Chapter Fourteen

Silver

I really had no clue where I was going. All I knew was that I couldn't stay in that clubhouse a second longer. Even from my bedroom, I could clearly hear the brothers yelling and arguing about me. It was strange to hear, considering since I'd been at the club, I couldn't remember a time I'd garnered this much attention. And if I was being honest, I hated it.

I now knew what Malice felt like when all eyes were on him.

No one wanted that kind of scrutiny.

I just needed to get away from everyone.

I needed to clear my head.

To think without all the male testosterone suffocating me.

So, when I left the clubhouse and hailed a cab, I didn't think. I jumped in the backseat and told the driver to drive. I didn't care where he took me as long as it was far away from the clubhouse.

Of course, when I realized all I had was twenty bucks in my pocket, well, that limited my getaway to downtown.

More specifically, the outskirts of Central Park.

Looking around the area, I literally did not know where to go next. It wasn't like I was proficient with the ins and outs of New York City. And what I remembered from my time on the streets was that Central Park wasn't exactly the place I wanted to be when night fell. During the day, the place was great, but not come sundown.

I thought about walking to Davenport Tower, but I knew that would be one of the first places they looked.

I missed my apartment.

For the very short time I had one, I enjoyed it.

Finding a bench to sit on, I sat and looked around the bustling city. Everyone had a place to go, things to do, people to see.

Not me.

Everyone I knew was back at the clubhouse arguing and deciding on my life as if I didn't exist. I didn't know what bothered me the most, that they thought they had the right to decide my fate, or the fact that no one heard a fucking word I said regarding the matter.

Guess I should have known. I'd been with the Soulless Sinners long enough to know that they didn't listen to anyone but themselves.

Hell, they barely listened to each other half the time. And if I was being completely honest, Montana was the one with the biggest fucking voice, and God help anyone who went against his decree.

Over the years, I'd watched that asshole take a simple situation and turn it into World War III. Regarding the shit with Reaper, the asshole could have prevented the coming war if he would swallow his pride and just come clean. With Tessa, he allowed his anger to supersede the reasonable part of his brain. Not that he really had a reasonable part. With Largo, the fucker was butt hurt and played the scorned big brother perfectly to a T. And Delany, that poor woman, never stood a chance, because Montana let his fear of Reaper supersede anything logical. Which pointed back to Montana's pride and failure to talk to Reaper.

As for me, well Montana was really playing up the indignant dad card. Of course, the more I thought about it, I guess on a really tiny, minuscule level, Montana was somewhat of a father figure to me. I knew he trusted me. Moreso than the others, maybe even Mercy, and that was saying something. With Montana, there were layers of bullshit that masked the real man beneath. And as much as I thought I knew him, these last few weeks showed me, I didn't.

The fact was, I was an adult, capable of making my own decisions, and regardless of who I chose, nothing, and I mean, no one, would ever be good enough for Montana.

"Running away again?"

Looking up, I didn't move when Popeye sat next to me, shaking his head. Glancing around the park, I wondered where he had come from. Bastard looked like shit and smelled awful.

Though I was no longer at the clubhouse, I wasn't stupid.

I knew Malice would know exactly where I was. He made sure of that after the whole Petrovitch shit went down and I took off out of the blue. When the dust had settled, the crazy fucker snuck into my room one night and injected me with a tracking device under the skin of my wrist, right where my scar was. Before I could say anything, he got up and left my room like nothing happened.

"Let me guess. Montana's not happy that Malice claimed you."

"How do you know that?"

Popeye looked at me and smiled. "I know everything."

"Everyone is looking for you."

"And eventually they will find me. Until then, I'm going to enjoy this peaceful day and sit on this bench next to you."

"Did you really do all those things they think you did?"

Popeye sighed, looking down at his hands. "Yes, and so much more."

"Why?"

"I wasn't given a choice. Like most of us back then, we served at the pleasure of George Stone."

"He was blackmailing you, too," I muttered as Popeye nodded.

"There is so much that old fuck did back in the day, Silver. Shit that will eventually come back to haunt the club. While Layla did the world a favor in killing George, I'm afraid all she did was open the door for all the skeletons to walk out. And trust me, Silver, there are many."

I knew he was telling me the truth.

Pleading with him, I said, "Popeye, turn yourself in to Montana. Tell him everything. Tell the board what you know. If it's as bad as you say, they are going to need your help."

"That's what I thought when I called Malice. But apparently, it didn't work. I knew Malice could be reasonable when the mood suited him. Guess I picked the wrong time. It doesn't matter anyway, because I've got a mark on my head now, and Montana will stop at nothing until he collects my brand."

"There has to be someone that will make them listen to you."

Popeye looked at me and smiled. "I've really missed you, girlie. You are too good for Malice."

Getting to his feet, Popeye looked around the park as he reached into his jacket before handing me a piece of paper.

Taking it, I looked up at him, waiting.

"Give that to Malice."

"What is it?"

"Tell him I did everything in my power, but now it's his turn."

With that, Popeye walked off, leaving me alone once more on the park bench. Opening the piece of paper, all that was written on it was a name and place. Gray Greer, Baton Rouge, Louisiana .