Page 26 of Loving Smoke

Marisol: I feel better now.

Smoke: Good. Get some sleep.

I slammed the phone down and thank fuck it didn’t buzz again. Now I had the pleasure of lying here visualizing what she was wearing or not wearing.

Now I was restless. Damn.

Islammed the door of the limo and entered the villa content in knowing I played my part perfectly. Waiting just the right amount of time to send the text until I was sure he was in bed. Then playing the grateful female.

My father’s wisdom paid off and now that Smoke came to my rescue he could become my protector. A role most alpha males liked to play. We all played some role or another in this life. Some positive and others negative, but the role I played now was one of the avenger, because nothing or no one would get in my way when it came to getting my sweet revenge.

10

When I woke up the next day I showered. I know, I took a shower less than seven hours ago but, yeah, OCD. After I dressed, I made the mistake of rereading the texts from Marisol last night. Don’t ask why cause the only answer is I like to fuckin’ torture myself.

Blood was right about that addiction shit, but just my luck there were no support groups for my particular screwy behavior. You had AA for drunks, GA for gamblers, NA for druggies, but nothing for me. Maybe I’d start my own group PA, for assholes who were pussy-whipped. I laughed at my own joke, cause let’s face it, that shit was funny and laughing was a helluva lot easier than owning it.

Blood and I met downstairs, then we hopped on our Harleys. We headed over to the fight club Ricky told us about a few days ago where we might be able to find some guys interested in prospecting. Not the usual for recruiting members. Normally guys seek us out about joining the Bastards, but these weren’t normal times. What Blood and I were faced with was abnormal and after last night’s bullshit we needed backup and we needed it fast.

We drove about fifteen minutes away from the city, and found the auto body shop that housed the fights.

Blood lowered his kickstand, his head on swivel. “I ain’t thrilled about leaving our bikes here.”

“Let’s go in and see what’s goin’ on, then we’ll decide to leave or stay.”

Blood nodded, then pulled open the heavy metal door on the side of the building, and the smell of motor oil and gasoline surrounded us. The place hummed with activity. Six bays held different makes and models of cars all in the process of being stripped down.

“Auto body repair, my ass, this is a fuckin’ chop shop.”

We walked further into the shop and a stocky Mexican guy approached us.

“We’re looking for a guy named Mateo,” I yelled over the whiz of the drills, air guns, and hip-hop music.

“I’m Mateo.” He threw us a long look as he wiped his hands on a grease- stained rag. “You the guys Ricky sent over?”

Nice, we didn’t have to waste time with bullshit conversation. Little did I know when we caught Ricky screwing that bimbo in the office that he’d become such an asset.

“We’re here to look at the fighters.”

Mateo jerked his chin to another metal door at the back of the garage. “Out back.”

“Our bikes are safe parked at the side of the building?”

“Yeah.” Mateo huffed out a laugh. “No one would dare touch anything on this property.”

“Good to know.”

Blood and I headed in the direction Mateo indicated. “Some setup they got here.”

Our San Diego club rarely got involved in carjacking unless it was a big-ticket item and even then, we only brokered the deal. We stayed far the fuck away from the actual theft or the breaking down of the cars. Too high risk with too many moving parts and variables.

We entered the outside area and another form of chaos surrounded us.

“What the fuck is this?” I’d been fighting at underground clubs since I was a teen. Back rooms, garages, abandoned buildings, but this was way worse.

The afternoon sun boiled through me as we walked over the dirt and mostly weed infested lot, then shouldered through the crowd to the edge of the ring. Rocks lined the perimeter of a large circle where two guys in bare feet slammed into each other. They fought with a mash-up of martial arts and whatever the fuck they wanted until the one guy staggered, then collapsed. No gloves, and obviously no rules.

“This makes the place in the States look like a palace.”

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