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9

BLOOD

The next day sucks balls. I switch from pissed-off to horny, then slide back to pissed-off again. I ran last night over and over in my head, but it didn’t fuckin’ make sense. Finding Maxine at the gym way after midnight, our banter, the way we lit each other up and then the sex. Raw, gritty and out-of-control. Just the way I like it. The way she gave it all to me and wanted more. Just thinking about the shit we got up to had me hard all over again. Damn it. Then she shoots me down and tells me it could never happen again. Fuckin’ ridiculous.

Afterwards, I rode around on my prized Harley for over an hour, but even that didn’t quiet my demons. When I got to The Tropics, the usual women were hanging out, and yeah, I could’ve stuck my dick into any one of them, but instead I stomped up to my rooms above the club. Pissed-off.

Once I was alone, I couldn’t stop my brain from spinning out. Maybe Maxine already had a guy, and that’s why she got spooked, thinking he’d find out. Maybe they’d had a fight, and doin’ me was a one-off. A way to get back at him. Then my fucked-up brain pictured her with another guy. The idea of her moaning and giving it up for someone else like she did for me was too much. That’s when I pulled out the bottle of Jack and drowned my sorrows in a few shots. More than a few, and a fuckin’ stupid move ‘cause now I had a pounding headache doing nothing to improve my pissy mood.

I prowled around the gym most of the morning looking for something to bitch about. I’d already popped off at Diesel about not putting the weights away correctly, which earned me a look saying I was fuckin’ nuts. Couldn’t argue with him, ‘cause I was driving myself crazy too. I’d called and texted Bolt so many times reminding him to tail Maxine that he stopped answering me. I headed to my office in a pissy mood, and the worst part was—I didn’t know why.

Maxine was nothing to me. We fucked against the wall in the alley alongside the gym, so what? I screwed plenty of women on the back of my bike, in the john, even one chick behind the bar of The Tropics during the epic, wild, patching-in party for Manny. Last night, my whiskey-soaked brain convinced me it was just my bruised ego, but now in the light of day, I realize it was something else.

The way she reacted showed a hint of fear, but not about someone finding out about us—she was genuinely afraid of something or someone. She couldn’t get away from me fast enough, and that pissed me off too, until I realized I wasn’t the one generating the fear.

“Hey, what’s up?” Javi jars me out of my thoughts as he swaggers into my office acting and looking way older than his thirteen years.

I raise my head from the computer screen I’d been battling with for the last fifteen minutes. I hate the fuckin’ machine, and I swear it hates me right back. With the mood I’m in, I want to pitch it through the glass partition.

“Trying to get this stupid computer to do what I want.” I look away from the monitor, happy for the diversion.

“What are you trying to do?” Javi rounds my desk and peers at the computer screen.

“I’m trying to pay the electric bill for this place, and every time I put in the amount, it won’t take it.”

Javi leans over the keyboard, taps at some keys, and, holy fuck, the screen changes and accepts the payment.

“Done.” Javi waves his arms like he performed a magic trick. Might as well, most things related to the damn computer go right over my head.

“What the fuck was wrong with it?”

“You didn’t need to put in the dollar sign. It was screwing up the spacing.”

I roll my eyes ‘cause I didn’t get what he was saying, but I’m sure as shit not gonna admit it. Sad when a kid barely a teenager has to school me.

“You clean out all the locker rooms?” I ask.

“Yeah, did it a while ago. Diesel told me to ask you if there’s anything else you need done.” Javi rocks on the balls of his feet. “He also said you’re in a pissy mood.”

“I thought I told you to get yourself a new pair of shoes.” I nod to his threadbare sneakers. “I gave you enough money last week. What did you do with it?” Temptations on the Tijuana streets run high, so I narrow my eyes, giving him a death stare.

“Nothing, I just couldn’t find a pair I liked.”

“What about the Nikes you had your eye on?”

Javi shrugs a shoulder. “Changed my mind.”

I push out of my chair, round my desk, and glare down at him. He might be a computer whiz, but I still have at least six inches on the kid. “You better not be pissing it away on bullshit or drugs.”

Javi screws up his lips. “Nah, you know I don’t do that shit.”

“You better not.” I hold his gaze for an extra minute. “Then what happened to it?”

“I hadda give it to my mother.” Javi shifts his feet. “She needed it for the baby.”

I heave out a heavy sigh. Javi, his mother and his four siblings live outside Tijuana. The house isn’t much more than a shack with a tarp roof and concrete floor. Sweltering hot during the day and freezing cold at night. The roof leaks when it rains, and they have no lock on the door.

Of course, Javi’s father ran off, and that’s when Javi started hanging around the gym looking for work. He was only twelve at the time. Since then, I help them out. I wanted to do more, but his mother is a proud woman, so when I had food and other household needs delivered, I covered it up by saying it was payment for work Javi did around the gym.

Since then, I also took on some of Javi’s friends who were in the same position. Due to government corruption, most people live way below the poverty line. I try to do what I can for these kids, but it’s never enough.

I reach in my pocket, pull out a wad of cash, peel off four one-hundred-dollar bills and shove them in Javi’s palm. “Get the Nikes you wanted and whatever else your mother needs.”

“But—”

“Tell her you worked some overtime fixing my computer.”

Javi’s eyes widen at the cash. “Thanks.”

I look over his shoulder and see Juan heading toward the office. “Get outta here; you’re done for the day.”

Juan texted me earlier to say he was on his way over with some great intel. I’m not in the mood for his bullshit, and I doubt he has anything valuable to tell me, but if he didn’t, I could take my pissed-off out on him. That lifts my mood—a little.

The skinny fucker enters my office with a huge smile plastered on his face. I return his smile with a sneer, ‘cause I sure didn’t wanna see anybody happy today.

He eyes the chair in front of my desk, and my sneer turns into a scowl. “Don’t bother sitting down. You ain’t gonna be here that long. Either you got something for me, or you don’t.”

The grin drops from Juan’s face, and he shuffles his feet.

“So, what’s it’s gonna be? My money or some useful info?”

Juan sucks in a breath, and I almost hope the fucker has nothing so I can slam somebody in the face this afternoon.

“I got information.” Juan shifts again, and my stomach tightens. “Good stuff.”

“Well, spit it out. I ain’t got all day.”

“Hector Rodriquez is getting restless. He wants to be the head guy, and he’s adding to his crew.”

“I already know that.” I drum my fingers against the wood of my desk, and Juan swallows hard.

“He’s also got a fight club down in Rosarito, and he only recruits women.”

“Like I give a fuck what he does in Rosarito.” I narrow my eyes and glare at Juan. “I told you I wanted info about his setup here in Tijuana.”

“He kidnaps the women he uses then gives them two choices—fight for his club, or work on the street.”

“Still not impressed.” Nor am I surprised. Slave trade in Mexico is common. With poverty and lack of jobs, women have limited resources, and a scumbag like Rodriquez benefits off their backs and profits from the weak.

“That’s the thing. He’s sent a few of his guys up here to Tijuana to set up shop.”

“When you say set up shop, you mean . . .”

“He bought an old cantina on the edge of the city that he’s fixing up. Some people say he’s gonna use it for fighting so he can fuck with your profits, then take you down.”

I digest Juan’s words. It’s not the craziest thing I ever heard. There’s always somebody waiting in the shadows to fuck things up. The object of the game is to stop shit before it happens.

“Find out exactly where he lives in Rosarito.”

Juan smiles. “I got you good information, right?”

I stay silent, and my pissy mood enjoys making Juan sweat. Yeah, I need to have the upper hand today, and the bastard in me wants to make Juan squirm.

“C’mon, you got to admit, it’s good info.”

“I don’t gotta admit anything.” I push out of my chair, and Juan steps back from my desk, eyes wide. “The info is just okay.”

“Okay? It’s way better than?—”

In three large steps, I corner him between the chair and my desk. “Like I said, it was okay.” I let my eyes roam over him. “I’m guessing you also came to place a bet on tonight’s fight, which means you got cash on you, right?”

“No, no, I’m taking your advice and slowing down with the gambling.”

“Bullshit.” In one smooth move, I lift Juan’s wallet out of his back pocket, flip it open, pull out a wad of bills, and hold it in front of his face. “Just like I thought.”

“That’s my money.” Juan grabs for the cash, but I easily hold it over his head.

“Technically, it’s my money, fucker.”

“But you said if I gave you information, you’d forget what I owed.”

I shake my head and smirk. “You really gotta start listening better. What I said was, if you got me something good, I’d consider lowering your debt.” I fan through the money. A thousand bucks. “And like I said, your intel was just okay, so I’m gonna take this.” I hold up the cash. “And you get to keep this.” I peel off two hundred-dollar bills and shove them back into his wallet.

Juan snatches his wallet back. “But that’s not?—”

I loom closer. “Not what?” For the second time in ten minutes, I want to smash my fist into Juan’s face.

“Nothing.” Juan backs himself out of the office.

“In a way, I’m doin’ you a favor,” I call after him as he darts through the gym. “Less you have to lose on bad bets or piss away on some Tijuana whore.”

I sit behind my desk and dissect what Juan told me. Nothing earth-shattering but something to look into. Definitely something to go over with Smoke. Hector is bad news, and the faster the Royal Bastards get him out of Tijuana, the better. This is our city now, so paying the fucker a visit with a warning would be in order.

The more I think about it, the more I like the idea. If things turn to shit, I might be able to throw some fists before the end of the day after all.