Page 39 of Saving Blood

“Not what I hear around the club. Most of the strippers say you ain’t been laid in months ‘cause of that tiny dick of yours.”

“Fuck you.” Bolt winds up, landing his thick fist right above my jaw. The sweet spot fucking up the cheekbone, the mouth and the eye.

He follows up with some gut shots and a few hits to my ribs. I’m able to deflect the first few, but the man packs a powerful punch, and when he ends with an uppercut, I stagger backwards.

Bolt surveys the damage. “Alright, I think Smoke will be satisfied.”

I taste my own blood as I carefully touch the side of my face. “You hadda fuckin’ hit me on the same side of my face twice?”

Bolt pouts. “You shouldn’t have made those cracks about my dick.”

“If I hadn’t, we’d still be standing out here.”

Bolt hunches his massive shoulders. “I didn’t enjoy it.” Then he holds out his fist. “No hard feelings.”

“C’mere, you big ape.” We do the male backslap thing. “All good.” Then we troop back into The Tropics. I head for the kitchen for some ice ‘cause my jaw and cheekbone are already blowing up.

17

MAXINE

I lie on the sheets surrounded by Blood’s scent and our hot, out-of-control sex. I’d managed to keep my game face on during his questions, but it wasn’t easy. He totally threw me when he mentioned the scars on my back. They’d become such a part of me, I’d almost forgotten they were there. Old ones from my parents’ abuse and the newer ones from when I tried to escape Hector’s compound. Another tactic of Hector’s to break the spirit and mind. His sadistic way of controlling the weak and making them weaker.

Hector craves control the way an addict craves crack. Many people throw around the word “narcissist,” but it definitely applies to Hector. Only interested in something if it concerns him. Add dysfunction to a criminal, and it makes him one-minded and deadly.

I startle when my phone vibrates on the bedside table. For a split second, I fantasize it’s Blood telling me he misses me already.

“Hello.”

“I would hope, after all your time spent with the biker, you’d have something of interest for me.”

I sit up in bed and pull the sheet over myself. Stupid move, but I always get the sensation Hector is watching even when it’s logically impossible.

“Like most outlaws, he’s good at keeping secrets.”

“Which means you have nothing.”

“I managed to evade any questions he asked me.”

“But you don’t have anything to report about Blood or the Royal Bastards.”

“He thinks you’re the slime of the earth.” I can’t help the sarcasm. “I think the words he used were ‘motherfucking bastard.’”

Silence. “Someday that smart mouth is going to get you in trouble.”

Too late, I think it already has—but I have to stay on point and close down the other remarks flooding my brain.

“Just remember where your loyalties lie,” Hector warns, then the phone goes dead.

Alliance, allegiance, loyalty, all words Hector throws around without a second thought. Only one problem: they apply tohiswants and needs—no one else’s.

I have to focus on my main goal—working on Blood’s emotions. I’d make it sound like helping me would screw with Hector, then sit back and hope his hate for Hector did the rest.

BLOOD

The next day, Diesel ambles into my office smirking at my busted face. “Shit, always wondered what would happen if I missed a church meeting.”

After Bolt’s beatdown last night, I snatched a baggie full of ice, headed for my room over The Tropics, had a shot of Jack, then lit up a blunt. The Jack and the weed eased the pulsing pain in my cheekbone but did nothing for the vivid visual of Maxine’s perfect naked body.

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