Page 108 of Sinner's Malice

Leaning toward me, she whispered, “Why are there three different types of forks?”

“Because Sin’s anal-retentive and can’t decide which one he prefers,” I mumbled, and Pippen chuckled, quickly covering his mouth with his napkin, as Silas glared at him.

Sin sighed. “You know, some of us at this table prefer a more refined dining experience. Not everyone prefers to eat with their hands.”

Glaring at the fucker, I sneered, “How else are you supposed to eat a fucking burger?”

“Are we really having this conversation again?” Silas groaned. “Because if we are, I am leaving.”

“If Silas leaves, then I will too,” Pippen piped up.

“No one is leaving,” Sin said, laying his napkin in his lap. “Please forgive us, Little One. Not all of us have manners.”

“I have manners!” Malice sneered.

“Of course you do.” Arianwen smiled, patting my hand while everyone around me snickered.

Fucking jackasses.

The whole lot of them.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Looking up from my phone, I saw Montana, Mercy, and Fury all glaring at me.

“What?”

“Something on your mind, Malice?” Fury questioned, leaning back in the chair he was sitting in, twirling his gun in his hand as if he were a gunslinger.

“No.”

“Then why the fuck are you growling?” Montana clipped.

I frowned, then purposefully growled again just to piss him off.

Rolling his eyes, Montana returned to the deck of cards he was shuffling while we waited for Benson Graves and that cunt Iris Hughes.

The second Arianwen and I returned from dinner, Montana wasted no time ordering me out the door. Fucker didn’t even give me a chance to change my fucking clothes.

Someone knocked at the door before it opened.

Walking in, Illyria Valentinetti happily announced, “Your guest has arrived.”

“Thanks, beautiful,” Mercy said, winking at the volatile woman. Illyria Valentinetti was the owner of the Gentlemen’s Club and also the sister to Giovanni Valentinetti and the wife of Maxim Fedorov, the head of the Russian Bratva.

She was a woman no one wanted to piss off.

Pocketing my phone, I rolled up my sleeves.

“You look fucking ridiculous.”

Side-eyeing Montana, I snarled.

Fury chuckled, getting to his feet and moving to the opposite side of the room just as Benson Graves walked in with five heavily armed men.

The second Illyria shut the door, Fury and I wasted no time before we drew our guns and killed Graves’ men, leaving only the slimy fucker against the four of us.

Smiling like a fucking lunatic, Montana leaned back in his chair, holding his gun in his hand as he slowly screwed a silencer onto the barrel of his gun.

---