Page 92 of Massacre
“Oh, this is going to be bad,” Cash groaned, leaning back in his seat.
“Working in conjunction with his father, Daniel helped Sylvia St. James run a program called Sunshine Kids. On paper, it was a place for unwanted kids whom the system failed. In reality, it was the distribution center for the children of the Trick Pony.”
“What do you mean by distribution center?” Gunner asked.
“Exactly what it sounds like,” Sypher replied without inflection. “Kids who were born at the Trick Pony, kidnapped off the streets, taken in the dead of night, however you want to say it, were sent to the distribution center for placement. The smart ones were sent to New York, where Sylvia St. James ran her gifted program. The others—well, they weren’t so fortunate. Most were either bought or shipped overseas to the highest bidder. The unlucky ones—those who no one wanted—were trained and used for sexual gratification for club members or associates.”
“I think I’m gonna be sick.” Jackass got up and walked out of the room, covering his mouth.
“Now I want to go find Massacre and help him kill this motherfucker,” Ghost sneered.
“You might rethink that when I tell you the rest,” Sypher informed, then took a deep breath and looked at King. “You were right, King. Reaper left something out. Something he wanted to keep quiet for as long as he could. But if Massacre succeeds in killing Daniel Scott, it’s going to cause a bloody war in the underworld.”
“I’m waiting,” King snarled.
“After my club rescued Remi, Amber, and all those others in Louisiana, Reaper put a computer in front of me and asked me to look up a name. What I learned that day changed everything for me. On the outside, I spend my days protecting clubs, organizations, and families within the underworld. But what I’mreally doing is protecting a family. A family connected to several biker clubs and Mafia families.”
King stiffened.
“It’s common knowledge that Kalden Baudelaire started the Brotherhood of Bastards in 1945 after he returned from WWII. What’s not common knowledge is that Morpheus is not the bastard son of Kalden. He’s Kalden’s great-nephew. Kalden had a brother, Kasius Baudelaire, who married a woman named Ava Montgomery. They had three children: Abigail Baudelaire, who married Frederick Craven, Bane’s grandparents. A son, Kasius Baudelaire, who died in infancy, then another son, Kane Baudelaire, who married Elsbeth Lincoln, Morpheus’ parents.”
“Hold up, Sypher,” Jingles interrupted. “The Brotherhood doesn’t allow legitimate brothers into the club. Hence the name.”
“You’re right, and when Kalden hired George Stone to kill his brother’s son and his wife, he made Morpheus an orphan, which allowed Kalden to claim him as his bastard son. Which he did.”
“Jesus fuck,” Blade cursed.
“Morpheus was eight when George Stone broke into their house in upstate New York and killed his parents. To make matters worse, George told Morpheus that it was Albert Lansing, Bane’s father, who ordered the hit.”
“Jesus Christ!” Ghost snapped. “He’s going to kill Bane!”
“For right now, Bane is alive.”
“How do you know that, kid?” King asked.
Sypher smirked. “I’ve got eyes on the inside.”
“Of course you do,” Cash said.
“What the hell does all this have to do with Daniel Scott?” King asked impatiently.
Sitting up, Sypher took a deep breath, looked King dead in the eyes, and continued as the door to church opened again, and in walked Sheriff Declan O’Rourke. “After Morpheus’ parentsdied, he went to live with his great-uncle. There, Kalden taught him everything he knew and then some. When Morpheus was eighteen, he met a woman in Atlanta, Georgia, by the name of Gretchen Foster—”
“What the hell did you just say?”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” King groaned. “What the hell, Dec? That door was fucking closed for a reason.”
“I need Amber and Dwayne Buchanon.”
King huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “What the hell do you want with them?”
“Someone filed a complaint against Mr. Buchanon. Apparently, he threatened bodily harm. I told that fucker to behave while he was here in Diamond Creek. He didn’t listen. As for Amber, this same person is claiming that Amber stole something from him.”
“What?” I gasped as King reached for my hand.
“Amber didn’t steal shit,” King groaned, adding, “And Massacre’s not here.”
“Don’t fucking lie to me, King.”
