Page 112 of Sinner's Malice

“I’ll drink with you,” Bane slurred, lifting his head from the bar.

“You’ve already had too much,” I snarked, looking at the drunk lush. “You’re cut off.”

“I don’t give a flying fuck what you say!” Montana roared in the next instant, storming into the clubhouse, as he headed straight for the bar, only to stop dead in his tracks upon seeing that I wasn’t where I was supposed to be.

Looking around, his eyes landed on mine before he pointed to the bar.

Rolling my eyes, I walked over to my domain while the brooding man took a seat. Leaning against the bar, I smiled at him. “Good evening, boss. How can I turn that frown upside down?”

He growled, narrowing his eyes at Reaper, who took a seat next to him. “Shoot that motherfucker.”

Looking at Reaper, who was smiling like a lunatic, I turned back to Montana and offered, “I will. Just say the word and give me your gun.”

“I like her.” Reaper chuckled, sliding his gun toward me. “I’ll give you a Golden Pledge if you pop a cap in his ass for me.”

Mercy stepped between the two bickering men, grabbed the gun, and groaned. “Silver. Get them drunk. Fast.”

Nodding, I smiled. “Hell’s Inferno coming right up.”

“I’ll take a vodka on the rocks,” Maxim Fedorov asked nicely as he sat next to Montana.

“Whiskey for me, Silver,” Giovanni said, sitting next to Reaper while Malice and Massacre dragged an unconsciousman through the club, heading for the mailroom, followed by several others along with Illyria Valentinetti, who, for the first time since I had met her, wasn’t looking perfectly put together. Clothes disheveled, hair loose, and from the look she was sporting, I’d say she just fought a wild cat and lost. Trudging over to the table, she hugged Remi before sitting down.

“What the hell happened to you?” Remi asked. “You look like shit.”

Illyria glared at the bar. “They happened.”

“The Gentlemen’s Club still standing?” I heard Tessa ask.

Illyria frowned. “Barely.”

Handing the four men their drinks, I shook my head.

None of them said a damn word while they sat there drinking.

That was a first for me. The presidents of two major motorcycle clubs and the heads of two mafia families were all sitting at my bar, and not a single one of them was speaking.

I got Reaper and Montana.

There was no love lost between the two men, considering the last time Montana was around Reaper, the volatile president shot Montana in the leg.

Though he probably deserved it.

Wiping down the bar, I smirked. “You know, boys, a kind word goes a long way.”

All four men looked at me.

I shrugged. “Just saying.”

“You’re right, Silver.” Giovanni grinned, turning to Montana before saying, “Montana, you’re being a dick.”

“Hear, hear!” Maxim smirked, raising his glass.

“I think what Reaper asked is reasonable,” Giovanni added.

“I said no,” Montana snarled, downing his drink in one gulp before sliding it toward me. Pouring him another, he added, “I’m not letting that psychopath go anywhere near my brother.”

“He just wants to meet him,” Gio groaned. “That’s all.”

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