Page 17

I pulled up to the gate and rolled down my window.

“Damn, sexy, this thing yours? How many blow jobs did you have to give to get this?”

I raised an eyebrow at the child who stood in front of me. He couldn’t be older than eighteen, and I knew I had to shave more upper lip hair off than he did.

“First of all, don’t call me sexy. Don’t call any woman you just randomly met sexy. Learn our fucking names first. It’s not a turn-on like you think it is. And second off, ‘this thing’ is a fully restored ’67 Impala. Be respectful.”

Babyface stood there with a shocked look before recovering. His tone was no longer flirty.

“Well, who the fuck are you? This is a closed event, bitch.”

The audacity of some men.

“Oh, so I was only going to be let in if I sucked your dick? Or were you going to get a blow job and then turn me away? Fuck you, kid. I hope you catch the clap. And I am the fucking event,” I seethed at him. “Name’s Ryan. I’m with Los Muertos.”

His face went through a multitude of expressions and colors. He was bright red and pissed when I told him off, but the color drained from his face when I dropped my name and what organization I was a part of.

“Don’t bother saying shit. Just open the gate.” I rolled up my window and turned up Slush Puppy’s “Eat Spit!” When the gate opened, I pulled forward and drove toward where a grouping of other cars was parked.

After handling another rat problem the day I’d met with Gunner and Dex, I’d spoken to Sergio about how we felt about our new partners. I thought Gunner had a fucking attitude problem and was a total misogynist, but…he would be good for the job. When Sergio decided that Los Muertos should go through with the partnership, he filled me in on what my Friday night activities were going to be.

He had me worried at first when he said I would have to prove my loyalty and there was no way out of participating. I thought maybe he would tell me I had to join in on an orgy or something. Which, whatever floats people’s boat, but I wasn’t the orgy type of girl. So I was both relieved and stoked when Sergio said I had to participate in their fight night. The Skeletons had a bylaw that stated new members and club partners were required to fight in their ring. They felt that agreeing to potentially get your shit rocked proved commitment. They weren’t wrong. Weak men like Anthony would have never agreed to those stakes.

Sergio said he knew I lived for this shit, so he never bothered mentioning it before the meeting.

He was right. When you live on the streets, you quickly learn that you better know how to fight if you want to survive. And as a scrawny kid, I had to know how to fight people bigger than me. My thirst for blood made me vicious, and I used my speed to my advantage. Not to mention that getting the shit beat out of me a few times gave me durability. When Sergio took me in, he encouraged me to embrace my desire for violence, so I learned to fight properly.

I made Los Muertos good money in our underground fight circuit. Sergio took a lot of pleasure in shocking people with a female fighter who could take men down. And while on paper it might have looked like Sergio used me as a shiny toy to show off, I never felt that way. It always felt like a proud father-figure type shit. If your father wanted a bloodthirsty daughter, that was.

But I was excited for tonight. One, because a good fight kept the demons contained. But more importantly, I couldn’t wait to see the look on Gunner’s face when I stepped out of the ring. Based on how his misogynistic ass treated me at the meeting, I figured he didn’t think I would go through with this. He probably thought I didn’t even know what I was in for tonight.

Let’s have a little fun with that. Play “helpless damsel,” then kick someone’s ass.

I stepped out, taking a moment to check my surroundings. Sergio said fight nights were held once a month for the club. It was how members worked out shit between one another. All patched members attended, and they opened up the compound to any hang-arounds who wanted to come.

Fighting, fucking, and booze. What more could anyone want?

The smokey scent of bonfires hung in the air, and I could see people gathered around, their laughter hitting my ears. I made my way over to the crowds, trying to spot where the cage was. I didn’t know if we would be fighting outside in the dirt or if they had a more official setup. Not that it mattered to me; I’d fought in all sorts of locations. But asphalt hurt like a bitch to grapple on.

Glances started coming my way as I approached. The men looked at me like I was a new toy, and the women looked at me like I was a new threat. My hands curled into fists to avoid flipping them off.

“Don’t piss off the rowdy crowd of bikers, Ryan. Shooting your new allies is frowned upon,” I mumbled under my breath, sighing in relief when I spotted a familiar face.

It was easy to spot Dex in the mass of people. The dude was a fucking brick shit house. Gunner and Dex thought Robert was big, but apparently, neither of them ever looked in the mirror.

“Dexy boy. Good to see you again,” I called out.

His head whipped around, a murderous look on his face. Apparently, he thought someone was disrespecting his road name, but the look was replaced with a goofy smile when he saw me approach. The guy was a puzzle. Every warning bell inside me told me he was dangerous, and not only because of his size. But he gave off some serious golden retriever energy. Robert said Dex had made him type out texts to a long list of girls.

Men. Although Nikki wasn’t much better.

“How do I get myself alcohol around here? Preferably some that hasn’t been spiked with anti-freeze from these bitches giving me death glares.” I gave him my interpretation of a sweet smile. Which probably didn’t look anything like how I imagined.

He let out a genuine laugh, causing heads to turn. Ignoring the glances, he handed me the unopened beer in his hand.

“Ryan, where the hell ya been, loca?” he asked.

Now it was my turn to laugh. “Dexy, did you just quote Twilight?”