Page 117 of Sinner's Malice

Shaking my head, I refused to believe this crap.

There was no fucking way my legacy was a fucking lie.

“There’s more, too,” Pippen cautiously added.

“Of course there is,” Montana sighed, taking a seat as he looked at me. “Do you honestly believe this crap?”

Shaking my head, I growled, “Fuck no.”

“Well, then maybe this will help,” Sypher began. “In the mountains of files Ace had me go through, he found out that Devlin Scott had a fucking half-brother. Does the name Steven Hartley ring a bell?”

Montana’s head snapped up. “Popeye?”

“Yes,” Sypher confirmed. “Steven Hartley was instrumental to George Stone. He knew all of his secrets. But the big one, the reason Popeye is gone, is because George was blackmailing him to keep quiet, because George needed Malice off kilter. He needed Malice on a hair-trigger because he knew if Malice ever found out that he had a hand in the abuse Malice received at the Trick Pony, Malice would kill the fucker, sever his ties to the Soulless Sinners, and run back to Crispin Sinclair. And just so you both know, before the Feds stormed the Trick Pony, someone accessed the club’s database and downloaded everything. Someone out there knows everything Pippen and I know.”

I looked at Montana and we both muttered, “Graves.”

“I’m gonna fucking kill that motherfucker!” Montana sneered.

Leaning forward in my chair, I asked, “How do you want to handle this clusterfuck? Because regardless of what’s in those files, I’m not giving up my club.”

“Don’t want your club. I’ve got enough problems already.”

“Well, I hate to pile on…” a familiar voice declared, leaning against the door.

Bullseye slowly got to his feet when Massacre cursed.

Slowly turning in my seat, I stared at the one man who’d had my back from the very beginning.

The one person who knew me the best.

The one person I knew would never fucking betray me.

Smirking, I shook my head.

“You picked a fine fucking time to show up, Ghost.”

To Be Continued in Golden Atonement

Epilogue One

Fury

Much later that same night...

“It’s late, kid. Go home,” I said, walking by Shame’s office to find Pippen still working diligently on the ghost file mystery, and that’s when it hit me.

It wasn’t Shame’s office anymore.

It was Pippen’s now.

I wasn’t ever going to get used to seeing Pippen in here. To me, the kid would always be the prospect. Technically, he was still kind of, but more. No longer a prospect but not yet a brother. The kid had five years of an internship to complete before he could receive his brand. The funny thing was, I knew the kid would do it. Pippen was a determined bastard. Smart as hell and, right now, very fucking valuable to the club, especially since Shame was gone.

“I’ll finish this up then go,” the kid promised, typing something into the computer.

Shaking my head, I walked into the office and took a good look around.

The place looked sterile.

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