“You mean Diesel.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “Diesel told Blood, and he told me before you got here today.” Then she grins. “Blood knows just about everything that goes on here and at the club. As VP, it’s his job to be aware of potential problems.”
And since Maxie was with Blood, they both have their eyes and ears out for any potential problems. A good thing and a bad thing.
“I don’t plan on being a problem.”
“I didn’t mean you. Fact is, these big tatted men love to gossip worse than the women.” She pushes away from the desk. “Why don’t I show you the rooms over the gym, and you can give me your decision?”
No decision to make. This is my last stop, my only stop before obtaining a passport and making it back to the States.
We climb one flight of stairs and enter a hallway the length of the gym. “Each fighter has their own room with a private bath. They put the second floor on last year. The fighters get a place to stay if they need it, and the club takes a percentage of your winnings.” Maxie stops in front of a door, pulls out a key, unlocks the door, and pushes it open. “It’s simple, but clean.”
The room resembles an oversized motel room, with a bed, small sofa, and a kitchenette with a microwave and mini fridge.
“It’s fine.” The biggest selling point being I’m not a prisoner.
“We’ll see how the next few weeks go.”
“I’m ready to put in the work.”
“That’s great, and I believe you, but we’ll talk again when your muscles are screaming and every ounce of your strength is tapped out. Endurance is what wins a fight as much as technique, and if you don’t have the stamina or the consistency, then, like I said before, you’ll know if this is for you after the first week. I’ve had women pack it in after two days, but if you want to keep fighting, you’ll fight under the Royal Harlots’ colors.”
“Harlots, as in—” My heart kicks up.
Maxie laughs. “Nothing like that. The Royal Harlots are the women’s version of the Royal Bastards.”
“Like the motorcycle club.”
“Some of us ride, but we use the logo as our fight insignia, and we write our own rules that have nothing to do with the Bastards.”
“Sounds interesting.”
“Ours is more like a female fight club that also rides bikes. Our insignia with the crown depicts our attitude, but our main goal, along with our motto, is Sisterhood, Strength and Security.”
“I like that.” So few women band together in a positive way.
“Sisterhood is our bond. Strength is both physical and mental. And Security means independence: creating our own safety and freedom from the power of our own bodies.”
“I could definitely get behind that.”
“Most of the women down here have a story. Some of us ran from abusive relationships, or a life where we couldn’t be ourselves. I ended up in Mexico because some bad choices put me in a dangerous situation with ruthless people, but you don’thave to tell us anything you don’t want to. That’s not what we’re about.”
I nod, touched by her words. Knowing I’m not alone makes succeeding seem attainable.
Maxie hands me the keys. “We don’t really know each other yet, but I sense you have seen a whole world of hurt, and that’s okay too, ‘cause I get the need to put up barriers.”
A ball of emotion clogs my throat, and I swallow hard. In the last five minutes, this woman basically described me without knowing it.
She squeezes my hand. “In the Harlots, we all support each other no matter what happens.
She tugs me into an embrace, and I let her. It’s been so long since I’ve had a friend or felt safe.
A half hour later, there’s a knock on the door. I cautiously peek through the chained opening and see Maxie holding two shopping bags. I unlatch the chain, and she shoves a shopping bag into my arms.
“Just a little something from the Harlots.”
“But I can’t take?—”
