Chapter 10
10
W hen I woke up the next day I showered. I know, I took a shower less than seven hours ago but, yeah, OCD. After I dressed, I made the mistake of rereading the texts from Marisol last night. Don’t ask why cause the only answer is I like to fuckin’ torture myself.
Blood was right about that addiction shit, but just my luck there were no support groups for my particular screwy behavior. You had AA for drunks, GA for gamblers, NA for druggies, but nothing for me. Maybe I’d start my own group PA, for assholes who were pussy-whipped. I laughed at my own joke, cause let’s face it, that shit was funny and laughing was a helluva lot easier than owning it.
Blood and I met downstairs, then we hopped on our Harleys. We headed over to the fight club Ricky told us about a few days ago where we might be able to find some guys interested in prospecting. Not the usual for recruiting members. Normally guys seek us out about joining the Bastards, but these weren’t normal times. What Blood and I were faced with was abnormal and after last night’s bullshit we needed backup and we needed it fast .
We drove about fifteen minutes away from the city, and found the auto body shop that housed the fights.
Blood lowered his kickstand, his head on swivel. “I ain’t thrilled about leaving our bikes here.”
“Let’s go in and see what’s goin’ on, then we’ll decide to leave or stay.”
Blood nodded, then pulled open the heavy metal door on the side of the building, and the smell of motor oil and gasoline surrounded us. The place hummed with activity. Six bays held different makes and models of cars all in the process of being stripped down.
“Auto body repair, my ass, this is a fuckin’ chop shop.”
We walked further into the shop and a stocky Mexican guy approached us.
“We’re looking for a guy named Mateo,” I yelled over the whiz of the drills, air guns, and hip-hop music.
“I’m Mateo.” He threw us a long look as he wiped his hands on a grease- stained rag. “You the guys Ricky sent over?”
Nice, we didn’t have to waste time with bullshit conversation. Little did I know when we caught Ricky screwing that bimbo in the office that he’d become such an asset.
“We’re here to look at the fighters.”
Mateo jerked his chin to another metal door at the back of the garage. “Out back.”
“Our bikes are safe parked at the side of the building?”
“Yeah.” Mateo huffed out a laugh. “No one would dare touch anything on this property.”
“Good to know.”
Blood and I headed in the direction Mateo indicated. “Some setup they got here.”
Our San Diego club rarely got involved in carjacking unless it was a big-ticket item and even then, we only brokered the deal. We stayed far the fuck away from the actual theft or the breaking down of the cars. Too high risk with too many moving parts and variables.
We entered the outside area and another form of chaos surrounded us.
“What the fuck is this?” I’d been fighting at underground clubs since I was a teen. Back rooms, garages, abandoned buildings, but this was way worse.
The afternoon sun boiled through me as we walked over the dirt and mostly weed infested lot, then shouldered through the crowd to the edge of the ring. Rocks lined the perimeter of a large circle where two guys in bare feet slammed into each other. They fought with a mash-up of martial arts and whatever the fuck they wanted until the one guy staggered, then collapsed. No gloves, and obviously no rules.
“This makes the place in the States look like a palace.”
“Talk about primitive. They’re fighting in the fuckin’ dirt.”
Money changed hands around us along with shouts and jeers from the men in both English and Spanish. Two guys dragged the loser away as the referee hustled into the circle and declared a guy named Bolt as the winner.
“He’s the one.” Blood jerked his chin and they caught up with him on the other side of the circle.
“Hey, hold up,” I called out. The guy was massive. Wider than Blood and taller than me. Fuckin’ huge.
The big man turned, eyeballed us and like most alphas he sized us up too.
“You looked good in there.” Blood flanked him on one side me on the other.
His eyes darted between us. “Who the fuck are you two?”
“We’re the guys who’re gonna get you outta this shit hole.” Blood angled him away from the crowd where it was a little quieter.
“You’re Bolt, right? ”
“That’s me.” Bolt dragged his muscled arm over his sweaty forehead.
“You annihilated that guy.”
Bolt did some air boxing. “It’s what I do.” He grinned exposing a gold tooth and swear to fuck it made him look even scarier than his fighting skills.
“How come you’re fighting down here and not in the States?”
“Cause I got two ex-wives and a couple baby mamas on my ass.”
“Shit, that sucks.”
“Yeah, the exes are blood sucking me for money. Seems the judge didn’t care that both of ‘em were fuckin’ other guys in my bed. The very bed I paid for with the sweat off my balls.”
“I hear ya, brother.” Blood and I exchanged a look. “Women.”
“Bet your ass, women. The others claim they got kids by me even though I wrap my dick up tight every time.”
“Sounds like you live up to your name.”
Bolt cocked his head then let out a deep belly laugh. “Good one.”
“My prez has had a lot of experience with sideways women.”
“I don’t mind sideways, back-ways, or fuckin’ upside down, but the bitches I know just wanna screw me outright.”
“I’m guessing you’re looking to make some extra scratch with all these debts and obligations.”
“Damn straight. Can’t get my ass back to the States until I settle some of these lawyer bills and warrants.”
“We might be able to help you with that.”
Bolt’s eyes narrowed. Giving a man a way to get out of debt and stay out of jail usually got their full attention.
Bolt nodded at me and directed his question to Blood. “How come you called him prez?”
Blood turned showing Bolt our colors. “Royal Bastards. We’re an MC relocated to Tijuana. Smoke is the prez. I’m the VP.”
“I’m guessing outlaw bikers.”
“Fuck, yeah. As my VP said, we’re in Tijuana now, but we used to ride outta San Diego, fuckin’ ruled Southern California until we got infiltrated by a rat from the DEA.”
“Ohhhh, fuck. That’s some deep shit right there. Ain’t nobody got time to get tangled with the Feds.”
“Agreed.”
“And I’ll just bet all the DEA bullshit had something to do with a woman. Either roundabout or straight out.”
“Fuckin’ truth, man.” Blood and I broke out laughing. “I had my dick sunk tight into some rich pussy the morning of the raid. And don’t you know our chapter president pulled rank and ran my ass down here to the armpit of the world just to fuck me over and prove his point.”
“Looks like I’m not the only one on the run.” Bolt stroked the scruff on his jawline. “But I gotta tell ya, some things about Tijuana ain’t so bad. There’s plenty of hot pussy to go around who love to fuck, and most of ‘em give it away for free.”
I slapped the big man on the back. “Some of us never learn, right?”
“I admit it.” Bolt laughed around his words. “Ain’t nothing like bending a bitch over, grabbing onto them ass cheeks and driving my cock home.”
I turned to Blood. “I think he’s gonna fit in just fine.”
“Fit in where?” Bolt obviously had been screwed over more than once.
“We got a club on the main boulevard in Tijuana. We just gave it an overhaul. The Tropics.”
“Shit yeah, I heard of it. Some of the other fighters were talking about it.” Bolt leaned in. “Also heard you boys told Rico Sandoval to fuck off. ”
“Nah, you heard wrong.”
“I don’t think so.” Bolt shook his head. “Cause I also heard the big man sent some of his guys to The Tropics to do a smash and grab last night.”
“Bad news travels fast.”
“Everybody in this city is connected somehow and since Sandoval owns most of the city the word gets around. He even owns this place.”
“The fight club?”
“Fuck, yeah. This and the chop shop. He backs the fights, sets them up, and promotes them. Even recruits the fighters.”
“Interesting.”
“Pays us like shit, but what the fuck.” Bolt threw out his thick arms. “I get a place to stay.” Bolt motioned to a row of single story connected rooms resembling an army barracks. “Shit is dirt cheap down here so sooner or later I’ll get enough cash together to cover my bills and head back to the States.”
“What if I told you we could improve on both the money and your living conditions?”
“You mean, not fight anymore?”
“Right.” Blood cut a look to me and I nodded my approval. “We could use you at The Tropics.”
“Doin’ what? Cause I ain’t that great with numbers and shit.”
“No worries. We’re trying to add to our club down here. We’d like to take you on as an enforcer.”
“Enforcer?”
“Yeah, the guy who takes care of busting heads when necessary.”
“Fuck, yeah. I can handle that, for sure.”
“I believe you can.” I smiled around my words. Nothing better than a man who knew his talents.
“Just one thing. Sandoval ain’t gonna be happy about me leaving the fight club.” Bolt ran his tongue over his lower lip. “ Might make trouble for you if he finds out you grabbed me up.”
“Let us worry about Sandoval.”
Bolt drew in a breath.
“I can guarantee you a much better room than those shacks, plus food, and did I mention The Tropics is a strip club.”
The usual rule of our strip joints in San Diego was hands off the workers, but rules didn’t apply when I was desperate with the cartel breathing down my neck in a shady city like Tijuana. Bolt fuckin’ the strippers was the least of my worries.