Chapter Twenty-Six

Storm

The second my sister left, I turned to Malice. "What's wrong?"

"Not here," the big moody bastard cautioned, stomping back toward the clubhouse.

Looking at Montana, the man just shrugged before following.

Back at the clubhouse, we watched when Malice headed straight for Montana's office. Figuring the brother wanted us to follow, we did.

Closing the door behind me, Montana took his seat behind his desk while Malice paced the room.

"Use your words, man," Montana carefully said.

"She bears his mark."

Confused, I glanced at Montana, who frowned.

"Gonna need more, Malice."

In the next instant, Malice yanked his shirt down over his right shoulder, showing the both of us a burn mark in the shape of a trident.

Leaning closer so I could get a better look, Montana slowly rose from his seat. "You think it's him?"

Malice nodded.

"Why?"

"Don't know."

"Who the hell are you talking about?" I asked both of them.

"Devlin Scott," Montana muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "If it is him and he's in the city doing this shit, he's looking for someone."

"It's him," Malice growled, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Look, man, I know you fucking hate that man more than anything, but that doesn't mean he's out there killing kids."

"It's him," Malice reiterated angrily.

Devlin Scott owned a BDSM Club in Miami, Florida, called the Trick Pony, which catered to a select group of individuals with specialized deviant sexual needs. The same club that we had tried for years to shut down, in an attempt to destroy the man, not because he was a sadistic son of a bitch, but because the motherfucker abused and sexually tortured Malice's sixteen-year-old birth mother. Devlin Scott was the worst kind of human being—a pedophile and serial rapist. The club had tried for years to get someone in Trick Pony to kill his ass, only to be turned away at the door. To make matters worse, he knows Malice is his son. Every fucking year, that son of a bitch donated one million dollars to Malice's charity, the Foundation, which our brother started in memory of his mother.

Fucker liked to taunt Malice.

If Malice was right and the killer my sister was looking for was Devlin Scott, then we all had a big problem. Devlin Scott was notorious for evading the authorities. The man had more connections than the NSA. Over the years, the bastard had been a person of interest in many cases, but no one could make anything stick. To make matters worse, the son of a bitch had the best law firm on the east coast on retainer.

Fucker thought he was untouchable.

I knew my sister. She wouldn't stop until she had that fucker behind bars. If Malice got to the bastard beforehand, he wouldn't think twice about eviscerating the fucker for what he did to his mother.

"Okay." I sighed, holding up my hand. "If it's him, then that would mean he's staying somewhere in the city. If we can find his location, then we can pick him up and end this shit."

"Problem with that is, we've never been able to find where he's staying. The fucker is good at covering his bases. Wherever he's holed up, he's paying someone bank to shut the fuck up," Montana stated, taking a seat. "It's like this every time we know he's in the city. He just shows up out of the blue, does what he comes to do, then swoops out as if he was never here."

"We need to get hold of everyone we know. Have them keep an eye out for Scott. If he is, in fact, in the city, maybe we can catch a break this time. The fucker's bound to mess up one time," I offered.

"Need to know who he's looking for," Malice grumbled.

"Brother, how do you know he's looking for someone?" I asked.

"Because I do."

"How?"

Malice groaned, taking a seat in one of the chairs in front of Montana's desk. "He only shows for the Foundation Ball. Already had it. No reason for him to be here. I know it's him. One of his toys escaped. He can't allow that, so he's hunting."

"You think someone escaped the Trick Pony?" Montana asked.

Malice nodded. "Makes sense. He wouldn't leave Florida unless whoever escaped was spotted somewhere here in the city. The longer it takes him to find this person, the angrier he will get."

Montana leaned forward and grinned. "Then we need to find this person before he does."

"How do we find someone who doesn't want to be found?"

" We don't." Malice stood. " I do."

"What do you have in mind?"

"I'm going to give him what he wants most in this world—me."

Walking into the penthouse, I headed for my room, shutting the door behind me. After everything that had happened today with George and Shame's death, the body of a kid being found on our docks, my sister informing Montana she knows about the club and my affiliation, and Malice's refusal to listen to reason, my mind was fucking wiped. I just needed some time to compartmentalize everything so I could make sense of it.

The one thing that prevented my mind from completely switching off were the words uttered by Montana about Delany. Get her pregnant and seal her to me. How the fuck was I supposed to accomplish that?

The pregnant part I could do.

It was the other part that eluded me.

At the time of our union, my knowledge about the woman I married was limited to her being an exceptional mother and the daughter of a firefighter. The fact that there were several more questions that I didn't have the answers to only deepened the mystery.

Within a brief period, my previously effortless and well-structured life had transformed into a chaotic and unpleasant mess resembling a bowl of shit soup. The transformation I'd undergone—from being single and carefree to embracing the roles of both a husband and a father—was life-altering.

I was still struggling to comprehend everything that had happened.

I loved my daughter. I didn't know I could love someone so fast. My feelings for Harlow came naturally to me, almost as if they were instinctual.

I found myself at a loss when it came to Delany, unsure of how to process my thoughts and feelings about her. What bothered me the most was the missed opportunity to truly get to know each other. There was no playful banter, no romantic outings, no initial experiences of any kind. Sex was the sole foundation of our relationship.

For anyone else, that would be fine, but not for me.

When it came down to it, the idea of getting married and having children was something I had never even considered. It wasn't something that appealed to my desires or necessities. I was content and satisfied with the life I had before. Enjoyed the rush, the freedom of it all. Mainly, I loved sampling the beauties that life offered. I just never imagined myself shackled to one woman for the rest of my life. And now, Montana expected me to form an unbreakable bond with someone I didn't even know.

If I had the opportunity to spend more time getting to know my wife, it was possible that we could discover shared interests and find common ground. Maybe even nurture something profound. Considering the ever-present threat that weighed heavily on my mind, I was unsure I could manage my time effectively. I was completely in the dark about when Reaper would make an appearance or if he would make one at all. I understood Montana's concern, but I couldn't just snap my fingers and make my wife fall in love with me.

Last night when she submitted to me so beautifully, I stupidly thought that we could have a Dominant/Submissive relationship. That was something I was comfortable with, something I could wrap my head around. I think on some level, even after last night, I knew that wouldn't work. While Delany deferred to me, I didn't see her doing that for the rest of her life. Something told me that deep down, there was a stubbornness, a fighter within Delany. I saw a small part of that when she slapped me across the face.

I wanted to know the woman—all of her.

It was only right to be curious about the woman I'd married, and though I wished I had more time to do just that, time was ticking away fast. No matter what happened between us, I just hoped that when the time came, she would stand next to me.

Because I really wasn't ready to die.