Page 75 of Sinner's Storm
“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.