Page 4 of Serpentine

My thrashes against him are useless and waning as a heaviness comes over me.

“There’s a good girl. Give into it.”

His voice seems far away as my eyes roll back and my body sags.

“The sins of the father always come back to bite the offspring in the ass, Bambi. You’re but a chess piece on the board. One that I need to win.”

TWO

BRAXTON

“Miles is going to fucking kill you. You know that, right?” Blaze asks, leaning over the open trunk of the Lexus.

I absently move my toothpick in my mouth, a habit I picked up since I’ve tried to stop smoking—something to keep my mouth busy.

Miles is our leader but is also my brother, so I get more leeway than others. But this?

No. I fucked up.

He asked me to watch a subject, Carter Williams. When I saw her, I moved in. I watched him for days, but this was the first time I saw her emerge from their house.

After a lot of screaming.

I sat back, watching her beat her Lexus with her purse—likely just as expensive as the car. Then, the wind blew, sending her scent toward me, and something feral snapped within me. Something I’ve been keeping a lid on for a long fucking time.

“What are you going to do with her?” Blaze finally asks, bringing me back to reality.

I hadn’t thought that far. I wanted something, so I’d taken it. Besides, he owes us. Technically, her father is the man we’re after, but her twat of a fiancé stands to gain it all right off her back.

I cock my head. “Put her in the clubhouse, in the bedroom. Secure her, though. Don’t want the little bitch getting loose.”

Blaze whistles but nods. “And here I thought you took her because you wanted to play with her.”

I had, but on the way back, reason had set in. Logic has a way of getting in the fucking way of all the fun.

“Where are you going?” Blaze shouts when I turn and head down the gravel drive leading out of the property.

“To get my bike!” I growl, brooding off into the night. The long walk should calm me down. Hopefully, Miles will be calm when I return to the house because it’ll likely be morning by then.

“Fuck, what have I done?” I groan, scrubbing my face as I step onto the main road.

The clubhouse, shop, and house are all located where the pavement runs out on Snake Avenue, right off the highway. Dad chose it because of its name—with our group being the Cobras—it seemed fitting.

Carter Williams is but a peon to us—a way into Montague Enterprises’ front door. A weasel like him will do anything to save his life, while Walter Montague is more brilliant than ten Carters put together. He covers his tracks, and he does nothing if it’s going to fall back on him.

That’s why we haven’t been able to take him down. Other subjects get handled quickly and efficiently, while our problem with him runs deeper than anything a client could bring to us.

Our mother went missing ten years ago—almost eleven—under his roof.

Dad turned the Cobras into his team of private detectives, searching high and low for her. The organization morphed into one where anyone in the surrounding counties knew they could come when they had a problem—one where only a quiver of Cobras could save the day.

We work for little pay, stealing what we need to run from those who can afford it. The pricks that fuck over the little people.

Robin Hood’s got nothing on us, either. We’ve turned this town into a place where we’re revered. Us. A gang of motorcycle-riding, leather-wearing, rowdy, unkempt men.

My phone dings, and I roll my eyes before looking at it.

She’s still knocked out but all secure.

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