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BLOOD

The next day, I push through the gym doors with the same nagging headache right behind my left eye. I’ve had it since getting with Maxine, and the meeting with Rodriquez yesterday didn’t help.

When Diesel approaches, I know by his expression my headache is about to get worse. “Juan’s in your office.”

I look through the glass partition. “What the hell does he want?”

“Wouldn’t say.”

I massage my temples. “Find me something for a headache.”

“You want something to knock you out, dull the pain, make you feel good, make you horny, or—” The man prides himself on having every kind of pharmaceutical the fighters might need.

“I want something for a fuckin’ headache. Nothing fancy. Aspirin, Advil, just get it.”

Diesel’s face falls. “Right, Boss.”

I draw in a deep breath and head for my office. The last person I feel like dealing with right now is Juan and his bullshit.

I slam through the door, and the skinny shit jerks in his seat.

“Why are you here?” I demand as I lean my hip on the front of my desk.

“I got something very valuable for you.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

The idiot smiles. “You’ll change your attitude when you hear it.”

I brace my hands on the arms of the old-school wooden chair, getting right in Juan’s face. “I’m in no mood for your bullshit today. As a matter of fact, I’ve been looking for a reason to knock somebody out since I woke up this morning—so don’t test me.” I push off the chair and round my desk.

“I saw you with the new chiquita who’s fighting for RBMC, Maxine.”

My brain spins for a few seconds. “Saw me where?”

“By the side of the gym, after midnight. Saw you getting it on with the hot fighter bitch. I saw everything.” Juan waggles his eyebrows.

Great, the little shit likes to watch. “And?”

“And . . . after you were done, I had nothing to do, so I followed her.”

I lean my palms on my desk. “Are you going somewhere with this or just letting me know you’re a perv who likes to watch people fuck and then stalk them?”

“I followed her to her apartment.” Juan pauses.

I huff out a breath. “Stop wasting my fuckin’ time.”

This guy is driving me nuts with this bullshit. I was having a hard enough time getting Maxine out of my head, and the last thing I need to be thinking about right now is our night together.

“Her apartment is in a building owned by Hector Rodriquez.”

I stare at Juan, wondering if he knows how close he is to getting his face smashed in.

“So, Rodriquez owns property in Tijuana, and she’s renting from him. Big fuckin’ deal.”

Plenty of the Royal Bastards own property in the States. Great way to hide and wash money with a decent return on investment.

“She’s not renting from him. The two-story building houses all the girls who work for Rodriquez as whores. He likes to keep them all corralled together. Easier to keep track of and to keep eyes on.”

A cold sweat creeps up my spine and surrounds my neck. “Are you telling me Maxine is?—”

“No, no, she worked as one of his fighters down in Rosarito until about three weeks ago.”

“Right around the time she started fighting for us.”

“I thought you’d find it interesting.” Juan lowers his voice. “She’s fighting for your club, but she used to fight for Hector, and now she’s living under Hector’s rule in an apartment he owns.”

“You sure about all this?”

“After I followed her, I did some asking around. I’m friends with one of the other girls in the building.” Juan raises his eyebrows. “She told me Maxine has been living there for almost a month.”

I evaluate every conversation between Maxine and me. Truth. We haven’t had any deep conversations aside from smart-ass banter, mixed with her telling me she likes rough sex, and me telling her to ride my cock harder.

My brain flashes to the other night and her being at the gym after hours, then the strange neatness of my desk. Had she been inside the gym and my office prior to our hookup? Did she use sex to distract me while somebody else broke into the gym? It explained her not wanting to continue what we started. Not so shocking she used her body as a weapon against me. Super shocking it bothered me so fuckin’ much.

“Did you hear me?” Juan pushes out of the chair.

“What?”

“I fed you more good information, so how about?—”

I wanted Juan gone like two minutes ago so I could make sense of all this, check it out further, then decide how to handle this new problem.

“Yeah, yeah, if this checks out, we’ll talk about your debt.” I wave my hand at him. “Now, get the fuck outta here.”

Juan scurries to the door. “You’ll see. It’ll check out. It’ll be just like I said.”

I close the door behind him, then sit down behind my desk. The part of me who fucked Maxine against the gym wall wanted this info to be fake, but my gut told me Juan’s intel was dead-on right.

I pull my phone out of my pocket to call Smoke, then another idea hits me. I gaze through the glass until I find Maxine. Amazing. Her hands move at lightning speed. Her body in complete control. My traitorous mind flashes on how her she felt pressed against me. How she melted into me and gave herself over to me.

My first instinct is to storm into the gym, drag her out of the sparring ring and demand the truth, but my time in Tijuana has taught me one thing: patience. Not an easy lesson for an outlaw like me, but valuable just the same.

I’d wait, then when the time was right, I’d call her out and demand she come clean about Hector, or her days fighting the RBMC were over. I’d evaluate her expression, see what choice she made, then reevaluate the situation.

MAXINE

After working out all afternoon in the gym, I’m exhausted, but a good tired. The kind of tired that freed my mind from the dangerous thoughts of Blood and how he commanded my body. Instinctively knowing what I needed and wanted. Taking without asking, yet also giving. In the quiet of the night, I could hear his raspy commands and then his confusion when I turned him away. Maybe in another life, far away from Tijuana and Hector Rodriquez, but not in the here and now. Much too risky with too much at stake.

I walk up the one flight to my modest apartment, unlock the door, and enter the space I’ve called home for the last month. The small apartment consists of a main room with a sitting area and kitchen and a separate bedroom and private bath. Modest by most standards, but a palace to me. Yes, Hector owns the building, but it’s the first time in my adult life I’ve had a space of my own. Somewhere I can be at peace and think my own thoughts.

I enter the bedroom, open the bottom drawer of the bureau, and grope around for the envelope wedged in the back. I open it, then fan through my quickly growing escape fund I skimmed off the top of my winnings. Little by little, I’m getting closer to freedom.

Like most things in Mexico, if you have the right amount of money, you can make anything happen. Police ignored transgressions, and even trusted guards could be bought and persuaded to go against their bosses. I fan through the money again, loving the feel of freedom in my hands, then stuff it back in the drawer.

I collapse onto my bed and lay my head on the pillow, letting my mind wander to a world where I make my own choices without needing permission. Where I can do what I want, when I want. When I was kidnapped, I doubted that world would ever exist for me.

My last failed attempt at an escape came from desperation and the need to lash out, not only at Hector, but at my parents too. I had mistakenly let my empowerment in the ring fool me into thinking I could outsmart and outwit Hector Rodriquez. Using my newfound spirit, I attempted an escape that had no chance of working. My overwhelming desire for freedom earned me a punishment so debilitating, I never went against Hector again.

Until now—now I have maturity and an understanding of how Mexico works, and how to use powerful men like Rodriquez and Smoke to my advantage.

The knock on my door jars me out of my thoughts, then fills me with anxiety. I have no friends and never have visitors. I contemplate ignoring it until the knocking becomes insistent, followed by a voice I can’t ignore.

I slowly push off the bed, undo the lock and deadbolt, easing the door open only a few inches.

“May I come in?”