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“Then, that’s what we have to work on, but if this goes to court, the prosecuting attorney will be much harder on you than I was just now. I’m working on getting the security tapes and interviewing the bar’s waitstaff, but the main thing you have to work on is controlling that hair-trigger temper. If this goes to court and you go off in front of a jury, all they’ll see is an abusive thug”—she rolled her eyes—“instead of the sweet, cuddly man I’m sure you are.”
“Very funny.”
“When and if the time comes, we’ll discuss your appearance and the changes we need to make. Then—”
“Whoa, whoa, what changes?”
“You’re kidding me, right?” Her accusing eyes traveled over his sweaty, skin-tight t-shirt, Serpents’ cut, ragged low-rider jeans, and scuffed boots. “You look like an ad for Outlaw Bikers, Inc.”
Mamba peered down at himself and rubbed the day-old scruff lining his jaw. “What do you suggest I change?”
“Everything.” She spat out the word like it was the obvious conclusion. “I’m working on getting you out on bail, but with your priors—”
“Which I did my time. Doesn’t two years in the pen count for something?”
“Yes, it gives you an even longer rap sheet and a label as a convicted felon. Or did you forget you put that man in a wheelchair?”
No, he never forgot. That bloody face haunted him in his sleep and even when he was awake. The adrenaline, the rush, and the crowd cheering on Mamba all exploded in an out-of-control free-for-all, and before he knew it, everything went sideways. He lived with that guilt every day, but nobody forced his opponent to get in the cage.
“That guy was fighting in an illegal underground brawl, just like me. He knew what could happen; everybody around the ring told him to tap out, but he didn’t 'cause he wanted the payoff, just like me. I sure didn’t want it to end how it did, but don’t go making him some kinda innocent bystander.”
“I won’t, but be assured the prosecution will. Couple it with your bad attitude and thug appearance, and you’ll be back in Ely faster than I can say Serpents MC Las Vegas.”
Shit, this chick didn’t pull any punches. Mamba hoped her mouth ran as good in the courtroom because he was getting a really bad feeling about his future.
“You always such a wiseass?”
“Only when I’m trying to make my client understand the circumstances.” She gathered her papers into the file, slapped it shut, and pierced him with a scathing glare. “I’m good at what I do, but I need you to help me because if this goes to court and you swagger in with all your tough-guy bullshit, you’ll lose. That’s a fact.”
Mamba heaved out a sigh. “Yeah, all right.” He sure as fuck didn’t want to go back to lockup, but this whole damn thing didn’t make sense.
“I’ve already spoken to Cobra, and I believe the Serpents are ready to arrange your release. I know their connections in this city, so getting you out on bail shouldn’t be too much of a stretch—if Cobra wants to take that route.”
It was her roundabout way of saying his president was pissed and might let him rot here.
Six months ago, Cobra had personally come to Ely to pick him up and bring him to the halfway house, a common practice for released prisoners who spent over a year in jail. The idea was to adjust to life on the outside and get your new life in order. In truth, it was a stop-off, a resting period before most ex-cons returned to their old lives on the street. In his case, the Serpents’ clubhouse.
The half-hour ride consisted of Cobra railing Mamba about his temper, lousy attitude, and how he’d used up all his last chances. The bottom line was: if he screwed up again, he was out because, as Cobra explained, the club didn’t need the bad press and attention from Metro. Cobra had a sweet deal set up with the Vegas police, but Mamba was on the top of their list as far as fuck-ups were concerned. Yeah, Cobra would be pissed, but like anything in the club, his bail would be put to the vote. He didn’t think his other brothers, especially Python and Rattler, would let him swing.
Mamba rubbed his sweaty palms over his jean-covered thighs. “And if he doesn’t, I’m screwed.”
Syd nodded, and Mamba bit the inside of his lip to keep from asking about Cobra’s overall attitude.
“When and if bail is set, you’ll be released until the trial.” Syd returned the thick folder to her briefcase, snapped it shut, and stood. She leaned her palms on the table, her expression serious. “No one knows how this will turn out, but I assure you I will do everything in my power to get you off. It’s what I do, and I do it well. Plus, I don’t like to lose, so this is more about me winning another case than you spending considerable time back in prison.”
Mamba nodded, not quite sure what she had just told him. The “when and if bail is set” comment jacked up his pulse. Her making the whole winning thing more about her ego than his freedom had his heart pounding hard against his ribs.
This woman was tough, and he hoped competent, too, but the real question lay with this Miranda Brooks. Why the fuck would she set him up? And who beat the shit out of her?
He’d definitely be visiting this Mandy chick to find out the truth—when andifhe got out on bail.
CHAPTERTWO
Cobra nodded to the chair in front of his desk. “Sit.”
“I’d rather stand.” Mamba didn’t like the look on his prez’s face or his complete silence the entire ride from the Clark County jail to the Gold Mine. The Serpents’ clubhouse was Mamba’s home, but the vibe hanging over him said, “You’re screwed.”
“I said, sit the fuck down.” Cobra walked around to his desk, expecting him to obey, so Mamba slid into the chair but never took his eyes off him. The man’s silence was much scarier than a fist to the face.
