Chapter two
A VERY DARK NIGHT
SNAKE
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck it all to motherfucking hell.
I want to kill someone so fucking bad right now.
And I want to drop to my knees and bury my face in my ward’s pussy just as bad.
That little motherfucker, I swear, is going to be the fucking death of me.
She pushed me to the edge and then drove me clear off that motherfucking cliff of no return.
Guilt, anger and shame eat at me like a school of piranhas.
How the hell did my tongue get down her throat?
The way she looked at me while Angel and the curvy little woman he rescued can’t be scrubbed from my brain.
The way her little body fits into mine. I wanted to pick her up right then and find my home inside her.
“Yeah, to make matters worse, motherfucker,” I hiss under my breath. There is no way to unring a bell, and not only did I ring it, I broke it, Liberty Bell fashion. I can’t even blame Saban. Not her luminous eyes. Not the vanilla-rose she recently started wearing. All this is on me.
I’m a grown-ass man. Just like I told her. At thirty-two, I know fucking better.
I don’t think she’d ever feel safe around me again. When this little crush she has passes, and it will, she will hate me, fear me even.
Maybe I can ask Angel to let her move out to his hidden mansion with Lourdes. It’s been her second home, anyway.
Ellie’s out of the question. Her wife is a jealous little thing. Jessica has been known to drag a bitch for flirting with my sister.
I scrub my face as I stalk to the main part of the club. Standing on the edge, surveying the aftermath of Angel’s claiming. Some couples are locked-up in tight embraces, slow-dragging on the dance floor. Others backed up against walls, grinding.
Unless it’s a claiming, there is a strict no-sex rule for the clubhouse. Angel instituted that rule, among others, as soon as he won the challenge he threw at our old president, then killed the bastard.
It was all legitimate, but Angel wanted his head from the moment he found out Fede was in cahoots with Mathias Shelby Sr., using coyotes to bring kids over.
After he decapitated the useless fuck, he took rein of the el Diablo. We’ve all prospered with him at the helm. Our people now own legitimate businesses. No longer are we regulated to the margins. We aren’t a tyrant’s chattel or his minions.
The war with the Shelby Sugar was brutal, but it needed to happen.
The lives lost on both sides were many, but our freedom was worth it.
Angel is more than the president of el Diablo — that mean motherfucker is my brother.
And knowing him like I do, I know he’s gone for the cute little ball of fluff that came stumbling in tonight.
I just didn’t expect it to have the effect it had on Saban and me. What the fuck was that?
I never looked at her like that. Lies. I noticed.
Sure I did. That’s why I’ve put distance between us these last few years.
I know she’s crushing, but I’m neither worthy nor do I welcome her adulation.
I’m a fucking killer, a criminal, everything her mother would warn her against, but I had a hand in her losing that too.
Even more reason for her to steer well away from me.
I chose this path when I took her from that settlement. To protect and provide for her. I’d do that shit again. No problem. If it meant keeping her safe. No child deserves that. Just like she doesn’t deserve me — a monster turning his focus on her in the way I did tonight.
I have to make her see I’m not the one for her. Never will be. I fucked up. I’ll own that now. I need her to know it’s never happening between us. It can’t. She needs to understand and leave me the fuck alone before I ruin her.
Something tells me she ain’t listening though — especially after tonight.
“You look like you’re ready to kill.” Ellie sidles up next to me.
Tall and lithe, like me, she has her hair braided into two long French-braids.
Her black Henley is tucked into her jeans.
We match as usual. Five years older than me, she looks five years younger.
“Japanese skincare,” she told Saban when she asked her, then had me buying her all of it for my ward.
“The night is not over. I still may have to put one of these dumb motherfuckers down.” I nod toward the group of miscreants we inherited from the old crew.
Angel let them live because they took the knee after he relieved Fede of his head.
We were low on men, and we needed the numbers for the ensuing war with the Shelbys.
Now, ten years later, like anything well past its expiration date, they have turned rancid.
I’ve told el Patron he’s only delaying the inevitable.
“Word is Rudy’s crew wants to witness the wedding.” Looking down, I don’t miss her eye-roll as she informs me.
“Oh, they think he won’t complete the claim and just let her go? After everything they just saw on that stage?” I shake my head. Pissing off Angel de la Muerte is not a good idea on any day. If they can’t see he’s not playing about this girl, it’s their funeral. Somebody’s dying tonight.
“Meet us back there. You know what to bring. Let’s get this done and make it official — hopefully with as little bloodshed as possible.
” Then, meeting the gaze of the twelve lieutenants, jerking my head in the direction of el Presidente’s office, I lead the crew of rough bikers into the wolf’s lair.
After giving a hard knock on the door, I step back, allowing them to enter ahead of me. I’m not giving anyone my back. Many of them we trust will our lives, but a few of the old set are mixed in, Rudy among them.
Heading to their various spots, they all warily eye Angel’s machete’s gleaming blade on his desk. We know he never keeps it far from his side. Witness him sharpening it on a wet stone every morning, no different than a nun saying prayers.
Even my black soul softens, seeing the way his new bride squeezes back into the safety of him as the burly killers file past to take a space around the room. She’s frightened, and he wants to annihilate everyone for making her feel scared.
The temperature in the room drops to glacial as Angel’s cold eyes track every man, daring them to look too long at what is his.
Ellie’s the last to enter with freshly printed papers in one hand, and Ezekiel-Jane’s purse tucked under her arm.
“I need your I. D’s.” She slaps the official-looking form onto the desk, handing Ezekiel-Jane her purse. Easy shoots her a wary glance, fishing for her I.D. before handing it to her.
Angel hands his over, which she takes a cursory glance.
Nodding, she asks, “Ezekiel-Jane Love, do you freely agree to this union with Angel Oscar Cruz?
“Yes,” her voice is soft, clear and full of dread.
My brows shoot up at her last name. I look at my friend, who didn’t miss that last name either.
“Angel?”
I see him hesitate. I feel more than see Rocco, who’s standing next to me, shift uncomfortably. So, he knew she was a Love. I know he has a connection to the family through his abuela. No wonder he stepped up earlier.
Enough of the guys have noted the delay. Tension is thick with the anticipation of Angel possibly repudiating the woman. Some of these sickos can’t wait to tear her apart — all of them holdovers.
Angel bristles visibly. “Yeah.” Gritted out hard, the word lands like a boulder inside the tomblike room.
“It’s done. You both need to sign.” She hands them both a pen. Then they fuss about her stealing his pens for all of two minutes before he says the thing that stumps me like a park ranger putting out a fire with his boot.
“Get Saban. So we can get this over with.” Stepping back to the side with Rocco, so she’s not in my direct line of sight, I cross my arms over my chest, girding myself to see her so soon after the kiss we shared.
Damn, she smells like me. I can see she’s a little subdued. She makes a point of not looking in my direction. Still, that shit grates — more than I like to admit.
“Print your names so I can get the exact spelling.” She instructs. The soft lilt of her native land has never quite left her.
“Why?” Easy asks, confusion marking her words.
“For the ring tattoos.” Saban shoots Angel a what the fuck kind of look.
Everyone treads carefully around el patron, but not this girl.
She’s practically grown up in his home alongside, Lourdes, Angel’s sister and her best friend.
She sees him as a big brother. He sees her as a kid sister, so she gets a pass on her sass with him.
I never afford her that concession. She has me tied in enough knots.
“Jeeze Louise,” Ezekiel-Jane mutters, grabbing the clean sheet of paper Angel hands her.
Theres’s a slight tremble as she writes her name out, the only sign of the ordeal she’s had to endure.
Again, respect for this little bit of a thing swells inside me.
Though now knowing who her people are, I’m not surprised.
The Loves are formidable, and their matriarch, Mama-Pete, is not to be fucked with.
That family has run these parts since Emancipation and are known killers when it comes to anyone messing with their family.
They are pitiless and will bury you and then attend your funeral right along with your family.
The success of our entire enterprise is because of her and Pa-Pete bequeathing it to Angel when they stepped down and none of their descendants wanted to take over the Southern Syndicate, their sons and daughters wanted to go straight, so they had no problem when Angel stepped forward to take over.
Saban turns to Ezekiel-Jane. “Give me your left hand. I promise to be quick.”
Easy splays her fingers wide. “Hold her arms so she doesn’t flinch, Angel. She’s tired, so she won’t be able to keep still.”