Page 61 of The Bane of a Sinner
Soulless Sinners’ clubhouse...
Sitting in the boardroom, I stared at the phone lying on the table in front of me, as if it were a bomb ready to go off the second I touched it.
As soon as Sinclair’s plane landed in New York, we wasted no time escorting the crazy cunt to the clubhouse, where Malice and Payne were making damn sure she was comfortable in the mailroom. As far as I was concerned, the bitch had outlived her usefulness and was no longer needed, but Sinclair insisted she be kept alive for the time being.
“Looking at it won’t make it any easier.” Mercy smirked, sitting in his seat next to me. “Just call the asshole and get it over with.”
“When is Torment due back?”
“Sometime later today. He said shit is kicking off in Nebraska fast.”
“Our intern and Sypher?”
“Not an intern anymore, and he’s with the Silver Shadows, for now,” Mercy advised. “Which reminds me, you might want to call King and give him a heads-up and tell him to keep his mouth shut, considering who he has in his club.”
“Fuck,” I groaned, shaking my head. “How in the hell are we going to tell Pippen his cunt of a mother is a fucking psycho bitch who seduced and coerced Bane with the help of my father?”
“I think that’s the least of our worries at the moment.”
“Well, the bitch is all tucked in for the night.” Payne grinned from ear to ear as he and Malice walked into the boardroom, the latter wiping blood off his hands.
“Sinclair wanted her alive, asshole.”
Payne smirked, thumbing his thumb at Malice, who took his seat as if he had done nothing wrong. Shrugging, the volatile fucker simply said, “She always did have a mouth on her.”
Rage entered next, quietly taking his seat.
Looking around the table, I shook my head. “We need Vicious and Fury back.”
Mercy leaned forward in his chair and slid my cell phone closer to me. “Then call him.”
Grumbling, I dialed the asshole, and when it connected, all I heard was, “Not now, fucknuts. Busy.”
“I want Fury and Vicious back.”
“And I want peace on Earth,” the fucker clipped, then quickly added, “You can have them back after you hand over your Alabama club.”
“Not fucking around, Reaper. I need them here. I’ve got shit going down here and I need their help.”
“You are not the only one with shit on their plate, fucknuts. I don’t know if you’ve heard or not, but some fucking Russian piece of shit damn near killed Massacre. Left my brother hanging in a warehouse on display as if he were some fucking bloody art piece. To make matters worse, Ravage took off after the fucker, and I have no motherfucking clue where he’s at. The Death Dogs are gearing up for war, and King has recently learned that Steele and his fucking brother are in bed with Skinner. Not to mention, the Brotherhood is about to knock down my back door if I can’t find Ravage and get him under control fast. So excuse me if I don’t have time for you and your petty bullshit.”
“The Brotherhood has Bane, Reaper.”
I heard the man sigh. “I know.”
“I have a plan to get him out, but I need your help to do it.”
Groaning, the asshole said, “I just know this is going to bite me in the ass. Fuck it. Why not? Everything else has gone to shit. You only live once, right? So what’s the plan?”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Bane
Pain had become my companion.
The constant ache was now my friend, and the only thing that let me know I was still alive. I blinked, the weight behind my eyelids heavier than the ache in my bones. The world blurred as shadows shifted across the cracked concrete and rusted chains. My only constant was the raw throb in my guts and the iron taste of blood in my mouth. Each breath burned, a reminder that survival was never guaranteed—just a gamble paid in flesh.
A guttural groan escaped my lips, a pathetic rasp against the deafening silence. My fingers, stiff and caked with dried blood, scrabbled at the rough surface beneath me, seeking purchase, any anchor in the disorienting haze. The sharp tang of my own blood lingered on my tongue, a harsh melody resonating in the shadows. I tried to push myself up, a futile attempt that sent jolts of fire through my already protesting frame.
