Page 32 of Sypher

I possessed both a photographic memory, meaning I could recall images with perfect accuracy, and an eidetic memory, which gave me the ability to vividly remember and even recreate images from my past.

Every detail, every face, every conversation—all instantly accessible with a single thought.

It was my blessing and curse.

It was one thing to know my dad died protecting the family, but to die because of something he knew, that was something I couldn’t wrap my head around.

Getting to my feet, the stone-cold realization that I was doomed to the same fate as my dad, I made a calculated decision.

If I was destined to die for what I knew, then by God I was going to learn everything I could and make damn sure when that day came, I took them down with me.

The rules of the game had now changed.

There were no more fucking rules.

Chapter Thirteen

Sypher

August 21, 2023, motel on the waterfront.

“Where are the others?” I asked, looking around the harbor. As I watched the water ripple, a preternatural stillness hung in the air, broken only by the whispering wind and the chill that seemed to seep into my bones, a harbinger of the coming war’s icy grip. Initially, Reaper expressed some reservations when I first proposed my suggested course of action, but after some discussion, he eventually agreed. Despite the weight of the repercussions from his actions with Remi, and all he’d been through, I knew he would not deny me. It was a daring plan, a desperate gamble to free the Golden Skulls forever.

If we succeeded, it meant our freedom.

We failed and it would ensure our oblivion.

“Waiting inside,” Reaper stated, the match flaring briefly in the dim light before he lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. “The brothers you requested are here. Even your fucking brother Ace. You sure about him?”

“No, but I can’t do what I have to without him and his team.”

With a menacing look, Reaper declared, “If he double-crosses us, I’ll take his fucking soul,” as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. “You got a fucking problem with that?”

“No,” I firmly said. “He chose his side. I chose mine. Reaper, there is something else I need from you.”

“What is it?”

“Dante Sharp.”

“Montana’s prospect?”

I nodded. Taking a deep breath, I admitted, “He’s mine, Prez.”

Reaper’s brow furrowed, his eyes narrowed when he slowly turned to face me, a grim silence falling between us.

“I’m gay. Well, technically bisexual, but Dante’s mine. I claimed him. I need your word that if anything goes wrong, you and the club will protect him.”

A smirk played on Reaper’s lips while he eyed his burning cigarette. A small flick of his wrist sent ashes drifting into the air. “He the reason for all this?”

“Yes.”

“You love him?”

I nodded, the unspoken words a heavy weight in my throat. But that wasn’t good enough for Reaper. The next instant, I was face-to-face with him, his cold, dead eyes boring into mine as a chilling growl ripped through the air. “Answer the fucking question.”

Gulping, I clearly said, “I’d burn the fucking world to protect him.”

A slow smile, a genuine smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes, spread across his face as he hugged me tight.

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