Page 70 of Sypher

Mr. Reaper’s eyes narrowed while he slowly sat up. “Prove it. What can you tell me about the president of the Brotherhood of Bastards?”

Gulping, I looked at my dad, who said nothing as he just stared at me. “Well, they are a 1%er club out of Kansas. Morpheus is the president—,”

“No, kid.” Mr. Reaper shook his head. “Tell me something I don’t know about him.”

“Like what?”

Mr. Reaper shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “You tell me.”

Opening my laptop, the cool metal felt smooth against my fingertips as I took a deep breath and started typing. I was completely in the dark as to the nature of the information or knowledge that Mr. Reaper desired. In the absence of any specific parameters to guide my search, I cast a wide net, yielding a multitude of potential results, yet an inner voice cautioned me that none of these discoveries matched what Mr. Reaper was seeking. With a frown etched upon my face, I sat up straighter in my seat and delved deeper into the investigation, focusing my attention specifically on the club’s president, Morpheus, as Mr. Reaper had explicitly requested information concerning him. The narrowing of my search revealed a wide range of incriminating evidence pertaining to Morpheus, with discoveries including highly classified materials that detailed a relationship with a woman named Jane Craven, the proprietor of a South Miami, Florida establishment called the Trick Pony, and her connection to a mysterious organization referred to as the Society. Driven by curiosity, I investigated further into the mysterious abyss. My eyes fell upon the information Mr. Reaper clearly intended for me to discover, as a tidal wave of data opened up before me.

Abruptly snapping my head in his direction, I offered no response when Mr. Reaper smiled, his attention shifting to my father. “You’re right, Moonshine. The kid is better than good. It took him like two minutes to find what the club had buried deep. Fuck me, I think he’s even better than Matrix and Phantom and that’s saying something.”

“Boy is too damn smart for his own good. If he ain’t careful it will come to bite him in the ass one day.”

“But not today.” Mr. Reaper chuckled, slapping my dad on the back. “Alright, kid, now that you know the score. I need you to make damn sure no one ever finds out. Got me? He is your number one priority.”

Gulping, I slowly nodded.

“Good, because his life is now in your hands.” Mr. Reaper got to his feet along with my dad. “Oh, and you work for me. When I call, you better be ready to work.”

That day marked a profound and irreversible turning point in my life, forever altering its course and direction. The day I learned the truth about Jackson and revealed the club’s nefarious activities, I felt the full impact in my gut, and I’d been tight-lipped about it all ever since.

It wasn’t easy knowing everything and not able to say a damn word. After that day, Reaper and I had many conversations to discuss and plan out the club’s next move, with one goal in mind. To remove any threat to the Golden Skulls forever. And for the last several years, that’s exactly what I helped Reaper do, never forgetting my main objective.

Now that the genie was out of the bottle, there was nothing I could do to stop what came next. Not even Reaper could. All we could do was try to contain the fallout and protect Jackson as best we could, because when the biker world learned that Morpheus fathered a son, blood would run.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Sypher

August 21, 2024, New York City.

I watched as Dante sat at the table, his shoulders slouched while he leaned on his hand, eyes cast down at the plate before him as he slowly pushed his food around. He still hadn’t said a word to me regarding his time at the Playground. Or why Crispin Sinclair had a goddamned dog collar around his neck with a chain attached. When I got Dante home and into bed, I did a quick preliminary search of the Playground and learned that the place was the city’s most exclusive BDSM club, that was previously owned and operated by Malice and Mercy, before the building was sold to Crispin Sinclair a few weeks ago.

Now, that motherfucker was a piece of work.

I hated my job sometimes, because it was inevitable that working with the underworld lines would be crossed, and fuck me sideways and twice on Sunday, when it came to CrispinmotherfuckingSinclair. Like any job, I did my due diligence, leaving nothing to chance. So, when Payne told me that Crispin Sinclair showed up with two others, I already fucking knew who those men were.

Crispin Sinclair was a product of the Trick Pony, and if my information was correct, which it generally was, Crispin Ulysses Sinclair was nothing more than a stone-cold killer, who didn’t think twice before beheading a woman named Veronica Meeks. The very woman who tortured him during his time at the Trick Pony.

Now, according to my client, when Sinclair left the Trick Pony, he specifically hand-picked three others to go with him: Silas Hayes Sharp, Rowen Descartes Shay, and Gideon Aurelius Scott, all named after famous men throughout history. Too fucking bad they didn’t inherit their namesakes’ temperament. More importantly, in the underworld, they were simply known as Mr. Ess.

Yeah, that one was too fucking easy to figure out.

Not very inventive, but it worked.

From what my client told me, she was in the Trick Pony’s nursery when Sinclair showed up and grabbed her and the baby she was holding, forcing her to flee with the others. It was only after they fled that Sinclair realized that she was holding the wrong baby. When she demanded to be taken back, Sinclair threatened to kill the baby if she returned to the Trick Pony.

My client knew that Crispin Sinclair wasn’t a man to fucking cross. She had seen first-hand what his temper could do. So, she stayed long enough to ease his temperament, and when his back was turned, she fled, returning to the Trick Pony. She knew that by doing so, it would send Sinclair into a rage, and he wouldn’t ever stop until he recovered her. As to why Sinclair specifically rescued her and not the others, my client never said.

Over the years, I kept my eyes on Sinclair and his associates as they amassed a tremendous wealth. With his hands in everything, Crispin Sinclair quickly became someone the table kept a close eye on, even contracting with me to do just that. The man was a self-made billionaire who didn’t give two fucks about anything or anyone. If he wanted something, nothing would stop him from achieving his goal. The man was singular and extremely fucking dangerous. He gave nothing without expecting something in return, and he never stopped looking for my client, Thena Hartley.

Only now, it wasn’t just Crispin Sinclair looking for her. Everyone wanted her, and I knew exactly where to find her.

Too bad for everyone involved, I never narked on my clients.

When I took my client on, she informed me of the baby’s true identity, and while I didn’t put two and two together before I claimed Dante, knowing who he truly was and who he belonged to, didn’t negate the fact that he was mine and nothing was going to change that.

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