Beyond Salvation

CHAPTER 1
“Get up.” The growly voice echoed against the bars of the Clark County holding cell, but Mamba’s brain refused to react.

He’d slipped into a quasi-sleep fueled by shots of tequila and a hot brunette whose name he couldn’t remember. Mary, Maddy—Or maybe he never knew it. Either way, it didn’t matter cause in his dream this dark haired beauty was swaying her hips in a red dress that skimmed her body, leaving nothing to the imagination.

“Dance with me.” She tried to pull him onto the floor.

“I don’t dance.” Mamba smiled down at her, wrapping his hands around her waist, his rough palms dragging over the silky material of her dress.

“Please.” Her huge, ebony eyes pleaded as she ground against him. When she arched her back her nipples almost popped over the top of her low-cut dress. He dipped his head and sucked the sweet skin of her neck between his lips, then traveled lower to the crest of her cleavage. Her whispery moan jacked up his pulse and sent a shivering sensation straight to his balls.

They never made it to the dance floor, but his dick pounded with the need to sink into her perfect body. He had to make her his right the fuck now or he was gonna bust.

“C’mon, move it.” The rough voice jolted him out of his hard-core fantasy.

Mamba glared at the guard standing on the other side of the metal bars, then stretched his arms over his head careful not to teeter off the narrow bench. Since he had the cell to himself, he decided to stretch out, but the hard, scarred wood did nothing for his bulky body.

“Let’s go. The guard anchored his hands on his hips.

Mamba guessed the young punk was going for intimidation, but big fuckin’ joke on him. Mamba outsized him in height and width, had been fighting since he could walk, then honed his skills in underground free-for-alls in some of the shittiest holes in Vegas. So, no, a rookie barely able to shave didn’t even deserve eye contact.

“Put your hands through the bars.” The guard ordered handcuffs dangling from his finger.

Mamba stretched again, slowly unfolded his bulk, then ambled across the cement floor. “Yeah, yeah.”

Mamba knew the drill. He clasped his hands together, then extended them through the cutout in the bars. The guard slapped the metal around his wrists, and Mamba stepped back as the guard swung the barred door open.

He threw the guard a side-eye which earned him a shove on the shoulder as he frog-marched him up the stairs and into the interrogation room. He slammed him into a chair and attached his cuffs to the dented metal table. Seemed like a lot of drama for a drunk and disorderly.

“Your lawyer’s on the way up.” The guard threw him another sneer and left.

Lawyer? Why the hell would Cobra call Grayson Hart?

Usually, a call to the Serpent’s contacts in Metro, and he was out a few hours later.

Yeah, he should’ve done his drinking at Ecstasy, the club-owned strip joint, or at the clubhouse, but some of his fight buddies told him about a bangin’ place Downtown, and they’d been right. The women at the Rook were hot as fuck and very willing. Didn’t he deserve to let loose? He’d gotten off probation a week ago, and . . . Of course, that could’ve been the problem right there. Maybe Cobra was making him sweat for fucking up, but shit he was just getting his party on.

The metal latch on the door released, and Mamba prepared himself for Grayson in his designer suit which matched his condescending attitude. Maybe Mamba should remind him if it wasn’t for the Serpent’s his Brioni suits would be a thing of the past.

“Mr. Hammond?”

That soft, mellow voice was definitely not Grayson Hart.
Mamba’s head jerked up. “Whoa.”

“Mr. Jack Hammond?” The beauty in the tailored suit hugging her slim hips squared her shoulders, making her silk blouse pull across her cleavage.

“That’s me. Who the fuck are you, and how’d I get so lucky?”

“I’m your attorney.” She slung her leather briefcase onto the metal table, popped the locks, pulled out a thick manilla folder and dropped it on the table, then pointed to it.

“Seems your reputation proceeds you.”

“Unless Grayson had a sex change, you ain’t him.”

“Very observant.” She flashed a barely tolerable grin, but somehow, she made her condescending attitude hot. “I’m Sydney Graves, but you can call me Syd. Mr. Hart is out sick today, and I’ll be handling your case.” She shuffled more papers out of her briefcase. “I think it’s best if we get down to business. We have a lot to cover in a short time, and the charges against you are quite severe.”