Twenty

Montana

The boardroom was quiet.

No one said a word.

Not even me, which was something, considering the fact I always had something to say. Yet, at that moment, I was at a loss for words. In all the years I had known Malice, I had never seen him so unhinged, so resoundingly soulless before.

Nothing really scared me but seeing him lose control did.

This whole situation was about to explode unless something happened fast. It was like the world was converging and about to come to an explosive, climatic end if I couldn't make sense of it.

I mistakenly thought the only thing I had to worry about was Malice's relationship with Silver. But that was only a small part of the problem. The fact was shit was coming out of the woodwork faster than I could contain it and it revolved around the two people I actually cared for the most.

"He will be out for the next few hours. Pippen's brother, Silas, is sitting with him."

Looking up from my seat, I saw my beautiful wife staring at me with worry in her eyes. Even she had never seen Malice lose control. The man never really let anything faze him. Yet, in the last few weeks, we'd all seen his steel resolve begin to crumble.

"Silver?" Mercy cautiously asked.

"Passed out drunk. So is Bane."

"Did you get the blood samples?" I asked.

Tessa nodded. "Yes, and also from Mr. Sinclair. I had them couriered to the club's upstate facility. They will call me personally when they have the results."

"Thank you, Tess."

My woman nodded and left.

Leaning back in my chair, I rubbed my hands down my face before I looked at the man at the other end of the table. When Malice lost his shit and none of us could get through to him, it was Torment who called Sinclair. While I still didn't trust the fucker and hated having him in my clubhouse, he was the only person with the answers I needed.

"What can I expect next?"

Crispin Sinclair said nothing for the longest time. I wasn't sure what he was thinking, or if he would even help. Yet, when he leaned back in his chair and loosened his tie, something told me that what he was about to say would not be good.

"Dante," Sinclair said, looking at the club's intern. "Would you please leave the room?"

Pippen sat up straighter as his head whipped to mine.

When I nodded, the kid got up and left, closing the door behind him.

"I apologize for that. There are things Silas does not want his brother to know. I hope you understand."

"Get on with it," I clipped.

"There were five of us in the beginning," Sinclair began. "All products of the Trick Pony. In a way, like you, we were a family. A highly dysfunctional family, but a family, nonetheless. During our time at the Trick Pony, we all suffered our own hell, but none more so than Gideon. He was the product of Devlin Scott. The most hated man on the planet. For years, Gideon tried to end that man and always failed, and Devlin Scott punished him horrendously for it."

"Why?" Fury asked.

Sinclair looked at Fury and replied, "Because he failed. You must understand that Gideon is the product of the Devil himself. Devlin Scott never wanted a son. Sons were nothing but inconsequential byproducts that he enjoyed tormenting like rabid dogs for his amusement."

"What did that fucker do to Malice?" I asked point blank.

"Everything you can imagine and more."

Torment leaned forward. "Mercy, kill the cameras, please."

Mercy didn't ask but did as Torment requested, and he reached for his phone. In the next second, the glass windows frosted and the room went dark.

"I am a licensed therapist. I love my job, and I've never broken my oath, so trust me when I say this. If any of you ever fucking repeat one damn word I'm about to say, I will invoke the Blood of a Sinner and demand that Montana remove your brand from your back."

"Agreed," I immediately said, looking at all my brothers, who all nodded. "Go ahead, Torment."

"The morning after Malice claimed Silver, he came to me. Confided in me. He called on my oath for doctor-patient privilege. I didn't know why because he's never been forthcoming with me before, but I agreed seeing how agitated he was. What he said that day still haunts me, and I know Malice only scratched the surface. Sinclair is right. Our brother has suffered unimaginable trauma. You all met his sister, Ivy. You all heard what Devlin Scott did to her. Without breaking Malice's confidence, let me just say that what Devlin Scott did to Ivy was horrendous. What he did to Malice was much worse."

"What do you mean?" Mercy asked.

"He means because Gideon was born a boy," Sinclair spoke up. "Torment is right. Devlin Scott never wanted a son. He wanted daughters to further his legacy, if you will. However, when Gideon was born, Devlin Scott became enraged. He honestly believed that the beating he gave Gideon's mother would ensure his demise. When it didn't, he looked everywhere for his offspring and when he found Gideon, he enacted his revenge. The hate Devlin Scott felt for Gideon was immense. From beatings, torture, and rape, the man never relented. But when he made Gideon dress like a girl, pretend to be a girl, so he could find some relief from his failure, he marked Gideon in a way that still plagues him today."

"Hold up," I said, shaking my head. "You mean to tell me that sick son of a bitch dressed Malice up like a girl and fucking raped him all because he was born with a fucking dick?"

Sinclair nodded. "He did that and more. By forcing Gideon to be someone he wasn't, Devlin Scott knowingly created a monster. A person who would always question his own identity, who would never know, understand, or accept love. Who would become anything, do anything for the approval of his master. For lack of a better phrase, Gideon is a perfectly trained dog."

"It's called Identity Disturbance," Torment muttered. "Identity disturbance is an inconsistent or incoherent sense of self. It is closely associated withborderline personality disorder or dissociative identity disorder, as identity disturbance is one of the criteria for the condition. It often shows up as consistent and remarkable changes in a person's beliefs, values, and behaviors that significantly impact their life, such as difficulty in maintaining jobs or, in Malice's case, relationships. Think of it this way. Identity refers to your sense of self. Your identity is how you see yourself in the past, present, and future, and it is generally consistent over time.A strong sense of self helps you maintain relationships and commitments and behave in predictable and consistent ways. In Malice's case, that didn't happen. From the second he was born, Malice was taught and trained to deny his true self and become someone he wasn't."

"So, he's fucked in the head like his sister, then?"

Torment sneered at me, "No, you fucking imbecile. He just doesn't know who he is."

"How do we help him, Torment?" Payne asked as my brother hung his head.

"I'm not sure."

"What the fuck do you mean, you're not sure?" I challenged. "You are the fucking expert here. This is what you do for a fucking living."

"I know, Montana!" Torment shouted at me. "I fucking know it's my job to know, but contrary to your fucking belief, I don't know everything. What I do know is that, like Ivy, Malice needs extensive therapy, but the problem I'm having is getting him to sit down and talk. I'm not sure if you've been fucking paying attention where Malice is concerned, but the fucker doesn't talk!"

"Then I will order him to talk."

Sinclair smirked, shaking his head. "You do that and you are no better than Devlin Scott."

"Fuck you, asshole!"

"Sinclair's right, Montana," Vicious spoke up. "Think about what Torment just said. What Sinclair said about Malice's past. You order Malice to sit and talk and you are basically doing the same thing Devlin Scott did. Malice has to want to talk. We can't force him."

"Vicious is right," Fury moaned. "We force Malice to talk when he's not ready and we are no better than that sick fuck. I hate this as much as you do, Montana, but we need to come up with something else. Something that will induce Malice to get the help he needs."

"What about Silver?" Mercy said. "He claimed her. We all know he cares for her. He's shown us that. What if we talk to Silver and see if she can talk him into speaking with Torment?"

"That won't work." Torment shook his head. "Because if he ever finds out that she went behind his back, he will never trust her. Their relationship is already teetering on a fine line. That will tip the scale."

Glaring at Sinclair, I asked, "What about you? You grew up with him. Helped him escape that fucked-up world. How did you keep him from going off the deep end?"

"What I did won't work anymore. Torment saw evidence of that today."

Torment sighed, leaning back in his chair. "So, the BDSM world is out. We can't order him, and we can't ask Silver to help."

"I say leave him alone," Payne muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. "You want Malice to get help, then give him space and time so he can come to that decision himself. Malice is more than capable of making an informed decision. He knows to ask for help when he needs it. I get that all of you care. I do too. He's my brother. But this decision needs to come from him. Not the club. Him. Malice needs us to trust him, and we need to trust that Malice will do the right thing."

In the end, the board voted to do nothing.

After the vote, I cleared the boardroom, leaving only me and Sinclair. I wanted to know the truth. I didn't give a damn about protocol or client privilege. Malice was my brother. My club enforcer, and I needed to make sure he could handle his responsibilities in this club. Mainly, I wanted to make sure he wouldn't hurt Silver any more than he already had.

I still wasn't sold on the idea of the two of them together, but my hands were tied. She bore his mark and there was little I could do. But as someone who considered her my daughter, well, there was a whole hell of a lot I could do. Because no one was going to fucking lay a hand on her and live.

Getting up from my seat, I asked, "Want a drink?"

"No, thank you."

Walking over to a small bar, I poured myself a whiskey. "I don't like you, Sinclair."

"Feeling is mutual, Stone."

"So, what do we do about it?"

From the corner of my eye, I saw the fucker lean back in the chair and smirk. "Give me what I want and you will never have to see me again."

"Okay. I'll bite. What the fuck do you want?"

"My niece, Gideon, and your assurance to never contact them again."

It was my turn to smirk. "That is never gonna happen."

"Then we have a problem."

Sitting back down, I happily informed, "Got a mouse in your pocket? ‘Cause from my perspective, you are the one with a problem. First, your relation to Silver is still undetermined. Until I have proof, you have no claim. If the bloodwork comes back showing she's Bane's daughter, then she's a fucking MC Princess, making her untouchable. Relation be damned. As for Malice, he is Soulless, and good luck getting her away from him. You got the Playground. Be happy with that."

"You protect your family like I do, Stone. So let me be clear as well. Gideon was mine long before you branded him. You can't control him. Once he unleashes the monster within him, good luck putting him back in the bottle."

"And Silver?"

The man looked me dead in the eyes while he got to his feet, buttoning his expensive suit before he frankly stated, "If Arianwen Hughes is my niece, then not even God himself will keep me away from her, because if you think Gideon has demons, you haven't seen shit yet."