Page 15 of Saving Blood

“Anybody got anything else?” Smoke asks.

“I had a meet with that loser Juan. He’s into us for five grand, but I got two off him today.”

“And when are you getting the rest?” Smoke asks, always interested in the bottom line.

“Here’s the thing. He wants to make a deal. Says he’s got information about Hector Rodriquez coming up in the ranks. Spitting bullshit about him putting a new crew together down in Rosarito. Taking what remains of Sandoval’s crew and adding to it.”

Smoke knocks a cig out of the pack on the table. “Just like I expected, but unless he comes up with a place where Hector’s holed up or something solid, I ain’t interested.” He lights up and adds, “Or willing to lower his debt.”

“According to Juan, there’s a lot of bad blood with the cartel not liking the Royal Bastards taking over in what they consider to be their turf.”

“Too fuckin’ bad for them.” Bolt shifts his massive bulk. “Plus, it’s shit we already know.”

Smoke draws deep on his cig. “Hector’s a wildcard, and I know he’s been sniffing around, trying to find out what we’ve got going on. Maybe he’s using Juan to get to us, or get information about our setup.”

“I don’t trust the skinny runt.” Bolt pulls a face. “Probably spitting bullshit so I don’t bust him up.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Smoke studies his cigarette. “Hector can’t be trusted. Where Sandoval was organized and controlled, Hector is manic and impulsive. Fuck, some of his own crew are afraid of him.”

“Exactly.” I lean into the table. “Juan is getting back to me tomorrow, and I’ll push him for more info.”

“All right.” Smoke eyes each one of us. “Anybody got anything else?” When no one responds, he slams the gavel down. “Time for some shots and beers.”

Smoke nods for me to stay behind, letting the other brothers head for the bar. “You think Juan’s just trying to save his ass?”

“Maybe, but he’s been in the shitter before, and this is the first time he’s ever mentioned Hector.”

“Could be he’s desperate and gaming his way out of his debt—or he was sent by Hector to feed us fake info.”

Smoke’s words hang between us. The last thing we need is a mole sniffing around the club, especially when we finally have the rough edges smoothed over.

“Hard to say, but I’ll get more outta him tomorrow.”

“I’m heading out.” Smoke claps his hand on my shoulder. “Marisol’s got her mind set on having a baby.” He waggles his eyebrows. “So, you know what that means.”

“Shit.” I shake my head. “Way too much information, bro. The last thing I wanna picture is my prez and his old lady getting it on.”

Smoke slaps me on the back and leaves out the back door. He is one lucky bastard. He found himself a loyal woman in Marisol, and because she came from a mobbed-up family, she understands the life. The cartel runs shit a little different, but in the end, they were all outlaws, and it took a special woman to understand the pressures and commitment of the life.

I eye my brothers at the bar but turn in the other direction and head for my bike parked in the back lot. I always like to check the gym and make sure it’s all locked down, especially since we haven’t armed the back door of the women’s locker room yet. Smoke doesn’t know I check the place every night, but I learned a long time ago—better to be safe than fuckin’ sorry.

7

BLOOD

The Royal Bastards rep and the eyes and ears I have on the street dissuade most issues, but poverty is a harsh reality in Tijuana, and leaving anything unlocked or unsecured is just plain stupid and looking for trouble.

I knew firsthand the desperation of scrounging to survive, and sometimes even going hungry. It puts a person in touch with their animalistic side. A side every human being tempers and keeps under wraps until the unthinkable happens and you’re forced to act on instinct, usually making a bad decision. Or a reckless decision based on despair.

I kick my Harley to life and enjoy the night air in my face for the short ride to the compound containing the gym, chop shop and fight club. I pull into my usual spot, drop the kickstand and dismount.

The security lights cast uneven shadows along the perimeter, and as I approach the building, I hear voices. I grip the .35 at the small of my back and edge my way around the corner of the garage.

“I told you to back off and get the fuck away from me.” A female voice, low and angry.

I move closer, staying in the shadows. A large figure has someone cornered against the brick wall of the gym.

“C’mon, don’t play games with me. I know you want it.”

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