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Cobra knocked a Marlboro out of the pack on his desk, slowly flicked his lighter, lit the tip, and drew deep. “I told you the last time what would happen if you fucked up again.” Smoke rolled around every word. “And you fucked up again.”
“I didn’t do shit to that girl.”
“Says you.”
Mamba jerked forward. “You think I did that?”
“I don’t know what to think.”
“Bullshit.” Mamba jumped out of his seat. “I never put hands on a woman.”
“Who the fuck do you think you’re yelling at?” Cobra leaned over the desk. “Settle your ass down. Now.”
Mamba drew in a deep breath as he eased into the chair. “This whole thing is fucked up.”
“You’re telling me. I got Metro up my ass. I had to post bail and shell out big bucks for that hotshot female lawyer; then, I got you with your usual fucked-up attitude.”
Mamba cradled his head in his hands.
“You’ve been outta Ely six months, and you just got off parole one week ago.One week,and you’re back in the shit. Then instead of being grateful that I saved your sorry ass—again, you’re mouthing off like a childish little bitch.”
Mamba met Cobra’s eyes. “You believe me, though, right?”
“You got a different woman in your bed every night, sometimes more than one. You got a trail of weeping females from here to the Cali border. You break their hearts, not their faces.”
Mamba blew out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Even though he’d never admit it, having Cobra’s respect meant everything to him. They’d met at a cage fight in an abandoned warehouse down by the airport. Fucked up on the rush of winning, Mamba blew off Cobra when he approached him about patching in as the Serpents’ enforcer.
Then, a few days later, when Mamba got locked up for a drunk-and-disorderly, the Serpents saved his ass. He prospected for six months, and Cobra threw every shit job his way, but he held on and patched in. It was the best day of his life. Now, the Serpents were his family—his only family.
“Between the Serpents’ connections, and Syd calling in some favors, we were able to push your hearing from four weeks to two. That means your ass is permanently planted at the Gold Mine for the next two weeks.”
“Not too hard, I live upstairs.”
“I mean, no hanging with the random women you pick up, no barhopping with your cage fighters, and no trips downtown for whatever the fuck you do there.”
“So, in other words, I’m a damn prisoner.”
“Pretty much. Unless you wanna violate your bail and sit your ass in a holding cell.”
“Shit.” Mamba hissed.
“We understand each other?”
“Yeah, but I thought I’d check out what this chick Mandy is about since she started all this bullshit.”
Cobra drew back his shoulders and shook his head. “Do you not understand English? Or are you just trying to drive me fuckin’ nuts?”
“I thought—”
“I don’t want you thinking or doing anything but sitting your ass in the clubhouse. You wanna drink? Fine. You wanna get laid? See one of the club girls. Other than that, your ass is here.” Cobra huffed out a breath. “Now, do we understand each other?”
“Yeah, I get it.” Mamba rubbed at the scruff along his jaw. “You gotta at least let me ride.”
“As long as you go the speed limit, don’t piss off any motorists, and stay away from downtown, yeah.”
“You got it, boss.” Mamba lowered his head, selling his defeat, but he couldn’t shake the need to find out more about Mandy and why she set him up, but he’d keep that to himself.
* * *
