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“That narrows it down.” She couldn’t help the sarcastic lilt in her voice. There was a lot at stake for her, and she was willing to gamble on their future, but first, she had to know what he wanted and where they were headed. As much as Mandy wanted to give in to her emotions, she wasn’t risking a battle with her brother for a fling.
Mamba’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He fished it out, read the message, and frowned. “Fuck, I gotta go.”
“Now?”
“I got club stuff. Can’t wait, but we’re gonna figure this out.” He leaned in and grabbed her lips in a searing kiss. “I’ll text you later, and we’ll set a place to meet.”
Two seconds later, he was gone, and Mandy stood in the back of the salon, wondering if it was all a dream.
* * *
The message from Cobra pissed off Mamba, first, for interrupting him and Mandy, and second, he didn’t need to be reminded about church at eight. Although, if he hadn’t gotten the text, there was a good chance he’d have been late because he would’ve fucked Mandy for sure. Maybe Cobra knew him better than he thought, or fate was saving his sorry ass from a woman who could blow his life to hell without even trying.
She’s almost ten years younger than me, related to a psycho gangbanger, and the reason why I was nearly thrown back in the joint.
Typical, he had no business messing with this forbidden woman or, better yet, falling for her.
Mamba could still feel Mandy’s soft body pressed up against him, her eyes begging him for more, wanting it as bad as he did. Accepting her situation with the Marauders stirred up a weird desire to help her, which surprised him. Even stranger, he wanted to find out more about Mandy and to get to know her genuinely. Scary as it seemed, her easy way grounded him and quieted the self-doubt that constantly clawed at his nerves.
Either way, tonight would be a time for kicking back and celebrating his release, then tomorrow, he’d figure out him and Mandy. Yeah, for once, shit was going his way.
* * *
Mamba snagged a bottle of Jack from behind the bar at the Gold Mine, headed to the back of the clubhouse, and into the Serpents’ inner sanctum.
“Time to celebrate, boys. I’m a free man.” Mamba raised the bottle as his brothers took their usual seats.
Rattler grabbed some shot glasses while Joker’s somber eyes raked over him. Boa sat with his arms crossed over his bulky body, Joker lit the tip of a cig, and Python stared at the tabletop.
“Shit, you guys look like you’re going to a funeral.” Mamba prodded. “C’mon, drink up.” He thought his brothers would be happier about his reprieve, but maybe he was still wired from all the bullshit of the past week.
Cobra slammed down the gavel, then nodded to Joker.
“As everyone here knows, the charges against Mamba were dropped.” Joker stared at the tip of his smoke.
“Congrats, brother,” Python said to the table.
Why the fuck wouldn’t he look at him?
Mamba cleared his throat. “I appreciate you all standing behind me.”
“Of course, we’re brothers,” Rattler mumbled as he concentrated on flicking his lighter.
“I know you had to pull a lot of strings, call in favors, and I appreciate it.” Mamba directed his words at Cobra, but his prez stared right through him.
Cobra squared his shoulders. “Like all favors, they have to be repaid.”
Boa shifted in his chair, and Rattler flicked his shaggy hair out of his eyes.
“That’s why I’m sending you south.”
All eyes riveted to Mamba. “South?”
“I want you to make inroads with the Savages.” Cobra dragged deep on his smoke.
“What?”
“Spend some time out of Vegas. You keep your shit together, and we’ll take another vote.” Cobra’s voice faded, letting Mamba come to his own conclusion.
