Page 44 of Filthy Savage
“I’m Angel.” She takes Nancy’s hand and shakes it confidently. “It’s good to meet you. I didn’t realize your brother told you anything about me.”
I refuse to touch that flaming red flag. Women are going to girl talk, and shit is going to hit the fan, so if I know what’s good for me, being elsewhere is better. I motion toward the front door with my chin.
“Help yourself, I have to get something from the garage.”
That statement is probably as close to a formal invitation as I’m going to get, I let myself into my sister’s sanctuary. Not much has changed in the house itself. Not design-wise. The layout is still clean and modern. Definitely sleek and impersonal, just like Nancy and her husband, who I’m yet to meet because me and Nancy weren’t on speaking terms when she sent me the invitation to her wedding. All the other times I’ve come around—which I can count on one hand—the man is always away on business.
I’m overwhelmed by the silence in the house. Nothing is out of place, even the kid’s toys. I walk down the hallway into the kitchen for a glass of water, and by the time I’ve taken my first sip, the rattle of the backyard doorknob makes me shoot up straight. My hand goes to the gun holster at the small of my back. The kids are upstairs. Nancy and Angel are at the front door. Then, who is edging their way into the house through the back door?
I draw my weapon just as the women step into the kitchen behind me. I point my gun at the intruder as he shows himself, ducking past the small door into the kitchen, and juggling keys in his palm. He’s a Los Diablos member.
“If you want to keep your sorry sack of shit in one piece, I suggest you get the fuck out of this house. Far away from me and mine. Got it? Otherwise, we’ll have to dig a large hole in my sister’s flowerbeds for your bullet-riddled corpse.”
All my senses go on red alert as I stare more closely at the prick’s face. The man standing in my sister’s kitchen, eyes wide at the gun trained on his forehead, is wearing a Los Diablos cut. Which makes sense because he’s Kade Jackson, the president of the Nevada Chapter of the Los Diablos MC.
“How the fuck did you find us?” I demand. “Does Antonio Vasquez even know you’re here? He may be the Arizona Chapter Prez, and this may be your territory, but you have some nerve showing up at my sister’s, motherfucker.”
“Get the fuck back,” the man warns.
“Alexander, no!” Nancy throws herself in front of my line of fire with both hands outstretched. “Stop it. Both of you. The kids are upstairs!”
“Get out of the way, Nancy.” Kade says, putting his arm on her shoulder.
“Don’t fucking touch my sister!” I shout.
“Let’s take this song and dance outside, shithead,” Kade snorts. “I’ll calm you right down.”
What the fuck am I missing here? Now isn’t the time for jokes. I readjust my angle and harden my jaw. “Stop talking. Turn the fuck around and start walking.”
Nancy stretches her arms out in both our directions, unafraid. “Alexander, I really don’t need my brother to shoot my husband in front of my children. Put the gun down.”
