Page 39 of Sinner's Fury

Hemlock laughed. “Brother, you ain’t gettin’ it. You are in no position to be making demands. Either you help us, or we walk away and leave you hanging.”

Josh held up his hand, silencing Hemlock, who never took his eyes off me.

“What do you want, Chris?”

“The brand on my back gone, as if it never existed, and when this shit is over, my girls and I walk away scot-free.”

Taking a deep breath, I walked into the Soulless Sinners’ clubhouse to find the place completely empty. This damn clubhouse was never empty. There was always a brother here.

Reaching for my gun, I took a step forward when I heard, “Take another step and I will fucking kill you.”

Stopping dead in my tracks, I lowered my gun and announced, “This is the Soulless Sinners’ clubhouse. Unless you are a patched or branded brother, you have no right being here, so I suggest you leave before my brothers get back.”

The voice laughed as Tyran Fitzpatrick, the right-hand man for Braesal O’Malley, stepped out of the shadows and took a fucking seat, his gun aimed right at me. “You think I care about this stupid club? It’s only a matter of time before the Golden Skulls take back what truly belongs to them. Your club’s days are numbered.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about you shooting your president,” he clearly said. “Didn’t think a half-breed like you had it in him. I’m impressed.”

I didn’t like this guy. There was something about him that set my teeth on edge. I couldn’t place it, but I knew this fucker was dangerous.

“So tell me, half-breed, how long have you known?”

“Known what?”

“That you’re the bastard grandson of Casper O’Malley.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“If you think I’m going to let you just show up and take what’s mine, you’ve got another think coming. I am the O’Malley’s right-hand man, not you. I won’t let some half-breed come in and take what’s mine.”

Jesus fucking Christ. This man was certifiable.

Crazy.

Unhinged.

Taking a deep breath, I stated, “First off, I don’t care who you are, and I sure as hell want nothing that belongs to you. Second, I’m one hundred percent Italian, so I don’t know where you gotyour information, but I’d get your money back. And finally, if you don’t get your fucking Irish ass out of this club, you won’t like what I do next.”

Getting to his feet, he slid a folder across the table toward me.

“Talk to your vice president. He’s been keeping something from you.”

Saying nothing more, Tyran walked out of the clubhouse.

Walking over to the folder, I flipped it open and stared at the contents, trying to comprehend what I was reading, when my phone buzzed in my jacket. Reaching for it, I answered.

“Hello?”

“Where the fuck are you?” Mercy shouted.

“Clubhouse.”

“Fucking stay there. We’re close. We’re coming to you,” he ordered before disconnecting the call.

Pulling out a chair, I sat, moving the folder closer to me as I laid my gun on the table and continued to read. A short time later, I heard the sounds of pipes pulling into the compound.

Chapter Thirteen

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