Twenty-Four

Silver

The sun had barely risen when I found myself sitting at a table, drinking coffee and enjoying my book once again and planning on enjoying the quietness of the early morning before the crazies woke and drama ensued. While I was willing to admit I was behind most of the current club craziness, I wasn't solely to blame.

When I woke this morning, I found myself in Malice's room, in his bed, as he was once again wrapped around me tightly. I didn't mind that part so much. What I minded was the fact he was fully clothed.

Then again, now that I thought about it, him being completely clothed wasn't much of a shock. Where Malice was concerned, I learned early on in our messed-up relationship to just go with the flow and to not ask too many questions.

I remembered little after I killed that bitch. Just bits and pieces. Like him washing me again and putting me to bed. I vaguely remembered him speaking to someone or I could have dreamed that. Who knows? All I knew was that when I woke up this morning, I felt lighter, happier, freer in a way. Like I'd done something major and the tides were finally turning in my favor.

Reaching for my coffee cup, I looked up when the front door opened and in walked Bane. Groaning, I put my book down and sighed. "No. Go away. I don't care what the problem is. This is my quiet time."

"Good morning to you, too," the shockingly sober doctor said, taking a seat at my table.

"You've already ruined one of my mornings this month. You are not ruining another. Go away."

"Not here to cause problems, Silver."

"I don't believe you. What do you want? More importantly, why are you here at the ass crack of dawn?"

"Couldn't sleep."

"Prescribe yourself a valium, then," I clipped, taking a drink of my coffee. However, when Bane didn't come back with one of his witty replies or snarky comments, I frowned. Placing my cup back on the table, I leaned back in my chair and said, "Alright. Talk to me."

The man leaned forward, rubbing his hands down his face. Sighing, he lightly shook his head. "I've been wracking my brain for days now, trying to remember and I can't. There is nothing there."

"Remember what?"

"Iris Hughes," he said, looking at me. "According to Mercy and Pippen, she was a club piece. One of Barney's girls. Apparently she spent two months with me before she up and left."

"That's what they say."

"But that's just it, Silver. I don't remember her. At all. I can account for every woman I've ever been with. But when I think of her, look at her picture, I get nothing. Zilch."

"Well, from what I hear, you were drunk a lot back then. Maybe you blacked her out. Wouldn't blame you either. Bitch is a fucking piece of work."

Bane sighed, sitting back in his chair as he shook his head. "It's possible, but unlikely. I know I drink too much and maybe I am an alcoholic, but I can still account for my actions. All of them."

"Maybe you missed something."

"Possible, but also unlikely. As a doctor, I am trained to remember everything. Patients' lives depend on my ability to remember."

"Bane," I said. "You are human. Not Superman. So what if you forgot about the bitch? Consider it a blessing and move on."

"That's just it, Silver. I can't. My brain won't let me. Plus, my gut is telling me that the club records are wrong. Iris Hughes may have been one of Barney's girls, and she may have been a club piece, but I never came in contact with her."

"Okay, say you are right. Then you dodged a bullet. I don't see what the problem is."

"The problem is, if I'm right, then the club records are wrong, and if they are wrong about me, then what else do they have wrong?"

The doc had a point.

"Then you need to have this conversation with Mercy. He controls the club records."

Bane shook his head. "I already did. Asshole doesn't believe me."

"Bane, when was the last time you had something to drink?"

He looked at me and clearly said, "The day you and I got drunk in my office."

"That was three days ago."

He slowly nodded.

"And you've been sober ever since?"

He nodded again.

"And you are absolutely sure about Iris?"

"I'd bet my medical license on it."

Sighing, I closed my book. "Then we need to wake up Pippen."

"We do that, and Montana will have our asses."

"You scared of Montana?" I challenged.

"Fuck no."

"Then what's the problem?"

"If I'm right, then I will have to tell him. More specifically, how I found out. He could take my brand, and before you say anything snarky, I may fight with the asshole and hate this club, but they are all I have left. Without that bastard and this fucked-up club, I have no one."

We found Pippen snoring up a storm in his new office while computers blinked, buzzed, and beeped all around. The intern had taken over Shame's old office and responsibilities after Layla, Giovanni Valentinetti's wife snuck into the clubhouse and did the world and the club a huge favor by killing George Stone.

"Remind me to schedule him for surgery. Boy snores like an Albanian field wench."

Ignoring Bane, I walked over to the chair the intern was sleeping in and kicked the chair, waking him instantly.

"I didn't do it!"

Shaking my head, I said, "Why don't I believe you?"

"Huh?" Pippen sleepily looked up at me, rubbing his eyes. "Silver? What are you doing in my office?"

"Wake up, Intern," Bane said, stepping forward. "I need you to access the club records."

"What? Why?" Pippen gulped, looking from me to Bane.

"Because a sitting board member just asked you to," I snarked.

"I can't," Pippen muttered, shaking his head, his eyes frantically shifting from me to Bane. "Mercy ordered me never to do it again. I'm sorry, Bane, but Mercy is the VP. He trumps you."

The sound of a gun cocking had all three of us turning. Malice stood at the door, gun in hand, pointed directly at the intern.

Pippen loudly gulped before his fingers started typing away on his computer. Walking over to Malice, I said nothing as he just stood there, glaring at the intern.

"What am I looking for?"

"All the files concerning me," Bane quickly said, walking around Pippen's desk to get a better look.

"Gonna need you to narrow that down, Bane. There are files on you going all the way back to your birth."

"What?" Bane questioned, confused. "How is that possible? I didn't join the club until I graduated high school."

"I don't know what to tell you. Everything from your birth to present day is in the database. The same with every club member."

Malice frowned, lowering his gun, taking a step forward. "What do you mean, every member?"

Pippen looked up at Malice and said, "I mean everyone. Even the women."

"And Mercy knew all this?"

"I don't think so." Pippen shook his head. "He only has access to the main records from when members join. Anything before that is classified and hidden away in a ghost file."

"Who has access to the ghost file?" I asked.

"George Stone did before he died," Pippen admitted.

"Does Montana have access to the ghost file?" I questioned.

"No one."

"Can you get into the file?" Bane asked.

Pippen shrugged. "To get into that file, you need a twenty-eight-bit encryption code."

"Can you do it or not, Intern?" Bane clipped.

"Yeah. I can do it. Gonna need a few minutes," Pippen stated, turning toward his computers, typing away.

"You were gone when I woke."

Looking up at Malice, I smiled. "Did you miss me?"

"Didn't like it."

Stepping closer, I leaned up on the tips of my toes and kissed his cheek. "That was sweet of you to say."

"Son of a bitch," Bane cursed, flipping through pages of his life the club had acquired over the years.

The second Pippen broke into the ghost file, Bane ordered him to print his entire file. That alone took over thirty minutes to print, which shocked not only Bane, but me and Malice too.

"How the fuck is the first girl I ever kissed relevant to the fucking club?"

"What?" I asked, walking over to him as he handed me a sheet of paper. It was information on Bane at age seven, when he kissed a young girl named Sarah Malone on the playground at the elementary school he attended. There was even a picture attached.

Pippen walked into the main room carrying a box, placing it in front of Malice. "Here ya go, Malice. That's all your information. Silver, yours is printing now."

"Thank you," I muttered as I watched Malice stare at the box like he was afraid to touch it. Walking over to him, I stopped and kneeled before him. Reaching for his hands, I stated, "You don't have to look if you don't want to, Malice. You lived that shit already. You don't need to see a printed reminder of what you endured."

"It makes no sense."

"What doesn't?"

Looking at me, Malice said, reaching for the top sheet, "How in the hell did the club get records of me from birth? I was a Safe Haven kid. No one knew who I was."

"That motherfucker!" Bane roared, jumping to his feet, a sheet of paper in his hands. "That sick son of a bitch caused the accident!"

"What?"

"The accident that killed my sister. It wasn't Montana's fault."

"What do you mean?" Malice asked, placing his paper back in the box.

"It was George!" Bane seethed, facing us. "He orchestrated the accident. The roads were clear. He hired a crew to wet the bridge, knowing that the frigid temperatures would freeze the road overnight. And to ensure the car went over the bridge, he tampered with the brakes in Montana's car. That fucker wanted his sons and my sister to go into the cold water. He planned it all!"

"Does it say why?" I asked.

Bane shook his head, reaching into the box for the next sheet of paper. Reading it quickly, I watched as his face paled. Staggering back a few steps, he stuttered, "She was pregnant. My sister was pregnant with George's kid. He tried to murder my sister to cover up for his mistake."

Walking over to Bane's box, I reached in and grabbed the next sheet. Scanning it, I looked at Malice. "According to this, after the accident, the Lansings whisked Amy away for treatment and to protect her. While in a coma, she delivered the baby. George showed up demanding the kid and paid the Lansings five million to keep quiet. Oh God," I gasped, looking at Malice, who slowly got to his feet.

"What?" both men asked.

Gulping, I looked at both men and whispered, "George Stone sold the baby, but it doesn't say to who."