Anders

7 If Momma Ain't Happy

Blake

When Bryan and I were still cutting our teeth in our business people didn't respect us. We were young and looked even younger. Our fair skin and blue eyes made us look innocent and people assumed we didn't have the backbone to stand up to them.

They were wrong.

A supplier once tried to short us. A bag boy delivered the message that the supplier was more concerned with serious clients and not a pair of "children destined to get ripped off" before he got his money. Even back then I wasn't quick to react. Bryan was always quicker.

It wasn't a secret that he was gay. He proudly wore tailored clothes in a slew of colors and patterns. As a well-dressed gay man they supposed he was too feminine to be a threat. It was the same reason they never regarded me with much respect. I was just a girl.

I sat with a blank stare as the tall bag boy delivered the message with a smug smirk on his face while the two goons traveling with him wore the same expressions. We had muscle but they made no moves to intervene.

They knew better.

Bryan stood and casually strolled to the bag boy with a stern look on his face. He was already in a bad mood that day. I followed his lead but remained about two steps behind him. As usual he wore a three-piece suit while I wore jeans and combat boots with my leather jacket.

The audacity to wear a three-piece pale yellow suit with a deep orange shirt should have indicated to them he was a man of bold choices.

Before they could blink Bryan pulled out his Glock and shot the bag boy in the leg, forcing him to drop down on his knees from the pain. I had a pair of Glocks trained on the thugs as soon as they reached for their own weapons.

One bullet wiped three smug smiles into oblivion.

Bryan took his time shooting the bag boy. He stayed silent as he shot him in his other leg and both shoulders before shooting him in the head. He took the guy's wallet and gave it to the muscle.

"I'm Bryan fucking Anders. Bring me another message I don't like, and I won't be so polite," he gritted out.

We watched them turn and leave, burning rubber trying to flee as fast as possible. After that day word spread that delivering bad news to Bryan Anders could get you killed. A few times it did. But, to his credit, he never killed innocent messengers; just the cocky ones trying to get over on him.

For the record, that supplier made sure to send extra as an apology. It was nice but didn't stop me from killing him. I never could stand to be disrespected. It pissed me off and as the Anders version of the saying goes, 'if momma ain't happy, somebody's going to die.' It was true with my parents and it was true with Bryan and me.

The night Bobby was attacked I received the news first. Over the years it became protocol to deliver bad news to Bobby or me instead of directly to Bryan. No one wanted to be on the receiving end of his tirades. Sometimes it couldn't be avoided, but if they could, they would.

I hated sitting in that hospital. The only thing I could do was hold on to Bryan's hand. It had been a long time since I'd felt fear like that. In my own way I'd become quite fond of Bobby. We'd developed our own relationship aside from strictly business.

He was family. When it came to our syndicate, I was momma and I wasn't happy.

I felt something I absolutely detest; helplessness. As soon as there was something to be done I was doing it. I knew Bryan's mind would twist into something dark and heinous as he plotted the demise of those daring to stand against the Anders family.