Page 38
When I moved to Tucson, the distance made me feel free. So, when Mario was around, it felt easiest to do as he wanted. But Nikki was right. I lived with my head in the sand when it came to him. Now, I didn’t know what to do about it. Maybe being under Mario’s thumb forever was the penance I had to pay.
It wasn’t like I could go anywhere besides Los Muertos. My soul had splintered at some point, and when it had healed, it entombed the shards. I wasn’t a normal woman. Sure, I had a heart; I cared. But my thirst for vengeance and blood was not something I could bond over with the typical suburban housewife.
“Hi, Susan, how’s your Starbucks this morning? What’s this? Oh, these are just the bloody clothes I now have to burn. Arterial spray is a real bitch to get out in the wash.”
No. Those women didn’t know what it was like to look over their shoulder at every turn or feel the high of sliding a blade through flesh. They would never know the pleasure of executing men whose victims wouldn’t have otherwise seen justice.
Maybe I didn’t get to be cared for—to have love. Was this all part of atoning for my original sin? Maybe seeing the blood of evil men on my hands was the only thing my heart deserved.
Ironically, Mario’s voice was the lifeline that pulled me out of my contemplative thoughts. “I haven’t shared the details with you because I have this deal handled. You can go to the club’s main area, and I’ll handle everything back here,” he stated, his tone flippant.
I bristled a bit at his dismissal. It felt odd. Mario was usually eager to keep me around, taking pleasure in disrupting my schedule and making me heel at his side like a damn dog. A vibration pulled my attention to my phone screen.
It looked like I’d been right to follow my gut and reach out to one of my trusted information channels.
“Sounds good, Mario. You know how to find me if you need me,” I replied absently. I turned to leave before Mario became too curious.
I had shit to do.
Ryan
For someone who was part of the criminal underworld, I was a homebody.
Honestly, my life was boring if you factored out the arms dealing, interrogating, and the fact that I worked around half-naked people every day. Or that I had nights like tonight, hiding in the back corner at one of Tucson’s illegal fight nights.
“Why do they not pick better ventilated venues?” I grumbled, trying to block out the smell of booze, sweat, and marijuana. By all accounts, I looked like I was lounging against the wall. Arms hung loosely by my sides, and my head ducked down, hidden by my hood. But I was on high alert. This wasn’t exactly friendly territory.
These fight nights were supposed to be neutral ground. But that meant you found all sorts of lowlifes showing up here. Making it the perfect place to scope out information. Not everyone in the criminal world was with a gang or the cartel. Some thrived at being silent and unseen, and for enough money or blackmail, you could get them to tell you what they heard in the whispers.
That was Sam. We came up together on the streets, and I still didn’t know her origin story. But I wasn’t big on asking about shit that was none of my business. I already knew all I needed about her. She was loyal as fuck and didn’t want anything to do with any organization. So the information was unbiased.
“Why are there cats fucking in the warehouse?” I asked in confusion. I searched for where the god-awful noise was coming from, only to find the source was two chicks going at it in the cage. They didn’t know what the fuck they were doing, and I rolled my eyes before glancing back around the room.
I never knew why Sam stayed in this world, but that question felt hypocritical. Tonight, I was glad I had a friend and resource like her in my pocket.
The flash of a familiar face caused me to home in on a corner of the warehouse. Reapers. My blood boiled. It wasn’t only Lotería they were banned from; it was all of Tucson. They were smarter this time around and chose not to wear their cuts. I wasn’t marching over to beat their asses because I didn’t want any of them knowing I was here.
Skeletons of Society were here too. Torque and some others were fighting tonight. Good fighters brought in big bucks, and Torque would do well in this circuit. If reapers weren’t here tonight, I might’ve stayed after meeting Sam to watch them. Disappointment hit like a punch to the gut when none of the Skeletons of Society members had piercing green eyes and a mustache I wanted to experience between my thighs.
But then again, I had no clue what it would be like between us now. Not that anything had happened between the two of us anyway. But the physical attraction and chemistry seemed to simmer between us from the very beginning.
“Fuckin’ Mario. And his shitty timing. With his shitty non-proposal proposal,” I whisper-yelled. There were enough drugs and drinks flowing tonight that no one looked my way as I talked to myself.
A sigh of defeat left my lips.
Gunner treated me differently than anyone else in my life. He gave me respect because I deserved it, not because he was frightened of what I’d do. He was an alpha male, comfortable with himself. He didn’t mind standing behind a woman, unlike Mario, where I wasn’t allowed to express my opinion if it differed from his.
Hell, it could be the same, and he wouldn’t want to hear it.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught someone hunched over and quickly walking toward me, face covered by a hat. I tightened my grip on my switchblade, ready to use it if needed. But at the last moment, Sam popped her head up, looking me in the eye. A sly smile reached her face as she wagged her brows.
“I know better than to rush up on you, Ryan. Bet your hand is already gripping that switchblade of yours,” she said, taking the seat next to me, both of our backs to the wall.
You learned really quick on the streets to be aware of your surroundings. It gave you the best chance of avoiding being jumped or attacked. And that still wasn’t always enough to prevent it.
I smiled at one of my oldest friends. “Sam, you look like shit.”
She tried to hide the smile playing at her lips with a scowl.
