“Oh, honey, you’re a hoot. That’s a G-string for underneath.” Danica points to the snaps on the chaps. “They’re rip-away pants.”
I press my lips together to keep my mouth from dropping open.
“Let’s get you ready.” She bundles everything into my arms and pushes me toward a curtained-off area in the back of the room. “What size shoe are you, hon?”
“Seven.”
“Okay, that should be easy enough.” Danica turns toward a large plastic bin and rummages through a jumble of shoes that resemble weapons.
Once behind the curtain, I stare into the mirror and briefly wonder how my life got so off-track. Of course, I know the answer lies with me trusting Eduardo, but right now, it’s all gas, no brakes. High speed and going off the rails hard and fast.
“How’re doin’, hon?” Danica calls through the curtain.
“Okay.” I hear the crack in my voice, but what choice do I have? Eduardo clearly saw me before and is most likely waiting to pounce right outside the club with that maniac Benito. Or maybe he even wheedled his way back into the club. When it comes to conniving and conning people, my brother is the master.
Either way, my only chance is staying in this crowded club, even if it means getting up on that stage and taking off most of my clothes. I swallow hard, peel off my top andleggings, then proceed to figure out the intricacies of stripper clothes. The top is basically a bikini, but the G-string is another story. The sequined band is less than an inch wide with a small—no, tiny—patch in the front. It takes a bit of adjusting to put it all in place while keeping the sequins from scratching my more delicate parts. Kind of like an erotic Rubik’s Cube.
The curtain swooshes open, and Danica stands, hands on hips. “Shit, you look amazing.” She circles me. “When you rip away these pants, those guys are gonna lose their minds.” She hustles me over to one of the makeup tables, and I sit while she rummages through her makeup bag. “I know this is your first night, but next time, you gotta bring your own shit, okay?”
“Oh, yes, of course.” Hopefully, my first night would be my last.
Danica quickly does the basics with eyeliner and mascara, compliments my perfect tawny skin (thanks, Mom) then spins me toward the mirror.
“Wow.” I’ve never been the girl who wore a lot of makeup, and after the last six months in captivity, a shower every other day is a luxury, but I really look good.
“All right, ladies, you’re up in five,” a male voice calls from the door.
“That’s Ricky. He manages the place, and he’s also a Royal Bastard.”
“A Royal Bastard?” What on earth does that mean?
“The guys who hired you, sweetie. They’re part of the Royal Bastards MC. They own this place and tons of other shit in Tijuana.” Danica leans in. “I had my eye on Smoke, the president, but he’s hooked up with a cartel princess.”
“Are the Royal Bastards connected to the cartel?” Just my luck, I probably walked into another trap without even knowing it.
“No, no, apparently the Bastards offed some cartel boss, and that’s how they got this place and the fight club.”
“Fight club?” Now that’s something I could get behind.
“Yeah, about ten minutes from here, just outside the city—underground cage fighting. They even brought on women recently. Supposed to be a huge moneymaker. Got so big, they added on to the gym, then put on a second floor to house the fighters.”
“Interesting.”
“Forget that shit. There’s no fuckin’ way I’d want to get my brains beat in. Had enough of that with my ex.”
Outside Tijuana sounds like an excellent place to hide until it’s safe to make my next move. “Are they still looking for fighters?”
“Don’t know." Danica stuffs her makeup into a zippered pouch. “Diesel runs the fights.”
“And he’s a Royal Bastard too?”
“Yup, and tonight’s his birthday.”
So my biker bestie has a name: Diesel.
Danica flicks her hand at me. “That’s why they hired you and some other new girls. Do a good job tonight, and maybe they’ll keep you on here.”
Or maybe I’ll find out more about the fight club, use my martial arts training to secure the money I need for my passport, and keep my clothes on.
