Page 109 of Sinner's Malice

“Sit down, Benson.”

“You son of a bitch!” Benson shouted. “This is neutral territory.”

“Sit the fuck down,” Montana clipped, pointing his gun at Benson.

Benson Franklin Graves was a slimy two-timing shitbag. Graves was originally the broker for the Soulless Sinners back in the day before he syphoned millions from the club. He was good at accumulating information. Lots of information, which he happily handed over to a man named Boris Petrovitch for a hefty price. We all thought Graves was dead, but recently learned that the fucker worked for the west coast Bratva, more specifically Boris Petrovitch. With Petrovitch dead, Benson didn’t have the backing or the safety he needed to stay alive and considering the fucker was wanted not only by the club, but by the Valentinetti Family and Maxim Fedorov, the asshat was lucky to be breathing.

Leaning forward in his chair, Montana looked at the dead man walking and smiled. “You know, when you showed up at the clubhouse, I thought you had a death wish. Maybe you were tired of breathing and you wanted me to put an end to your miserable life. But seeing you show up here with five goons, I now realize that you are the stupidest motherfucker on the planet. Did you honestly think you were going to walk out of here alive?”

“I have information...”

Montana groaned, shaking his head. “You always have information. A plethora of information, yet you never really seem to say anything of value.”

“I mean it this time, Montana. I have information that will bring down the Golden Skulls. Information you need to protect the Soulless Sinners.”

Before Benson could say anything more, the door opened again and in walked several men who wasted no time cleaning up the bodies, dragging them out of the room.

Illyria stepped in and smiled. “Montana, you have some unexpected guests that have arrived and are requesting, or should I say, demanding to sit in on this meeting.”

Not giving Montana a chance to respond, the beautiful woman stepped to the side as Giovanni Valentinetti and Maxim Fedorov, along with Vladmir Ivenok, walked into the room. However, when Maxwell Doherty, Reaper, the President of the Golden Skulls, walked in behind them with Bullseye and Massacre, I knew shit was about to get real.

Montana quickly typed something into his phone before sitting back in his chair, saying nothing while he glared at Reaper, who just smiled and took a seat at the other end of the table.

“How’s the leg, asshole?”

Now it was Montana’s turn to growl.

“Hello, Benson,” Giovanni politely greeted, taking a seat next to Mercy.

Maxim just sneered at the fucker as he took the seat next to Reaper.

Benson gulped.

“Now for the rules.” Illyria smiled, taking charge. “I love all of you. Except you, Benson. You are going to get what you deserve. Now, since I don’t trust you boys not to kill each other, I am sitting in on this meeting, which is my right as the owner of this club. Anyone got a problem with that?”

Everyone shook their head—no.

Massacre leaned toward Gio and whispered, “Cuz is still scary.”

Shoving him away, Giovanni firmly said, “Stop being a nuisance and call your mother.”

“I did call her. Two months ago.”

“Uncle,” Bullseye snarled, standing behind Reaper.

Maxim glared at his nephew, before turning to Gio. “Where is my niece?”

“How ismydaughter?” Vladmir asked, staring down Reaper, who smirked, then shrugged his shoulders.

“Mywife is happy and sated.”

Maxim grabbed Vladmir’s arm, slowly shaking his head.

“Maybe I should just leave.” Benson went to get up from his seat, and everyone around the table pulled a gun and pointed it right at him.

The man gulped, slowly sitting back down.

Shaking my head, I knew this entire meeting was about to turn into a three-ringed circus.

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