Page 30 of Sinner's Fury

“We traced the IP address to your club.”

Fuck.

This was fucking bad. If the table learned that someone within the Soulless Sinners sent out those fucking ghost files, they could censure the club, or worse, demand a change in leadership. If that were to happen, Montana would start a war, pitting the Biker Federation against the entire underground.

It would be a bloodbath.

My fucking gut told me Shame sent those files out when Vicious and I found his apartment, but without knowing his true endgame, I refused to throw a dead man under the proverbial bus.

“Maybe I should take this matter to Reaper and the Golden Skulls, since you can’t seem to be bothered?”

“Oh shit,” I cursed, shaking my head.

Mercy took a deep breath but stayed silent. Not even Payne or Malice moved, but when Montana sat forward and let out the breath he’d been holding, I knew the fucker was about to spew something that would have disastrous consequences.

“That pussy club belongs to me. They do what I tell them. As for Reaper, that motherfucker doesn’t do shit without my permission, so if you’ve got something to say, I suggest you say it or get the fuck out of my city.”

And just like that, Montana pitted the Soulless Sinners against the Golden Skulls. Our club was now on a war footing, because when Reaper learned what Montana just said, he would go ballistic. It was bad enough the table was aware of the rumors of trouble between the clubs, but for Montana to flat-out admit to another organization that the Golden Skulls were under his control was tantamount to a declaration of war.

This was not fucking good.

O’Malley sat back in his chair and smirked. “So, the rumors are true then, the clubs are related.”

Montana refused to take the bait and asked, “Why are you really here, O’Malley?”

Sighing, the Irish Mafia head stated, “I’m in town looking for a family member of mine. Nolan Kelley.”

“Haven’t seen him in months.”

“That’s disappointing,” O’Malley happily conceded. “Because I heard that one of your men has been having regular meetings with him. Goes by the name Shame.”

I stiffened. I knew from the documents I found in Shame’s apartment, that my brother had his hand in a lot of pots. He kept meticulous records, and one of those documented his meetings with Nolan Kelley. Though Vicious and I were still piecing everything together, we hadn’t investigated shit.

“Shame ain’t talking since he died last March.”

“Pity,” the man sighed, getting to his feet, buttoning his coat, then asked, “Just out of curiosity, does the name Thena Hartly mean anything to you?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because there is a bounty out for her. Ten million to the man who can acquire her and deliver her alive.”

“Who posted the bounty?” Mercy asked, speaking up.

“The table.” O’Malley smiled. “It seems whoever this woman is, the table has questions they want answered.”

With that, the fucker swept out of the room, leaving all of us reeling and Montana ready to commit murder.

“Are you fucking crazy, Montana?” Mercy seethed the second the Irish fucker left. “O’Malley runs the east coast Irish Mafia. His fucking aunt married Sean Buchanon, Brian Buchanon’s dad. Casper O’Malley groomed them both to leadthemotherfucking IRA, and Brian just happens to sit at the fucking table, and for added shits and giggles, Brian Buchanon is related by marriage to the Valentinetti’s, and he’s also Massacre and Player’s uncle on their father’s side. Braesal O’Malley doesn’t do shit in the States without talking to Brian first. That man isfucking dangerous, and you just admitted to controlling Reaper and the Golden Skulls!”

“I know.”

“Do you? Because I don’t think you realize the shitstorm you’ve just created, and before you even ask, there is no fucking way I can put that genie back in the bottle. Once Reaper learns what you’ve said, he will demand retribution. The Soulless Sinners have no alliance, no allegiance to the Golden Skulls. Hell, Montana, not even a few months ago, you said in front of both clubs that you didn’t care, had no intention of claiming the Golden Skulls. Reaper will not let this slide, brother.”

Hanging his head, Montana asked, “What’s he gonna demand?”

“Bare minimum,” Mercy fumed. “Two, maybe three clubs, a public apology, and possibly your seat at the fucking table.”

“Unless you agree to his demand and allow Vicious dual membership,” I added cautiously. “Look, Montana, I get it. You fucking hate Reaper and want nothing to do with him, but, brother, you just wrote a fucking check you can’t cash. Payback is coming. Just swallow your pride and agree to Reaper’s terms. With Vicious living in the city and sitting in our boardroom, you can control the narrative.”

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