Page 33 of Sinner's Malice
Slamming my hand down on the table, the kid jumped as I shouted, “Malice! What the fuck did you do for Malice?”
Pippen gulped, shrinking into his seat. “Malice came to see me this morning. Woke me up. Told me he needed me to type up some legal document signing everything he owned over to Silver. When he signed it, he had me email it to Fury. Then he told me to break into Storm’s servers at Calloway Investments and transfer all his investments into Silver’s account. I was going to refuse, but he’s a sitting board member. Plus, the gun he held to my head got rid of any worries I had about breaking club rules.”
“What time was this?” Torment asked the kid.
“Around seven in the morning.”
“Shit,” Torment cursed. “He showed up at the office around nine, giving him plenty of time.”
“Only takes forty-five minutes from the clubhouse to your office. That leaves an hour and fifteen where he roamed free. Where else could he have gone?” Vicious asked.
“St. Agatha’s?” Payne offered. “Maybe to say goodbye to Gladys?”
“Call and see if he stopped by there,” I demanded as Payne reached for his cell phone. “So, after visiting you, Torment, you both returned to Davenport Tower. What time was that?”
“Maybe ten o’clock. But he wasn’t there for long. Like I said, the second I saw Silver, I told him to fucking leave.”
Looking at my watch, I groaned. “So, he’s got a good five-hour head start. That means if he fucking hopped on a plane, he could be across the country by now. Fuck!”
“Gladys said he stopped by this morning. Said goodbye and then left,” Payne informed us, placing his phone back on the table. “I’m telling you, he won’t go far. He won’t leave her helpless. He’s in the city somewhere. All we need to do is find him.”
“It’s a big ass city, Payne. Where the fuck do you suggest we look?” I sneered.
“My guess. Every dark and depraved hovel we can find.”
Chapter Eight
Malice
“You sure about this, man?” my childhood friend Jimmy asked as he leered salaciously at my bike. I knew the slimy fucker wanted it, but I wasn’t just gonna give it away to him for free. Fucker had been hard up for my bike for years. “That’s one sweet ride. How much you want for it?”
Countering, I asked, “How much are you offering?”
The fucker sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You sure none of your buddies will come for me? ‘Cause I ain’t got time to fuck around with your lot. I got deliveries that need to be made.”
“Bike is mine. How much?”
“Well, I can go twelve large.”
I growled at the motherfucker.
“A joke!” the slimy bastard quickly said, backing up, his hand high. “How about twenty-five?”
“Thirty in cash.”
“Sold.”
Grabbing the fucker by his silky seventies patterned yellow shirt, I slapped the title on his back and signed my name at the bottom. When I was done, I pushed him away and waved the thing in his face.
“Money. Now.”
Jimmy groaned, walking toward his office in the underground chop shop he ran. His employees all stopped whatthey were doing to watch the exchange. “You gotta relax, man. This is a solid business deal.”
“Money. Now.”
Sitting behind his nasty desk, Jimmy opened the bottom drawer, taking out stacks of money. “Gotta say, Malice. Never thought you’d sell me your bike. Wanna tell me why you suddenly changed your mind?”
“No,” I growled, watching while he kept placing stacks, one on top of the other.