Page 7

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.

“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.