Chapter 15
DIESEL
I swivel my head to Blood and Smoke standing in the doorway of my bedroom. Martina closes her eyes, and I flag over Maxie to sit with her, then I follow Blood and Smoke into the living room.
“What the fuck?” Blood runs his hand through his hair. “She knows Benito?”
“Looks that way.” Smoke pulls a cig out of his cut and lights up. “Either that or it’s some hell of a coincidence.”
“How could that even be possible?” Blood asks. “You said she was from California.”
“No fuckin’ clue.” I sit on the edge of the couch. “Are they still downstairs?”
“Probably still sitting with Bolt and the others.”
“She’s obviously afraid of him,” Blood says.
“Do you think he saw her?”
“I don’t know, but I guess she definitely saw him, and whatever he’s got on her scared her into some kind of a panic attack.”
When Marisol comes out of the bedroom, Smoke asks, “Did she ever say anything to you about running away from someone or something?”
“No, but she and Maxie talk more in the gym. Maybe she knows something.”
“Have her come out here.”
Two minutes later, Maxie joins us in the living room. “I changed her out of her dress and gave her one of your t-shirts so she’s more comfortable.”
“She ever say anything to you about knowing a guy named Benito?” Smoke asks.
“No, never. She’s always a bit guarded about her past, and I never pushed after what all I’ve been through.”
Maxie came to Tijuana as a fight slave after witnessing a cartel murder in California, so she could relate to having secrets and running for your life.
“We all heard her say his name loud and clear.” Smoke stubs out the cig. “What we have to find out is their relationship and how this does or doesn’t affect us.”
“She’s sleeping now.” Maxie motions to the bedroom. “I don’t think there’s really anything wrong with her aside from being scared to death.”
“She can stay here for the rest of the night,” I offer. “I’ll keep an eye on her.”
“Fine.” Smoke points to me. “But when she comes around, you find out what the hell is goin’ on with her and Benito.”
“I know what you’re thinking,” I offer. “But there’s no way—”
“Never say never, brother,” Blood adds.
“We’ve been fooled before, and anything is possible,” Smoke says.
“She’s not a fuckin’ spy,” I spit out exactly what Smoke and Blood were implying.
“She drops into the club outta nowhere and gets close to you,” Smoke points to me, “but not too close. Just enough to get you to take her to the fight club.”
“That was all my idea.” I don’t like Smoke’s reasoning, but I can’t deny it either.
“Or she made you think it was your idea,” Blood says.
“Bullshit!”
“What better way to infiltrate the club than to have someone on the inside.” Smoke paces in front of the couch. “Someone we’d never suspect.”
“Nah, I don’t buy it.” I refuse to believe another woman has lied to me—but...
“She’s a Harlot now.” Marisol anchors her hands on her hips.
“So, whatever goes down, I wanna know about it too. For all we know, if she’s working for him, she might be doing his dirty work under duress.
” She motions to the bedroom. “That was no act. She was genuinely scared, and if Benito’s intimidating her, we can’t let that stand. ”
“Benito’s a shifty fucker, and I wouldn’t put it past him. He only cares about the bottom line at all costs, but we can’t afford any slip-ups. We need this deal with him for the club, and I don’t want anything to jeopardize it.”
“I don’t care what deal you made with this asshole, Benito.” Marisol squares her shoulders. “I’m ninety-nine percent sure she was spooked by him, and there’s no way I’m throwing her back to him.”
Smoke draws in a deep breath. “When she’s better, we find out the truth, then we take action.”
“My girl and her well-being come first,” Marisol insists.
I let Smoke and Marisol argue it out ‘cause I’m still in shock at Martina knowing Benito. It just seems so random and out of the box. How the hell would a twenty-two-year-old from California know a Mexican cartel kingpin in Tijuana?
Nothing can be settled tonight, but tomorrow I’d get answers about this past of hers and all her secrets because, in the outlaw world, secrets can get you killed.
The others leave, and I lay my head against the couch cushions.
Shit, life just got a whole lot more complicated.
My biggest concern earlier was me being too old for Martina and not being good enough for her.
Now, I have to figure out how, what and why she is connected to the cartel, and if it would affect us and the club.
I turn toward the bedroom and shake my head. Another fucked-up scenario with this beautiful woman in my apartment again, wearing one of my t-shirts again, and we’re still not in the same bed. The first time she slept on the couch, and tonight I’d be sleeping on the couch.
Yep, another fucked-up scenario concerning a woman. When would I ever learn?
MARTINA
I wake up once during the night and startle, then remember—Diesel’s bedroom and I’m safe—for now. I lie still and listen. Mostly quiet except for the noise from the street. A light from the hall casts a shadow over the dim room, and I glance at the nightstand for my phone, but it’s not there.
My mouth is so dry, I can’t swallow. Thank you, tequila and the panic attack from hell. I look down at myself in an oversized t-shirt, probably Diesel’s. Then I wonder who changed me out of my dress.
Interesting.
I roll from the bed, slowly massaging my stiff shoulder. I must’ve hit there first when I collapsed. I gently explore the back of my skull, and luckily, no bumps, but my shoulder would probably be bruised in the morning.
I’d experienced panic attacks before, but mostly I was able to manage them with deep breaths and visualization. I’d never been so overcome to the point of fainting, then the debilitating exhaustion that followed. Big surprise after the craziness I call a life.
I pad into Diesel’s adjoining bathroom, turn on the water in the sink, cup my hands, and bring the cool liquid to my lips. It tastes delicious, but I need more. Like a whole bottle of water more. I exit the bathroom and look on the dresser, but no phone.
A low light in the hallway guides me to the living room.
I smile at Diesel’s big body sprawled over the too-small-for-him couch.
He’d removed his shirt, loosened his belt, and, yes, even in the dim light, his muscled chest and swirling tattoos stand out.
Along with his day-old scruff. One arm is flung behind his head, with his legs hanging over the edge, exposing his bare, sexy feet.
Like he didn’t look sexy enough before. Not good when I even think a man’s feet are sexy. Diesel is the whole package, and if my rattled brain remembers correctly, his voice earlier held concern and worry about my welfare. A tone I wouldn’t have expected from such a rough, scarred man.
Such a shame my secrets would keep us apart, because tomorrow I will be gone.
I can’t risk Benito showing up again, and I have no intentions of telling anyone my secrets or setting up the Bastards or the Harlots.
I’d led Eduardo to think otherwise, but even though things didn’t work out with me and Diesel, I wouldn’t knowingly steal from him or betray the Harlots after all they’ve done for me.
None of them know my connection to Benito or Eduardo, and that’s how I intend to keep it.
I assume Eduardo still has my passport, and I know his address, so I’d be paying him a visit first thing in the morning.
I’d demand he give me my passport, then I’d leave Tijuana and forget all about my time in Mexico.
Some parts were drastically bad and others amazingly good—but both would be a part of my past.
I quietly open up the fridge and find a line of bottled waters.
I grab two, twist the cap off one, put the bottle to my lips and drink deep, gulping half of the refreshing liquid.
I take a breath and finish off the rest before uncapping the second bottle and drinking that one a bit slower, sighing in pleasure.
“Thirsty, huh?”
I startle, nearly dropping the water bottle on the tile floor.
“Geez, you scared me.” I press the bottle to my forehead.
“How do you feel?”
“Better.”
“You scared the shit outta me before.” Diesel places his palm on the small of my back and leads me to the couch.
I perch on the edge. “Did I wake you up?”
“Nah, I’m a light sleeper. It’s an outlaw thing.” He makes a goofy face, but it’s probably true.
“Yeah, I don’t know what happened.” I have to play this out right. “One minute I was fine at the bar, and the next I didn’t feel good.” I motion to the couch. “I’m sorry I put you out.” Then I lower my head. “It’s embarrassing that a few margaritas would affect me like that.”
That sounded good and very convincing.
“Margaritas, huh?”
“Yes, I’ve really never been much of a drinker and—”
“Quit.”
“Excuse me?”
“Quit the bullshit.”
My heart jacks up, and I shift my gaze to the door. “No, really, I’ve never been able to hold my liquor.”
“What happened tonight has nothing to do with the margaritas or how many you had.”
I play with the label on the water bottle, forcing my brain to come up with a witty remark.
“How do you know Benito?”
“Benito?”
Diesel massages his temple. “Just come clean, babe.”
“Come clean about what?” Deny, deny, deny.
Diesel pushes off the couch and glares down at me. “Babe, I know you and I have had a few false starts, and I’m not gonna deny you are one good-lookin’ woman who makes my dick painfully hard, but . . .”
I play with the hem of his t-shirt gathered around my thighs.
"My club and my brothers come first, and if you’re working with Benito, or spying on us for him, you better tell me now.”
“I’m not spying on you.”
“What’s your connection to him then?”
My brain spins with all the ways I can play this out. Tell a total lie, tell a half truth, go with absolute truth, or . . .
“I make your dick painfully hard?”