Saving Blood

Chapter 1

BLOOD/Tijuana

Flesh hitting flesh along with savage grunts and groans surround us as Diesel pummels his opponent in the cage. Our front row seats have us close enough to the action to see every cut and bruise, but far enough away from the splattered blood of the losers.

“I told you Diesel would be a monster in the ring.” I nod toward the six-foot-five fighter in the cage, then wipe the sweat off my brow.

When Smoke didn’t respond, I add, “He annihilates anyone he comes up against. He’s the best underground cage fighter on the Baja Coast.”

Diesel’s skill in the cage never disappoints, as he bounces on the balls of his feet in the center of the metal cage. His massive body barely contained in the red tank top and silk shorts all our fighters wear with the RBMC logo proudly scrolled across the back.

“Brings in a shit ton of money.” I adjust my aviators against the intense Tijuana sun. “Guys come from all over just to see him pulverize these poor fuckers.”

Nothing brought in fast cash like two guys beating the shit outta each other. Not even the curviest stripper could compete with the chaos of the bloodiest, baddest, no-limits fights. No rules, no sanctions, just two guys on a mission to knock each other senseless and win the no-limit bets and high stakes of every fight.

Almost as barbaric as the gladiators of Rome and just as lucrative.

Smoke nods but keeps his eyes trained on Diesel’s relentless jabs and kicks.

Typical Smoke, no reaction until he totally susses out the situation, making him the perfect prez of the Royal Bastards, Tijuana Chapter. His cool, controlled temperament and my aggressive, sometimes over-the-top energy as VP make us the perfect team. Just the right mix of savvy and savage.

Smoke shifts on the newly installed bleachers surrounding the regulation cage. “He isn’t what you dragged me out in the blazing sun to see though, is it?”

I smirk ‘cause I never could hide anything from the fucker, but the surprise I had for Smoke would surpass even his expectations.

“Just be patient, cause you ain't gonna believe my next surprise."

“As you know, patience ain’t my thing.”

Diesel’s opponent thuds to the mat, then taps out, and the referee declares Diesel the winner. Power and chaos fill the air along with an electric energy, riling the high-stakes crowd into a crazed frenzy.

“Shit, the other guy didn’t have a chance.” Smoke pulls a cig out of his cut, plugs it between his lips, and I light it up.

“Good move putting him here.”

I’d originally hired Diesel as a bouncer at our strip club, The Tropics. His ability to handle out-of-control drunks without breaking a sweat and his loyalty earned him his Enforcer patch with the Royal Bastards—and now, a top spot in the cage.

“Agreed.” I twist my lips as the referee drags the unconscious loser out of the cage.

I pride myself on keeping the fight club profitable and drama free, not easy since most the guys I recruit are either hiding out from the law in the States or ducking out on their ex’s. Crazy shit, but I love it.

I grip Smoke’s shoulder. “Now, you’re in for a treat.”

The cage door bangs open, and a woman standing at least six feet tall with bulky muscles popping out of her tank top and booty shorts enters the cage. A few seconds later, our latest fighter, Maxine, follows, dressed in red booty shorts and matching sports bra with the RBMC logo—the female version of the male silks, only showing way more skin.

The two women strut around the cage to the roar of thunderous applause and cheers from the men in the bleachers. Some even crowd the cage to bang on the wire.

Yup, just as I anticipated. Give these horny fuckers a chance to engage their bloodlust while watching two hot women mix it up—win, win.

The referee brings the women to the center of the cage, says a few words in Spanish, steps away, and they begin circling each other.

Let the mayhem begin.

I couldn’t wait to see what Maxine would do in the cage after watching her train in the gym. She bobs and weaves, causing her tightly braided hair to sway from side to side. She’s slightly shorter with less bulk than her opponent, but she easily evades her as she bounces on the balls of her feet with the agility of a cat.

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’d seen Maxine bring down women twice her size while sparring. What she lacked in overall mass, she made up for in speed. Her long legs gave 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.”

“Fuck, I gotta handle this.”

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

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

“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 proceeded him on most shit illegal and fucked up. We’d heard he was moving north to Tijuana, and we planned on being prepared, ‘cause there was no fuckin’ way we were letting him move in on what was ours.

“Nah, it’s that punk, Juan,” Bolt assures Smoke.

“Believe me, 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 enlisted the help of locals to keep me informed. If you talked to the right people, you could find out some very valuable information, which they passed 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 Blood 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 wanted 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 weren’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 silently fall into step with Bolt as we head to 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.

I follow Bolt around the backside of the bleachers, across the weed-infested yard and into the garage. 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 made the chop shop another huge money pit.

Bolt leads me to the back end 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 was asking if I’m gonna do the ass beating or if I want his help.

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

“Just the way I like it.” Bolt enters the passcode numbers, the lock clicks and he pushes the thick door open.

Let the fun begin. Just another day in Tijuana.