Chapter Eighteen

Silver

"I don't understand," I said, my brows furrowing in confusion when Torment opened the doors to the Playground. I'd heard about this place. The knowledge that Malice had once owned it before selling it to Mr. Sinclair added an air of mystery to the place.

With each step I took, my uncertainty grew, but nothing could have prepared me for the sight of Mr. Sinclair, standing in the middle of the room, waiting for me.

"Welcome to the Playground, my dear," Sin greeted with a chaste kiss to my cheek.

"Is he here?" I questioned, as Torment growled.

"Get your fucking hands off her. I brought her. So, what is the big fucking secret?"

"Please follow me."

Giving Torment a quick look, the club brother shrugged nonchalantly before agreeing to Mr. Sinclair's request. With nothing else to lose, I stayed by his side as Sinclair spoke.

"Gideon came to see me earlier today. He was very distraught. I've never seen him so unhinged before, not even when his father had him in his clutches."

"Is he still here?" Torment asked.

"Yes. He is with one of my submissives."

That stopped me dead in my tracks. "Excuse me?"

Sinclair turned and looked at me. "He's with one of my submissives."

"How dare you!" I shouted. "He's mine!"

"Really?" Sinclair challenged. "Because from what Gideon told me, he is nothing to you."

"I never said that!"

Sinclair sneered angrily. "Then explain it to me, because my brother may be many things, but even he knows when he's not wanted."

Torment jumped in front of me, quickly speaking, "I think we all need to calm down. We all know Malice cares for Silver. She even knows that. Malice just misunderstood what she said. That's all. He stormed out before she could clarify."

"Yes, that does sound like him." Sinclair smirked, before he continued walking. "I've known Gideon since he was five. In a way, we grew up together. Formed a bond I don't expect any of you to understand. What you need to understand is that Gideon is more than he seems. From a young age, his father trained him to become anything anyone needed. Devlin Scott never gave Gideon the chance to be himself. In fact, I'm positive he doesn't even know what it is he truly wants."

"Yes, he does. He told me himself last night," I admitted.

"Was that before or after you compared him to a rapist?"

I didn't think.

My hand shot out, and I slapped Crispin Sinclair across the face.

"You have one fucking second to apologize to her or I'm going to blow your fucking head off."

Blinking, I stared at the gun pointed at Sinclair's head. Yet the man didn't seem to be upset about his impending death. I could have told him that Torment meant every word he said and wouldn't think twice before killing him.

Yet, I glared at the son of a bitch.

Taking a step forward, I cleared my throat.

"You don't know me, Mr. Sinclair. In the few brief moments we've been in each other's presence, I've kept mostly quiet, preferring to let others do the talking. Generally, that's because whatever is happening doesn't concern me, but let me be crystal clear with you. Gideon Scott is mine. I may wear his brand on my shoulder, but he's been mine from the moment I laid eyes on him in the desert, and he will tell you the same damn thing. Now, I don't know what the fuck you think you're doing with him, but I demand you take me to him right fucking now or I'm going to let Torment blow your fucking head off."

Crispin Sinclair smiled, stepped to the side, waving his hand. "Please follow me."

I said nothing as I, along with Torment, followed Sinclair deeper into the Playground.

When he stopped before a wall, I looked at him and frowned.

"This is why I called," the man said, pressing a button, then a window appeared, allowing all of us to see into the room. There, laying on a bed, fully dressed, reading a book, was a beautiful woman. She looked happy, content even. I was confused until my eyes glanced around the room, and I spotted Malice, sitting across the room in a chair with his head hanging low while he gripped tightly to a leather strap.

"He's been in that position for over an hour now. Hasn't moved. The woman, Aubry, is an expertly trained submissive. I ordered her to do whatever Gideon asked. When I made the introductions, she was naked. Yet, she is now clothed. I thought it odd that he came to me for the second time. Gideon vowed to never have contact with me again, yet in a matter of weeks, he's come to me, both times for advice. Gideon doesn't ask for advice. He is a killer."

I sneered, "No, he's not."

Torment looked at me.

"Silver, you said Malice talked to you last night. Then he told you what he wanted. What exactly did he say?" he asked.

Looking at the man waiting for my response, then back at Malice, I whispered, "He told me he loved me. That he wanted to be better for me."

Sinclair sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, that explains everything."

"What does?"

Sinclair smiled. "Why he's acting out of character. Why my submissive is dressed and he refused to touch her. He's trying."

"I don't understand."

Torment stepped forward. "Sweetie, what Sinclair is saying is that Malice is a trained Dominant. He ran this club with an iron fist. He never thought twice before whipping, spanking, or punishing a submissive. He lived for shit like that. It was the only way he could let go of all the anger he carried."

"By whipping women?"

"And men," Torment cautiously added. "Malice wasn't picky."

"Of course he wasn't. Devlin Scott ensured that," Sinclair sneered, looking into the room. "The devil spent his life taking out his anger on his son."

"Are you guys trying to tell me that Malice refused to whip that woman because of me?"

Both men nodded their heads.

Opening the door, the woman never moved while she continued to read her book. Turning to Malice, I walked over to him, stopping mere inches from him. Holding out my hand, I said nothing, waiting, watching to see what he would do. And when he placed the leather strap in my hand, I threw it across the room.

"Let's go home."

"Just leave me here. I'm not worth it."

"Neither was I, and you still saved me," I whispered.

When he didn't move, I kneeled before him and tentatively reached out to cup his face. I saw his hands clench and ball into a tight fist, but he didn't stop me.

"Look at me, Malice."

He lifted his head and when I looked into his broken sterling eyes, I whispered the one thing I knew he needed to hear, "I love you too."

"Alright, you two, this is how shit is going to go. Until further notice, both of you are now in counseling. Every motherfucking day. I mean it. Time to sort your shit out."

"Does that include you too?" Tessa smirked, looking at her husband while she bounced York on her lap. "Because from where I'm sitting, if anyone in this joint needs counseling, it's you."

"I don't need therapy, woman!"

"No, just an anger management class or three." Largo chuckled.

"I do not!"

"Yes, you do!" the entire room shouted.

The second we left The Playground, Malice and Torment got a text from Montana demanding they return to the clubhouse. While I wasn't in the mood to deal with another Montana tantrum, neither man really had a choice.

Malice had been silent ever since we left the Playground, and I had a strong feeling that he had no intention of speaking anytime soon. Not with everyone around. The man had many qualities and characteristics, but being forthcoming with his words was not among them. Instead, he was back to his gruff standard way of communication, which was composed of several grunts, growls, huffs, and puffs.

"Silver, when we're done here, I'm going to need you to go see Bane and let him draw your blood."

Looking up at the man, I frowned. "Why?"

Montana quickly looked at Malice, who shrugged but said nothing before Montana stated, "Just club policy."

"Again," I slowly said, leaning forward in my seat. "Why?"

Tessa and Largo chuckled.

"Because Malice claimed you. We need to make sure you are okay."

"Easy. I'll sign a medical release. My doctor will send Bane whatever he needs."

Montana shook his head. "Need fresh blood for the club database."

Crossing my arms over my chest, I narrowed my eyes in suspicion. The way he glanced around nervously hinted that he was up to something. There was a piece of information he was withholding from me, something he didn't want me to find out.

Well, two could play that game.

"Why?"

Malice leaned back in his chair and groaned. "You won't win. Just fucking tell her."

"Tell me what?"

When Montana didn't speak up fast enough, Malice groaned again. "There's a low probability Bane might be your dad."

Excuse me?

My dad?

I didn't have a dad. Never knew the man. Whenever I dared to ask my mother about him, she would unleash her bitterness, describing him as a pathetic, drunken soul that nobody bothered to acknowledge, emphasizing that I should consider myself fortunate he wasn't present.

It was quite amusing to witness Montana standing there in complete silence, resembling the quietness of the dead, especially since he was notorious for never holding back his thoughts on any subject. However, when everyone else kept quiet, I slowly got to my feet and sneered, "You mean to tell me that all of you knew about this and didn't tell me?"

Largo held up her hand. "In their defense, you took off before they could say anything."

"It's my fault, Silver," Pippen spoke up. "I dropped the bomb in church. I thought they already knew."

"But how did you learn about this?"

Pippen looked at Malice, who said nothing.

"From my brother, Silas."

"Does Bane know?" I fumed, looking at the brothers.

"Been drunk ever since," Payne informed. "Though he keeps drinking like he is now, and he won't remember shit."

"Arianwen, what can you remember about your mother?" Montana asked.

"She's a fucking cunt!" I shouted at no one in particular. "Not worth the air I breathe. How the fuck did Bane supposedly meet my mother?"

"She was one of Barney's girls. A club piece," Mercy carefully stated, then added, "Pippen and I went through the club records. The dates match up. Our records indicate that Iris Hughes and Bane were an item for close to two months, when suddenly, she stopped coming to the clubhouse. Babe, a simple blood test will clear all this up."

As I plopped back down in my seat, I couldn't help but glance over at Malice, who met my gaze with a silent stare that seemed to stretch on like the night itself.

"What do you think about all this?"

Malice crossed his arms over his chest and said, "I'm waiting for them to tell you the rest."

"There's more?"

Malice slowly nodded.

"I want you to tell me."

Sitting up, Malice ripped off the Band-Aid. "According to the intern, your mother, Iris Hughes, is the half-sister to Crispin Sinclair and the reason he moved to the city. Not because of me, but because of you."

Yep.

I was done.

Without uttering a word, I got up and started walking towards the bar. As I walked behind it, I couldn't help but feel a sense of safety. This was my domain. My safe place.

Plus, it had all the liquor.

Drinking wasn't really my thing. But I felt if ever it was going to be, now was the time to start. Reaching for a bottle of whiskey, I unscrewed the cap and chugged the contents.

"Silver," Montana carefully said. "Sweetheart you can't—"

Holding up my hand, I shook my head. "I wouldn't say anything to me right now. In fact, it would be best if all of you didn't speak to me."

With the whiskey bottle firmly in my grasp, I walked out of the main room and headed for Bane's office, where I found the drunk brother pouring himself another glass of whiskey.

Looking up at me with his bloodshot eyes, he groaned, shaking his head.

"Nope. Still don't see a resemblance," he slurred. "Why are you here?"

"To drink, of course." I saluted him with my bottle before chugging another big gulp.

The man grinned. "Finally. Some decent company."