Page 39 of Sinner's Malice
Pippen quickly backtracked a few steps.
“Now, Silas. Think before you do anything stupid.”
“When I get my hands on you,” the man named Silas sneered, walking menacingly toward the intern.
“I didn’t have a choice,” Pippen squealed like a little girl, running toward the bar like that would protect him, only to run smack dab into Payne.
“Grow a pair, Intern.” Payne groaned, pushing Pippen off him.
“Come here, you little shit,” Silas sneered, reaching for him, but Pippen was too fast and ran straight for Montana, pleading.
“Please, boss. I’ll do anything. Just keep him away from me!”
“ENOUGH!” Montana roared, shoving the clingy scaredy-cat off him. “Maybe you can explain, Intern. Like fucking now.”
Pippen nodded, looking over his shoulder at Silas who was standing within arm’s reach of him, grinning evilly.
“Go ahead. I dare you.”
“I don’t have all fucking day. Speak!” Montana roared.
Gulping, Pippen looked from Montana to Silas several times, before turning to the man I knew and whispered, “Parlay?”
The man crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head.
“Not this time, Dante.”
Pippen’s shoulders slumped as he sighed. “Well, this is just great. I tell my Prez and Silas will beat my ass. I don’t—”
“And I’ll beat your ass,” Montana finished for him, glaring.
No one moved as we all looked at the intern.
Had to give Pippen props. He kept quiet a whole second longer than I thought he would before he started spilling his guts.
Thumbing his thumb behind him, he clearly said, “That evil bastard behind me is my older brother, Silas Sharp, and those two standing over there are Rowen Shay and Crispin Sinclair.”
The second Pippen said their names, Montana turned to the ringleader and glared. “You are the fucker who wants to buy the Playground?”
“Have.”
“Have what, asshole?”
“Purchased the Playground.”
“What?” Mercy asked, as he walked toward Montana. “I just got the email last week. I didn’t sign shit. As co-owner—”
“But you’re not, are you?” Crispin interrupted, totally relaxed, as if being in a motorcycle club surrounded by big, badass bikers was nothing to him. “You signed over your shares to Malice after your wife returned. Unless I am mistaken?”
“How the fuck did you know that?” Montana growled.
“I know quite a bit, Mr. Stone. Quite a bit.”
“Boss,” Pippen muttered, inching closer. “Silas is looking at me funny.”
Shaking off the intern, Montana glared at the man Pippen claimed to be his older brother. “You really his brother?”
Silas grimaced, crossing his arms over his chest. “Unfortunately.”