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For three days, Mamba kept to the straight and narrow, helping out the prospects behind the bar at the Gold Mine, tuning up his bike in the lot, and generally obeying Cobra’s every rule.
It didn’t mean he wasn’t checking out his phone every spare minute. It was amazing what he could find with the right search engines and some constructive digging on social media.
Good old Facebook gave him Mandy’s birthday (she was only twenty-two), she worked at Creative Nails on Charleston, and graduated from the Academy of Hair Design, also on Charleston. The pictures were typical generic shots of Mandy with her girlfriends or at work, nothing implicating her as a psycho or nut job. There weren’t even any photos of her with other guys, which surprised him because Mandy was hot as fuck with huge brown eyes, tawny, flawless skin, petite, and plenty of curves in all the right places.
Then one particular shot caught his eye—a random photo of her and another girl at what looked like a backyard barbecue. He enlarged the pic, and in the background were Ajax and Blaze, members of the Neon Marauders, a street gang controlling most of the downtown area.
Further digging revealed Mandy was either related to or very close with the Marauders, which put some of the puzzle pieces in place. The Marauders ran most of the underground fights, including the fight that sent him to prison. This could all be a strange coincidence, or it could be the link to his freedom.
Finally, on day four of his isolation, the Serpents left on a run to the Cali border to check out one of their safe houses. Mamba was to supervise the prospects, which he did until he hopped on his bike and headed for Creative Nails on Charleston. A quick phone call confirmed Mandy worked until eight p.m., so Mamba made sure he had a clear view of her late-model black Honda. Again, thank you, Facebook.
He flicked away his second Marlboro when Mandy exited into the salon’s back parking lot. Mamba’s long legs placed him by her car as she was approaching.
“Hey, Mandy.”
Her head whipped up. Her face was still shadowed with faded bruising. “Do I know . . .” Her brow furrowed, then she gasped and clutched her oversized purse in front of her.
“I’m not gonna hurt you.” Mamba kept his distance. “I just wanna ask you a few questions.”
“I don’t think—”
“Just listen to me. You and I both know I didn’t bust up your face, but if you don’t tell me the truth, I’m gonna be sent up for a long fuckin’ time. So tell me who really did this.”
“No, I . . . I can’t.”
“You tell me who did this, and I’ll make sure he never does it again.”
“No, no.” Her head snapped over her shoulder. “I have to go, please.”
The total fear in her voice rocked Mamba. Granted, the night this all went down, he was already a few shots in, but this scared little rabbit wasn’t the confident woman he remembered at the Rook.
“Talk to me. Tell me what the fuck is going on, and I’ll straighten it all out.” He pointed to his cut. “You know I’m a Serpent, right?”
Her head jerked spasmodically.
“Then you know the Serpents’ power in this town, and if you’re in trouble with the Marauders, I can make it all go away.”
Her lips drew together, and her huge eyes widened. “How do you know about the Marauders?”
“Not important, but know they don’t scare me. I can get you away from them, make it so you never have to see them again.”
“No, no, you can’t.” She pulled on her purse strap. “I have to go.”
She reached for the handle, and he slapped his palm against the door. “Ajax and the Marauders are nothing but a bunch of punks.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Tell me what they have on you and why you’re so scared.”
Her eyes darkened as she glared at him. “Ajax is my brother.”
Mamba’s jaw tightened. His hand fell away from the car, and Mandy used his stunned reaction to pull it open, jump into the driver’s seat, then slam and lock the door.
Mamba banged on the window. “Mandy, wait.”
Two seconds later, she sped out of the parking lot without a second look.
“Fuck!” Mamba howled into the night.
