aversion to public sex.

Hiding my smile, I turned back around in my seat just when Storm piped up, “Regardless of whether we can trust the intern or not, he’s a brother in this club and my responsibility. I trust the kid. I will vouch for him.”

“He fucks us, it’s your ass,” Montana griped.

“Don’t threaten me, Montana,” Storm sneered as he glared contemptuously at the club’s president. “Got love for you and my brothers, but you and I have been down this road before. Not gonna let your fucking fears cause harm to me or mine. Said I trusted the kid. My word should be good enough.”

No one said a fucking word because we all knew Storm was right. After the shit that went down with Delany, Storm had been keeping to himself lately, preferring to work from home than at the clubhouse. While most of us understood his reservations, Montana had a way of digging that knife in the back deeper, and if he wasn’t careful, he was going to find himself face-to-fucking- face with the man at the heart of the problem—Maxwell James Doherty.

Changing the subject, I asked, “Any word on Popeye?”

“No. The fucker is still in the wind,” Payne groaned, clearly annoyed.

I got it. Payne was an excellent tracker, but when he brought up Ravage from the Golden Skulls, Montana lost his shit. Prez meant what he said. He didn’t want any Golden Skull member anywhere near this club. He wanted no association, no debt to be paid, nothing. In the end, Payne went at it alone and, from the cut of his shoulders, his search wasn’t looking good.

“He’s vanished. I’ve got nothing. No one has seen hide nor hair of the fucker. I even called some of my contacts down in Florida, and nothing. I don’t know where else to look.”

“Not to pile on,” Mercy interrupted. “But I got word that Braesal O’Malley will be in town later this week.”

Montana sat up straighter. “What the fuck for? Kelley runs the Irish in New York. Why is that fucker coming here?”

Braesal O’Malley was the head of the Irish Mafia for the east coast. Based out Boston, Massachusetts, the man was the grandson of Casper O’Malley, the former IRA leader out of Ireland before Brian Buchanon took over. To make matters worse, the O’Malley’s were related by marriage to the Valentinetti’s, and with blood ties, they were a family this club steered clear of. With everything going on, I fucking knew Montana didn’t want to step on anyone’s fucking toes.

“Don’t know,” Mercy admitted. “O’Malley said he would be in the city this weekend and requested a meeting with you at the Gentlemen’s Club. Apparently, he’s already informed Illyria, and she’s reserved the room. All we need to do is show up.”

Payne groaned. “Could have something to do with a death I heard about last year. One of Braesal’s men, a man named Duane Murphy, died, leaving behind a widow named Maureen. From what I heard, Braesal has a hard-on for the woman, but she bought her way out and left. Last I heard, he’s been looking for her ever since.”

“Is the woman even in the city?” I asked, looking at my brother.

“No clue. There is also a rumor that O’Malley fucking hates Nolan Kelley. So, he could be just making an unexpected visit to check on the fucker.”

Storm nodded. “Kelley isn’t exactly on the up-and-up with his boss. I’ve heard rumors of double-dipping within the Italian Mafia.”

“Speaking of which. Do we know who the new head is?” I asked.

“Cesar Vitale,” Vicious stated. “The council made the announcement a few days ago.”

Leaning forward in his chair, Montana grumbled, “Mercy, let Illyria know we will attend. As for the rest of you, go find me something, anything, that I can use to put Reaper back in his place.”