Page 64 of Desecrated Saints
“On my count,” Kade instructs, gun cocked.
Before he can offload a round, a shrill, furious voice lances through the kitchen. The door smacks against the wall as it flies open, ending my short-lived relief. Enraged, crystal-clear blue eyes land on me.
“Phoenix motherfuckin’ Kent. I’m gonna have your hide, boy!”
Before I can hide from her wrath, Eli helpfully shoves me forward. Nana approaches and smacks me around the head, cursing like a drunken sailor thrown overboard.
“Nana, calm down!”
“Don’t tell me to fuckin’ calm down! Jesus H Christ.” She yanks me into a suffocating hug. “Come here, you little toerag. Let me get a good look at you, at least. Two years!”
“Stop swearing! I’m here, aren’t I?”
My nana, Pearl, is a short and stout woman, all wrinkled skin and old-age charm. Her silver hair is styled in a slick bouffant, matching her skirt and pressed shirt. Despite her charming, grandmotherly appearance, there’s a terrifying woman beneath the surface.
It takes a certain kind of person to run an entire criminal empire in their retirement. Nana handles the front of the business, a shady strip bar called Mamacita’s in Tottenham. An army of subordinates does the rest of the dirty work—myself included, once upon a time.
“What in the holy hell are you doing here? How long?” she demands, ignoring everyone staring at us like we’re insane. She takes a lot of getting used to.
“Only a couple of days or so, we ran into trouble.”
“Trouble!” She smacks me upside the head again. “I know all about your damn trouble. The news is showing your stupid grin every night! My entire fuckin’ knitting circle thinks my grandson is a mass murderer!”
“You go to a knitting circle?” I stare in disbelief.
Her eyes narrow on me. “Ain’t I allowed to have a fuckin’ hobby? I’ve been dealing with these morons on my own since you got put away. Sometimes I gotta cool off too. I knitted a holster for my revolver.”
Before she can wring my neck, I dance backwards. Nana seems to realise that we’re not alone. Her steely gaze bounces between the entire ragged group before landing on Brooklyn. She studies every bruised and scarred inch on display, her lips pressed into an unflinching line.
“You the girl that got my boy in trouble?”
Brooklyn winces. “I guess I am, ma’am.”
“Don’t ma’am me, missus. The name’s Pearl.”
Depositing herself in a chair, Nana pulls out a cigar and lights up.
“Someone better get me a drink while my grandson here explains why the pigs are knocking on my door every day. I ain’t slept a wink all week! It’s bad for business.”
Everyone watches her with bemusement. I should have warned them; she’s a fucking tough nut to crack. Hudson obediently surrenders his bottle of vodka, looking more than a little intimidated. Nana glares until he produces a glass, then she knocks back a stiff measure.
“We had to leave Blackwood. Our lives were in danger there,” I explain, earning myself the stink eye. “The corporation behind the institute is very powerful and wants to silence us. That’s why we ran, Nana.”
“You do the things the news is accusing?”
“Of course not,” Kade asserts. “We’re being targeted.”
“Innocent people don’t get targeted, kid.”
“We did burn down Blackwood and kill several guards,” Brooklyn interrupts, facing Nana without fear. “Plus the men in the nightclub. That wasn’t a lie. We had no choice.”
Nana appraises her, puffing out cigar smoke. She respects straight-talkers more than anything. Lying or making excuses in our family usually got you a hell of an ass kicking, if not worse.
“They’re saying you’re a murderer. I read the news.”
Stepping between the two women, I prepare to take Nana down a notch or two. I won’t have her shaming Brooklyn for what the news is peddling. I know exactly how many lives Nana has ended or ruined through the family business. We’ve all got blood on our hands.
“We were in Blackwood for a reason,” Brooklyn offers plainly.
