Page 14 of Saving Blood

“Nah, there’s no fuckin’ way an outlaw biker would give money away to a bunch of street kids, right?”

“Right.” I adjust the duffel bag on my shoulder as he moves past me like he wants an end to this conversation. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”

He keeps walking, and it intrigues me how the man’s persona changes like the flip of a switch. After my fight, he was all cocky swagger, intentionally trying to piss me off and rile me up. Not twenty minutes later, he’s passing out money to locals, then acting embarrassed by it.

Blood came off all hard-ass and tough in the gym, and the Royal Bastard earned a reputation for being ruthless and not backing down to anyone, including the cartel. Word is they basically gunned down Rico Sandoval at his villa in an old-style shootout.

That’s the main reason Hector saw an opening for himself in the cartel and wants to take the Bastards down, but I have my own goals. Goals I have no intention of sharing or abandoning, no matter how much Blood’s smirky grin amps me up. Or how his intricate tats accentuate the cut of his muscled biceps.

I would use good sense and not be swayed by the bad boy. No good would come of it, especially since the one and only time I let my guard down ended in being abducted to a foreign country. I have to keep my eye on the prize and get enough money together to get away from the clutches of Hector Rodriquez.

Away from the corruption of Tijuana.

And away from the Royal Bastards—and their hotter-than-hell VP.

6

BLOOD

Later that night, we all file into the back room at The Tropics for our weekly church meeting. It’s similar to an executive’s board meeting in a big corporation, only instead of tight-ass suits, we are a bunch of rough-ass bikers.

As VP, I sit to Smoke’s right, and Bolt, our sergeant-at-arms, sits at his left. The rest of the table holds Diesel, our enforcer; Ricky Morales, the club’s secretary and native of Tijuana, who manages the police so no one gives a shit what happens in our little corner of Tijuana; and Manny, our treasurer, also a native, who has crazy internet skills, along with creative ways to hide the club’s vast profits. We still need a road captain, but we now handle all the gun shipments to the Royal Bastards in the States, which won us back the respect of our national prez, Jameson.

Smoke slams down the gavel, and the shit talk stops. “First off, I wanna congratulate Blood on the success of the fight club. He shows a profit every month, with crowds growing by the week.” He nods to our treasurer. “Manny’s got the spreadsheets if anyone wants to check it out in black and white. Today was also the first time we had women in the cage, and I gotta say it was a huge fuckin’ success.”

Fist bumps and “fuck yeahs” sound around the table.

“Right now, we only have four female fighters, but according to Ricky, he’s got more lined up.”

Manny leans in. “And I told him I’d be happy to help out with the interviews.” He has a mind like a steel trap when it comes to numbers and hiding the club’s money, but he’s a sucker for a pretty face.

Smoke throws Manny a look. “You just keep crunching those numbers.” Then he adds, “The one I saw today, Maxine, has crazy skills. She took down a chick twice her size. Wiped her ass out.”

“Yeah, she sure packs a kick.” Bolt waggles his eyebrows. “I’ve seen her in the gym. She’s fuckin’ amazing, and I think, ‘cause she’s so skinny, nobody expects her to be so tough and strong.”

“She ain’t skinny,” I snap back. My outburst surprises me, and when the other brothers shoot me a look, I add, “She’s lean.”

“Lean, mean fighting machine,” Bolt jokes.

“As long as she’s winning and bringing in the cash, I’m all about it.” Smoke rests his arms on the table. “When Blood first suggested adding women to the cage, I was against it. All I saw was a headache with a shitload of drama, but I gotta say, if we continue with the profits we saw today, it’s a win.”

“Bitches ain’t the only ones who do drama.” I throw Manny a look. “I’ve seen this guy spend more time in front of the mirror than any of the strippers I know.”

“Blow me.” Manny flips me the middle finger, and I laugh.

“As long as they’re bringing in money,” Smoke adds, “I don’t give a shit if they’re men or women.”

The guys all agreed, but I have to admit, something about Maxine’s swagger and the way she shot me down and called me out had my dick standing up and taking notice. Pair that with her mad skills in the cage and . . .

Nope, that was a dead-bang mistake. A mistake I wouldn’t be making because business is business and fucking is fucking, and I never mix the two. Not that I can’t admire a nice piece of ass, but I never make it personal.

At The Tropics, I stayed far away from the strippers and the female waitstaff. First rule of strip clubs: Don’t shit where you eat. A trait Smoke admired, especially since, back in the day, getting with strange pussy brought down our club in San Diego.

The gym, fight club, and the chop shop were all men, so it wasn’t a problem, but now we have women fighting and sharing the gym. Doesn’t matter though. As far as I’m concerned, the same rules apply.

Not trying to sound like a conceited bastard, but some women love bad boys. And some like the VP patch, getting off on the fact I’m a Royal Bastards officer. Most times I could have my pick, but when something is too easy, I lose interest. I like a little fire and fight before I get my dick wet. Nothing like putting in the work if the prize is worth it, and sassy Maxine just might be worth it.

Ahhh, fuck no.

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