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Well, trust went both ways.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Montana
The club was rocking when I stormed in. Brothers were partying, fucking and having a grand time. Making my way through the throngs of hot women and drunk brothers, I sat at the bar as Silver walked over. “Hey Montana. Didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”
“Who’s here?” I growled, looking around the room.
“The usual. Mercy is in his office. Storm is upstairs with the bobsie-twins. Shame is in the control room. Can I get you anything?”
“A whiskey.”
“Coming right up,” she smiled, grabbing a tumbler then filling it with top shelf amber liquid. Sliding the glass towards me, I noticed her hand still. Looking over my shoulder, I saw Malice approach.
Shaking my head, Silver frowned, then turned on her booted heel and walked off, ignoring my enforcer as if he were the devil himself.
Malice growled, taking a seat next to me. “She still won’t serve me.”
“What do you expect? You treat her like shit, man. What gives?”
“I don’t like her.”
“Too fucking bad. She stays.”
“Still don’t like her,” he muttered mulishly. “You confront your woman?”
I nodded, lifting the glass to my lips. “Yep.”
“What did she say?”
Swallowing the contents, I slammed the glass down on the bar. “Didn’t wait around for an excuse.”
“Want me to take care of it?”
Slowly, I turned to look at my enforcer and glared at him. Even though I was angry with Tessa right now, I wouldn’t let Malice punish her as he only knew one way to take care of things. “Fuck, no.”
Malice shrugged. “Just saying, I’m available.”
“Jesus Malice,” I sighed, reaching across the bar for the bottle of whiskey. Taking it with me, I headed for Mercy’s office when the club prospect, Pippen, stopped me.
“Prez, you got a minute?”
“No,” I said firmly, walking around him when he clearly said. “It’s about that personal matter Storm asked me to do.”
Turning, I looked at the kid and nodded. “Follow me.”
Entering my office, I took a seat at my desk. “Shut the door.”
Doing as he was told, I asked, “Tell me.”
“Largo Finn doesn’t exist.”
“What the hell are you talking about, kid? I’ve met the woman. I was the best man at her wedding.”
“The woman, you know as Largo, is not the real Largo Finn.” Pippen stated cautiously. “The real Largo Finn died in 1938 at the ripe old age of eighty-three.”
“That makes no sense.”
