Page 2 of Saving Blood

Smoke flips his gaze to me. “Where’d you find her?”

“Ricky hired her, along with a few others. They were fighting at random local clubs up and down the coast. We offered them a better deal, and then it just took off.”

Once Ricky, our club secretary and a native of Tijuana, put the word out we were looking for female fighters, the gym was swamped.

“This is gonna bring in more cash than the men, maybe even more than The Tropics.”

Smoke furrows his brow. “Maybe, but that beast is gonna kick our girl’s ass.”

“That’s what you’d think, right?” I’ve seen Maxine bring down women twice her size while sparring. What she lacks in overall mass, she makes up for in speed. Her long legs give her the advantage of height and agility with an equally long reach and lightning-fast hands.

“Hey, Blood.” Bolt rounds the bleachers, then leans into my ear. “We got a problem with Juan.”

Smoke throws me a questioning look. “What’s up?” He looks over his shoulder, scanning the crowd.

“Nothing serious, just that deadbeat, Juan.”

“I can’t shake the feeling Rodriquez is gonna strike when we least expect it. The crazy fucker’s been making threats, and I don’t like it.”

Hector Rodriquez's rep as a ruthless cartel kingpin preceded him on most shit illegal and fucked-up. We heard he was moving north from Rosarito to Tijuana, and we planned on being prepared, ‘cause there is no fuckin’ way we are letting him move in on what is ours.

“I wish you’d chill.” I follow his gaze. “You’re starting to makemejumpy.”

“Just wanna be prepared.”

“I got eyes and ears out all over Tijuana. Nothing’s gonna go down without me knowing about it.”

Along with my usual street contacts, I enlist the help of locals to keep me informed. If you talk to the right people, you can find out some very valuable information, which they pass on to me for a price. A good investment all around.

“Just not crazy about relying on civilians for information.”

“Hector don’t have the balls to pull any shit at our fight club on our turf.”

Smoke locks his gaze on me. “We both know how easy things can fall to shit.”

A year ago, we learned the hard way how fast life could blow up in our faces. After a DEA sweep at our San Diego chapter, our national prez, Jameson, banished and me and Smoke to the ass end of Tijuana. Both of us were pissed off big time, but we ended up coming out on top.

Bolt shoots me a look, and I push off the bleachers and turn to Smoke. “Quit worrying about Rodriquez and enjoy the fight.” My words sound more confident than I feel, so I throw back my shoulders and front. “You got me as your VP. What could go wrong?”

Neither of us want a repeat of the power struggle we had with Rico Sandoval, ending in a fuckin’ shootout. We took over Sandoval’s chop shop and fight club, and we aren’t about to let Hector Rodriquez take it away.

“And keep your eyes on our girl; she’s gonna take the bigger one down. Guaranteed.”

I fall into step with Bolt as we weave our way around the backside of the bleachers, across the weed-infested yard toward the garage. The big man isn’t much for conversation, but he also doesn’t blow shit out of proportion. So, if my sergeant-at-arms says there’s a problem, he means it.

We found Bolt a year ago right here in the makeshift, primitive ring fighting in the fuckin’ dirt. He’d had his bell rung too many times in the cage, so his fighting days were over, but his brute strength and overall bad-ass attitude make him a perfect officer.

We enter the garage, where the revving of engines, the whine of the air guns, and the smell of gasoline and oil surround us. Parts are hard to come by in Tijuana, so stripping down the cars and selling them off piece by piece at a premium price makes the club a huge profit.

Bolt leads me to the back of the garage. “When Juan didn’t show up to make his weekly payment, I went out looking for him, and, big fuckin’ surprise, he didn’t have it.” We stop by a closed metal door. “Add what he owes to his missed payment today, and he’s into us for five large. Since he’s that far behind, I figured you’d wanna know.”

“You figured right.” I shake my head. “These guys just don’t get it. They place bad bets and lose a shit ton of money, then borrow from us and get pissy when they gotta pay it back.” I throw up my hands. “I ain’t the goddamn Bank of Tijuana.”

“Good one, Boss.” Bolt laughs, then sobers. “You wanna handle this yourself?” he asks. “Or you want me to weigh in?”

My lips tilt at Bolt’s strategic wording. In short, he’s asking if I’m gonna do the ass whipping, or if I want his help.

“Why don’t we make it a joint project?”

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