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“And there it is.” Cobra threw up his hands. “The minute you get hot, you explode. Can you honestly tell me if you stay in Vegas, you won’t hunt down whoever hit that girl?”
Mamba mashed his lips together because that question hit a little too close to the bone.
“Exactly what I thought. You got no fuckin’ self-control. It’s the main reason you got locked up two years ago, and I’m not dealing with it anymore or putting the club at risk. You’re too unpredictable.”
Mamba stepped back, his chest heaving as he glared at Cobra. “And if I don’t go to the Savages and do this bullshit?”
“Then you’re out altogether.”
Mamba refused to slink out of the church meeting like some disobedient child. He pointed at Cobra. “Fuck you.”
Then he glared at each of his brothers. He wanted to look in each of their eyes so it was clear exactly what he thought of their decision.
“And fuck you all.”
He stormed out the door, slammed it behind him, then headed for the stairs that led to his second-floor apartment.
When Mamba was in lock-up, he’d dreamt about coming back to his place above the Gold Mine. It was nothing fancy—a destination at the end of the day and a permanent place to lay his head. But it was the only home he’d ever known—until being in the wrong place at the wrong fuckin’ time pulled it all out from under him.
Mandy. The woman had turned his life sideways, yet he couldn’t get her out of his brain. Mamba wanted to blame her as much as he wanted to see her again, but she was caught up in her own tangled mess: a brother with an oppressive hold on her, who controlled her with guilt, and an abusive ex who still thought he could wield his power over her. Both he and Mandy were prisoners in their own fucked-up world.
He stomped up the stairs, thinking he should just hop on his Harley and convince Mandy to escape with him, but where would they go? What would he do? The Serpents gave Mamba purpose, a reason to open his eyes every morning because there weren’t many offers out there for a two-time loser with a record. Without them, what? The Serpents were sending him off to another club, and whether he wanted to admit it or not—
It fuckin’ hurt like hell. Yep, that was the saddest truth of all.
CHAPTERSEVEN
Mamba stretched his arms over his head but kept his eyes sealed shut, teasing his brain into thinking he was still in a dead sleep. He shifted on the hard, narrow bed, and for a split second, his heart jackknifed in his chest. Prison cot? Sharing a cell with some dumb fuck who snored all night? Nah.
His heartbeat slowed, his slitted eyes eased open, and reality seeped in. Mamba’s room was in the back of a roadhouse ten miles south of Laughlin, almost on the Arizona border.
He pushed at his hard-on, tenting the sheets as his eyes roamed around the sparse room. Three weeks since he’d been banished from Vegas, but he still woke with that wonkywhere am Ifeeling. He fucking hated that feeling because it always brought him back to times in the joint. They weren’t good memories.
A noise jerked his head to the closed door of his adjoining bathroom. He stilled at the sound of water turning on and off, then more rustling, and the latch released.
In the next few seconds, his brain did a flash timeline of the night before. Two bloody beat downs in the cage, both of which he won, then the usual groupies and fight bunnies wanted their tits and asses signed followed by gallons of booze until he stumbled to his room with one of the aforementioned females.
He just prayed he’d remember the name of whoever was behind that door since he didn’t feel like bobbing and weaving to avoid flying objects hurling at his head. He did enough of that in the cage.
The bathroom door eased open, and the sound of giggling caught his ear—two women giggling.A second later, a buck-naked brunette with a bangin’ body appeared, followed by her carbon copy, also bare. Mamba blinked a few times, sure he was seeing double. Fuck, Jack Daniels was doing a number on his eyes.
“Good morning,” they both said in unison.
It was fuckin’ weird like those horror shows where the zombies come to eat your brain.
They walked side by side to the edge of the bed, smiled down at him, and nodded at his stiff dick.
“Would you like some help with that?” Again, in perfect unison.
Spooky as shit, but damn if his dick didn’t pulse and throb. One of the brunette zombie beauties straddled him while the other knelt by the side of the bed, cupped her huge tits, and offered them up like the ripest fruit.
His mouth fell open, and she leaned in to position her nipple between his waiting lips while her twin pushed down the sheet and slipped onto his dick. Mamba shifted his hips to slide in deeper, and she anchored her palms against his abs, riding him to fuckin’ glory. He jerked his hips harder, and she threw her head back and howled seconds before his door banged open and hit the opposite wall.
Cage, one of the guys who ran the fights, how fuckin’ unoriginal was that, filled the doorway. “All right, playtime’s over,” Cage growled, but the women kept working him like a fine machine. “Kylie and Miley, get the fuck off him and move your asses outta here.”
Kylie or maybe Miley turned her head toward the door as she continued to pump his dick. “He ain’t done yet,” she whined as the other one replaced her tits with her tongue while nipping at his lips.
Mamba was close to blowing just as Cage pulled Kylie or Miley off him. At that exact moment, his dick exploded, sending a stream of come in Cage’s direction.
