Page 25 of Poisonous Savage

Hegrunted, the sound loaded with a threat or maybe an apology—hard to tell withHunter.Buthe nodded once, tight-lipped, and moved on.Nothanks, no bullshit—it wasn't our way.

Iturned back to the empty space whereRosalindhad been, my mind a fucking battlefield.LoyaltytoHunterand my desire for her—clashed inside me.GuessIdon't have anything else to do but wait.Waitfor the shoe to drop.Waitfor him to kill me.Waittil someone else kills me.Fuckin' wait.

"Haveto keep you safe,"Iwhispered to the ghost of her touch lingering on my skin. "Keepall this shit from tainting you."

ButIknew the truth—this life stains you, seeps into your bones until you're nothing but a twisted version of yourself.Ishook off the thought, resolve locking into place.

Timeto move product, time to be the monster theCinderCrewneeded.Andwhen the dust settled, maybe thenI'dfind some peace—inRosalind'sarms or alone in the dark.

Thewarehouse was a fortress, teeming with my men hauling crates like they were nothing but cardboard.Theair reeked of diesel and sweat, the gritty tang of determination mingling with the stench.Istalked through the chaos, every step calculated.Myeyes darted from face to face, scars to tattoos—each one a soldier in this dirty war to see who came out on top.Goodmen.Eachand every one of them brothersI'dbled beside.ThatI'dbleed for.

"Keepit tight,"Igrunted, my voice barely rising above the clatter and hum of forklifts.Mennodded, their movements sharpening under my gaze.Thousandsof pounds of drugs and guns, each crate promising riches, waiting to be sent off to safer ground beforeTheBlackHandsgot wind and turned the place into rubble.

Myhands itched for the feel of cold metal, for the assurance of a loaded piece at my side.Butmy mind... it was back in that bedroom, in between the ivory of her legs.Herdark eyes, her long black hair spread across my pillow, looking at me likeI'dgiven her the world.

"Moveyour asses; we don't have all day!"Ibarked, snapping back to now.Mycrew jumped to, no questions, just action.Mykind of language.Ipaced the perimeter; muscles coiled, every sense on high alert.Thiswas my world—grit, and gunpowder, where every movement could be a countdown to hellfire.

"Marco, crate's secured,"Rat'svoice cut through the din, a beacon of focus.Igave him a nod; my approval wassilent but clear as day.Myboys respected me and feared me when they had to.Andthey'd die for me because they knewI'ddo the same for 'em.Thatwas the code—unwritten, unbreakable.

Istood there, watching sin unfold, orchestrated by my hand.Everycrate loaded onto trucks was a victory, and every successful move was a spit in the face of those who dared come against us.WewereTheCinderCrew—kings ofNewMexico.

Ashadow flickered across my vision, not real, just a memory.Rosalind'slaugh, the way her chest rose and fell under heavy breaths.Herbody wrapped around mine, taking me, giving to me.CouldIkeep her safe?

"Shipthese f**kers out!"Iroared, throwing my weight behind the words.Mymen scrambled, the urgency clear.

Iwatched the trucks roll away, heavy with contraband.Fora second, my heart hitched—caught between loyalty toHunterand the pull of something softer, something that felt dangerously like love.Goddamnweak.Getyour head in the fucking game.

Theair was thick with sweat and gunpowder; it stuck to the walls of my throat.Lookingover the warehouse,Isaw that it was almost empty.Then, the beeps that signaled a truck backing up.Sighing,Iturned.Forgotwe had merch coming in today.

"Boss."

Rat’svoice irritated me.Pullingme out of my reverie.Iturned and found him standing there, all wiry tension and nervous energy, next to a stack of crates stamped "Florida:LiveAnimals.HandleWithCare".Isnorted.Liveanimals.

"Newshipment," he said, jerking his chin towards the pile. "Guns.Freshfrom our brothers inFlorida."

"Open'em up,"Icommanded, stepping closer.Theclink of metal echoed as crowbars pried wood from wood, revealing sleek barrels and cold steel.Agrin splitRat'sgreasy face, but mine stayed stone.Thiswas power, pure and simple, and it demanded respect, not glee.

"Checkeach piece,"Idirected. "Serialsscratched off?Good.Oil'em.Load'em.Iwant 'em ready to fire before they're packed."Action, reaction—no hesitation.

"Gotit, boss."Ratnodded, already barking orders at the men nearby.Hewas good at his job, hungry for approval, but it was fear that made them move fast, fear ofHunter, fear of me.

Noroom for mistakes.Noroom for doubt.Myhands itched to wrap around a gun and fire it, but instead,Iclenched them into fists and kept my eyes roving.Everystep had to be precise—a misstep here could cost more than just money or product.Itcould cost us everything.

"Moveyour asses!"Myshout ricocheted off the walls, a commandment from on high.Theyjumped to it, the sound of crates sealing shut a hymn in the church of crime we worshipped in.

Thiswas the lifeIwas born into.Myfather wasVitto'sright hand before he married my mother,Hunter'saunt.Itconfused things.Madeus outcasts in both clans until they all saw how wellTonyandImade out.That'swhen the plan to unite happened.Afterhe died... it all fell apart.CinderCrewgrew, andTheBlackHandsweakened over time.Hunterhad the money.Vittodidn't.Hejust had old blood loyalty.Itmade him strong, but ultimately, they would fall.Hunterwas relentless.Allhe had to do was call the other chapters.TheBlackHandswould be nothing.Noteven a memory.

"Keepit tight, boys,"Imuttered under my breath. "We'realmost home free."Withone last look at the operation,Istepped back, letting the shadows reclaim me, a ghost in the machine of theCinderCrew.

"Yo,Marco, theseARssecure?"Ratyelled, slapping one before firing it off in the air.Manwas a fucking idiot, but better to have a loose cannon than be against one.Hehauled over a crate stamped with danger, its contents worth more than most would see in a lifetime.

"Yep,"Ishot back, eyes scanning the arsenal. "Pack'em tight.Sendthem whenStiltgets back with the truck."

Thewarehouse grew quiet, the storm of activity ebbing away as trucks rumbled off into the dawn.Alonein the silence,Isat on the empty crate in the middle of the floor.Thiswas the last of it, andIwas bringing it home with me.GunnateachRosiehow to shoot.Herfather probably made her learn, but the thought of her tight little ass against me asIbreathed in her hair made me hungry to make it a reality.

Asatisfied grunt escaped me.Workhere was done.Timeto get back to her, to that feeling she ignited inside me.Hopefully,Hunterhad fixed things, and we could be a happy brotherhood again.

HUNTER

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