Prizefight: The Hell Raiders MC Goes MMA (4 page)

I stood with my back to the wall, trying to look as bored and disinterested as Tavis and Desmond's men. Stella finally managed to get a sit-down with the Deuces OGs. As an Enforcer, I don't usually get included in the power meetings and bullshit that goes on with the heads of MCs and other crews, and I was absolutely not interested. Politics bored the fuck out of me. But in my cover as Mr. Staladknovski's bodyguard, I didn't have much choice.

Rather than the mind-numbing exchange of nonsense and trash-talk I expected, I learned Stella knew how to get shit to the point. Even more interesting, he spoke with an Eastern European accent and no trace of his usual southern drawl. Everything about him was always redneck as hell, but suddenly my Brother seemed like he'd be equally comfortable at some high society gala. I couldn't wrap my head around it.

In a suit that probably cost more than I could make in a month of good fights, Stella sat straight and perfect in the cheap folding chair. "Gentlemen. I am here on behalf of the Staladknovski Family to inquire about certain goods our information indicates you have access to. If an amenable arrangement can be reached, we would be interested in acquiring these goods from your…organization."

Desmond, clearly in the bad gangster role, sat back and crossed his arms. His dark gaze missed nothing, especially not the Cartier watch with its alligator band. Hell, even I knew that thing cost more than a lot of houses. "What makes you so sure the Deuces want to make any kind of arrangement with you or your family?"

"You would like to wear a watch worth more than one hundred thousand dollars, yes? Five thousand dollar shoes? A twenty thousand dollar suit?" He waited for a flicker of greed in Desmond's eyes. "I see, you would. Then you see how a business arrangement with my family could be profitable, I'm sure."

Desmond shrugged and stared for a moment. "Why the Deuces? You got that much green, you can get any fucking body to sell you what you want."

"You are new, and hungry. You will work harder than an established enterprise to meet our needs."

Desmond exchanged a look with Tavis, who shrugged. "What you got in mind, man?"

Stella's shoulders tightened, just the faintest bit, and instantly put me on alert. "I am in the market for certain types of hardware. Which I am told you have access to."

Tavis scowled and I suddenly readjusted my assessment of who the bad gangster was in this pair. "Look, homes, I ain't tryna jack you or nothin'. But quit beatin' aroun' the motherfuckin' bush and say it straight out, or I bounce."

Stella stayed silent for a long moment. "Fine. My people tell me you have access to guns in the quantities I need."

"Guns, huh? When my boys tol' me you was askin' around, I checked you out."

"And what did you find?" The tension in Stella's shoulders increased, and I sensed the explosion that would come if he got the wrong reply.

"You keep your word and you get what you want. And nobody sees you. So why you here instead o' having' somebody else do the legwork?" Tavis dropped the gangster talk.

The sharp bastard suspected a setup. I shifted a little to make sure my knife could hit him in the throat if the need arose. If this shit went sideways, I was taking him out first.

No need to worry though. "I was in town for other business. This," Stella made a gesture as if to include the whole area, that fancy watch glittering and catching the light, "is just a side project."

Tavis looked to Desmond and they seemed to communicate without words, then Desmond spoke again. "I don't know, man. We could probably work somethin' out."

Tavis slapped a hand on the table. "What the fuck? You know we'd have to get with Royse first." He rose from his seat. "Fuck this. I'm out. Ain't making no deal." With his bodyguard in the lead, Tavis slouched from the room, slamming the door on his way.

Desmond raised his hands and let them drop. "Well, that's it. Thanks, but we can't do it."

Stella dropped his head in feigned remorse. The loss of the deal meant nothing, now that we knew who the supplier was.

I knew Royse all too well. Keeping my face blank through Stella closing the meeting was harder than I'd thought it might be. Everything I knew about the low-life kept churning through my head, and I really needed to talk it through with Stella, but it would have to wait.

The three minutes until we walked out went down in the record books for the longest stretch of one hundred and eighty seconds ever. Out on the street, we climbed into the rental Stella insisted on for this little leg of the mission, and got the hell back to our hotel.

We hit our room in total agreement. Stella changed back to himself, and I packed our shit at double speed. The faster we got out of Louisville, the happier I would be. And I'd rather not have a Deuces bullet in my head when I hit the city limits.

One good thing about traipsing around town for the better part of a week, I'd found several alternative routes out of town and acquainted myself with the back alleys and short cuts. As soon as we checked out, I had the Chevelle fired up and ready. We'd kept the car under wraps during our stay, so hopefully Tavis and Desmond would think we were driving the nice luxury sedan we rented.

I turned toward the rear exit of the parking garage, ready to make our escape. The time in Louisville wore on my nerves, and I itched for action of some kind, even just the chance the drive fast. Fucking pitiful.

"Where you going, man?" Stella leaned to look over his shoulder and check oncoming traffic for me.

Pride inflated my chest, just a little. "I found us some different routes out of town, while I was out for my runs in the mornings. Ol' Tavis and Desmond will think we're still sitting in the hotel."

Stella grinned. "Good thinking. Especially since I had a couple porters head out in the rental. They'll head over to the airport and drop it off for us, after they roll around town a while and run out some gas. By the time the Deuces' boys get a look at who's in it, we'll be halfway home."

Once, as we wound our way through narrow down-town streets working our way toward one of the many small towns Louisville had swallowed during its growth, I thought I spotted a tail in the rearview. Stella watched, though, and the suspicious car dropped away, and nothing took its place. We both breathed a lot easier by the time we hit Elizabethtown and the Bluegrass Parkway carried us toward home.

Stags Leap hadn't changed a single particle during our absence. Of course, I hadn't expected it to. Damn place
never
changed. Well, with the exception of the ATM on the corner across from the Rattlesnake. Even the gas station still used the old analog pumps. All two of them. Reminded me every time I went there of why I moved across the river. Small towns had their advantages, but for someone that wanted to move up on the MMA circuit, the drawbacks outweighed them.

Several Hell Raiders' bikes sat at the Rattlesnake, so I turned into the gravel lot so we could find out where Kellen was hiding out. We had to track the bastard down and let him know what we'd found out in Louisville.

The parking lot lights made the paint gleam over the Chevelle's hood. Damn, it would take me a fucking week to get all the dead bugs and dirt off. I gave the car a silent apology and headed inside with Stella.

Rita's Rattlesnake Tavern had an odd layout, and the owner converted it from family diner to bar every evening, with a live band and all. We made our way through the entry and headed for the bar and a cold beer. The band rocked their version of Guns 'N Roses
Welcome To The Jungle
to a packed house.

And in the middle of the crowd, the Hell Raiders' usual table sat like an island. The regulars knew not to get too close, even without the glares from Fabio and some of the other Raiders. We weren't always welcome in the Rattlesnake, but that shit got sorted a while back.

Beer in hand, I made my way over and dropped into a chair. A chin lift to Fabio took care of the helloes. "Kellen been around?"

Badger, the head of the Raiders Home Guard, leaned back in his seat. "Nah, man, he's out at the clubhouse. He best be careful, though. Staying this late, his ol' lady might lock him out of the house." Everyone around the table laughed, even though we all knew it wouldn't happen. Vicki, Kellen's woman, had her own business to run, so she understood.

We sat there and exchanged gossip and finished our beers, then headed back out. Shit, I really hated the idea of taking the Chevelle up that damn dirt lane to the clubhouse, but it couldn't be helped. I slowed way down for the turn to make sure I missed the hellacious pothole Kellen kept not getting fixed. 

Stella laughed. "What the fuck, man? It's already dirty. You have to wash it, what's a little more dirt?"

"See, fucker, that's why you drive a beat to hell Toyota. I don't need gravel pings or chips. And dirt's an abrasive. Enough of it will eat a paint job over time." Bastard. Should know better than give me grief over the car. Kellen's pickup sat in a grassy area to one side, and I pulled in beside it.

One of the guys from the Rattlesnake called ahead and Kellen met us on the porch. After the usual arm clasp greeting, we followed him to his office. Stella summed up our trip quickly, and we waited for Kellen's questions.

"They had no idea you were Raiders?"

The laugh wouldn't stay put. "Nah, man, you should see Stella all cleaned up. Looks like a regular rich dude. And we left everything Hell Raider back at my place so there wouldn't be a chance of someone seeing."

"Good." He asked a few more questions about specific details, and we answered. "Ryker, you know Royse, right?"

"As little as possible. He's a slimy bastard. Organizes some of the underground fights, loan shark, bookmaking, pimps out chicks who owe him." That thing with Elena still pissed me off. Hell, if it hadn't been for our grandparents helping, back when my mom got sick, that could have been my fucking sister. I was just a kid at the time, but my older sister got a job to help out until mom was back on her feet. But what if our grandparents hadn't been there? Or if mom hadn't recovered?

Kellen nodded. "Does he know you're a Hell Raider?"

"I doubt it. He doesn't pay any attention to the fighters beyond setting odds and making money off us."

"Good. Okay, let me think about this for a bit. Need to get you into his inner circle so we can bring his ass down hard." He sort of waved us away. "Go on, get out of here, get some rest. I'll call you when I have something."

Stella stayed quiet as we drove out of Stags Leap and headed across the river. It was a safe bet he wanted his secret kept safe, but he wouldn't disrespect me by asking. Well, he had nothing to worry about. Other than busting his chops a little about cleaning up like a rich dude, I wouldn't say anything.

Elena:

Fuck. It was a bad date, my third in a week, but this one took it to a new level when his fist smashed into my face. An open-handed slap, or even a backhand, was one thing, but a fist could do serious damage. A couple of bruises, or a cut lip, could be covered up. Swelling and gashes couldn't.

Suspicion hit when Royse sent me to motel I hadn't been to before. He normally used one of three, and the staff knew us, and I think some of them even sort of looked out for us. A new motel meant absolutely no safety net. And I suddenly needed one.

The john drew back to hit again, and I braced myself. Sure, I could have probably ducked or something, but that tended to just piss them off more and make the beating worse. Better to take a couple of hits than to get myself shot. That was one of the first lessons I learned about hooking. The blow rocked my head back and my vision went dark for a few seconds. Panic hit hard and made me try to pull away before he could hit me again.

Big mistake.

"Get back here, you stupid cunt! I did not say you could move." Heavy alcohol fumes from his breath burned my eyes. The next punch made me cry out, and he stifled it with a hand over my mouth. "You make another sound and I'll kill you."

This one wasn't going to stop with a few bruises and a split lip. I forced my muscles to go soft. I had to do whatever it took to stay alive until I could get away. He hit me again and I didn't need to fake my knees going weak. I sagged in his grip and fought to breathe through the pain.

He thrust me away from him and I stumbled and fell to the floor against the flimsy stand that held the TV. The stand banged into the wall and sagged, and I had to roll out of the way as the TV crashed to the floor. For just an instant, he froze and fear flashed in his eyes.

Something heavy banged against the wall from the other side. "Keep it down in there, or I'm calling the cops!" The male voice from the next room sounded seriously pissed.

"Sorry, dropped something," my date called out in reply.

I drew a breath to scream in the same instant a huge knife appeared in his hand. He made a threatening gesture, warning me to stay quiet.

He fully intended to kill me. I saw it clear as day in his face.

I let that scream loose and scrambled back, grabbing the broken leg of the TV stand as I went. Muffled curses from the next room reached my ears, letting me know I'd been heard. I screamed again, holding that damn piece of splintered wood in front of me like it could stop him.

"Hold on! I'm calling nine-one-one!" The shout came through the wall loud and clear.

My date pointed the knife at me and glared. "You fucking bitch. I will get you for this." And then he was gone. Just like that. Gone.

The faint echo of sirens came to me through the open door. I took a deep breath and said a little prayer of thanks. That came way too close.

The shakes started as the sirens came closer. I stumbled to the bed and sat, sort of hugging myself, and just tried to keep it together.

Realization hit. Oh. My. Fucking. God. Royse had set me up. I was supposed to die.

He
knew
!

Somehow, he found out my plans. This was his way of making sure I didn't get out.

Tears rolled down my face to mix with the blood from my split lip, and probably plenty of mascara, too, but I didn't care. What could I do? If he kept sending me to men he'd told to hurt me, or kill me, I wouldn't last long.

Two fucking weeks. I needed two more weeks before my first paycheck from the store. I wracked my brain for another way to get the money for mom and me to live on until then. The only answers I came up with were worse than Royse. What the fuck was I going to do?

I sat there and waited. No sense running at this point. My blood was all over the room, so they wouldn't have to try very hard to track me down, and then I'd have even more questions to answer. All too soon, the blue lights lit up the parking lot outside, strobing off the walls of the room.

The first cop came in with his gun drawn. "Who else is here?"

"Nobody now. He left." My voice sounded weird.

He still checked everywhere, including the moldy bathroom, while his partner waited just outside the door. Finally, he holstered his gun and came to stand in front of me. "We have the paramedics on the way, miss. Can you tell me what happened here?"

I went through it, leaving out certain details, like my being there as a whore. No need to catch a solicitation charge.

The cop looked doubtful, but the paramedics came in and sort of occupied me, so I couldn't easily answer questions. They kept saying I should go to the hospital and get checked for a concussion. That idea made me laugh. Like I could afford that shit. Finally, after a couple of butterfly strips and an ice pack, they made me sign that I refused transport.

By the time they let me leave, I itched to just crawl under the covers and hide from the world for a week. Too bad. If I did that, Royse would take my covers, along with everything else I'd managed to squirrel away.

My phone buzzed while I waited at the bus stop. I glanced at the screen. "Hi Royse, you calling to see if that bastard managed to kill me for you?" Anger mixed with the tiredness that already shook my bones until they hurt.

He took a deep breath, and I could easily imagine him looking upward, as if his life were so difficult. "What are you talking about, Elena?"

I glanced around. The young guy at the other end of the bench could have been a student, I guess, but it didn't matter. I'd rather not advertise what I was. Bad enough Royse did that. "This was the third bad job you've sent me on this week. And this one nearly killed me. Just lucky for me, he heard sirens and left." He couldn't know the guy in the next room called the cops, or that I made enough noise to raise suspicions.

He stayed silent for a minute, probably making notes about what to ask the john. Or how to find somebody who could do the job right. "Are you okay? Did he mark you up?"

A laugh that didn't sound at all like me came from my throat. "Of course not. Unless you count the black eye, the gash on my cheek, or the busted lip. Pretty sure there's a few other marks, too. Did you think he would kill me and leave a perfect corpse?"

The student guy glanced sideways at me and stood, moving outside the little shelter. Who could blame him? He probably thought whoever beat the hell out of me would come back for me, and didn't intend to be there for it.

"Elena." Royse's tone sent a shiver down my spine. "I don't like what you're implying. Go home, sleep it off, and come see me at the office tomorrow morning." He hung up, the threat hanging clear in my ear.

I put my phone back in my purse and slumped back on the bench to wait another half hour for the bus. Being broke sucked. I wanted nothing more than a hot shower and the lumpy bed I shared with my mom, but here I was stuck on a hard bench as the night air started to chill.

The shower at the motel had been tempting, but that guy still had the key card. With my luck, he'd come back in and catch me. Better to make do with the cold shower at home. I should have told Royse to send one of the drivers to pick me up. He set this up, the least he could do was make sure I had a ride back home.

A car drove past, really slow, and the driver sure seemed to pay a lot of attention to the bus stop, but finally, it went on. A bright orange scooter buzzed around the corner and down the street.

The bus eventually rolled up, and I stood, aching all over, and climbed on. The driver went out of his way to hit every pothole he could find and every jolt shot pain through my bones. The four stops before mine seemed like a hundred, but I survived, and when the time came, stepped off the bus just two blocks from home.

At times like this, it was hard not to notice how seedy the area was. Right by the bus stop, three boarded up businesses stood as reminders. Layer upon layer of graffiti covered their brick walls, and cigarette butts and broken glass had piled up against the edges of the sidewalk.

I tried to walk a little faster past the alley that yawned between two of the buildings. The place always gave me the creeps, bad. The stupid heels Royse always made me wear clicked on the concrete, and told any damn fool a woman walked down the street.

Something clattered a few feet back in the alley and my heart jumped into my throat. It took everything I had not to run, even though I knew it would let anyone watching know how scared I was. A woman showing fear, on the street alone, at night might as well just stand still and let them get her. So I concentrated on walking, staying alert, and getting my ass home.

Movement caught my eye in the vacant lot across the street, and I nearly stopped in my tracks. Three bangers made their way through the high grass, staring straight at me. Fear turned my legs to jelly and they refused to cooperate.

One of the men brandished a gun in my direction. "Get on out of here, bitch. Ain't got time to pop a cap in your head."

He didn't have to tell me twice. I ran.

The heels didn't make it easy, but I managed.

Halfway through the next block, I stumbled and my ankle rolled painfully. A few steps further, the heel broke off the same shoe. I kept going.

Despite the odds, I made it to my building, out of breath and holding my side. Dread shot through me as I pushed through the door and into the stairwell. Hopefully, Juaquin wouldn't hear me and come out asking questions. I should have known better than to hope, though.

"Elena?" He came out, and hissed when he saw my face in the crappy light. "What the hell happened to you?" His fingers were gentle as he pushed my hair back to get a better look.

"It's nothing." I drew back from his touch. "I have to get up to mom."

"Girl, you go in looking like that, she's gonna flip her shit. You need to clean up first."

I started to shake my head, but it hurt too much. "Not much of a way to clean this shit up. A black eye I can handle, but there's swelling, too."

His eyes narrowed. "You ain't see yourself, have you? You got a hella lot more than a black eye to fix up." He caught my elbow in a soft grip. "Come inside. You need to get the blood off your face, at least. You look like you been in a zombie fight or some shit."

As bad as I hated to go into his apartment, when he put it like that, I had to protect mom. When something upset her, she hurt worse. "Okay." I followed him through his door.

The muted TV made weird shadows on everything, but I made out a couch, and a coffee table with a laptop computer open on it. As he directed me through a door to the bathroom, I suddenly realized Juaquin's apartment was twice the size of the others. He actually had a separate bedroom, with a door and everything.

His bathroom was bigger, too, with an actual bathtub instead of just a crappy shower stall. The harsh light burned my eyes, especially since it was right over the mirror. The face staring back at me belonged to a stranger. My cheek was swollen and dark purple. The white of the butterfly strip stood out stark against my skin. The eye on the same side was swollen almost closed, the visible white part filled with blood.

Makeup had run all over my face, and mixed with blood. The dried mixture really did make me look like I'd come through a war zone or something. Juaquin was right. If mom saw that, she'd have lost her shit.