Falling into step beside Lace, he shoved his hands into his jean’s pockets. “Let me guess, in the immortal words of Brad Pitt—what happens in fight club, stays in fight club?”
Lace reached out and grabbed the door handle, a smirk formed. “Nah, this is completely legal, in a sense. It’s on Native lands, so the local authorities can’t touch us, and we hand off a percentage to the Res police as a kickback. Our hands are clean.”
Sting let out a low whistle of appreciation when he stepped into the building. “You got lucky then.”
“It’s got nothing to do with luck. It’s called having a brain.”
The building was an old cow barn made of wood and steel, twenty-foot-high ceilings and a rustic tin roof. The sour smell of bovine still lingered in the air with a mixture of sweat and blood from the many fights that had taken place. Over the years, various owners slowly converted the building into an arena of sorts, bringing in old bleachers that were placed against the walls forming a semicircle on the dirt packed floor. In the center, was a version of a boxing ring, hay bales were the only thing separating the fighters from the spectators.
Hanging from the very center of the ceiling was an enclosed steel cage. It looked to be about twenty-five feet across and seven-feet-tall, octagon in design. If it was lowered to the dirt flooring, it would fit just inside the hay bales.
Curious, Sting casually pointed up toward the monstrosity. “What’s the cage for, Lace?”
Lace paused and looked up with a chuckle. Turning slightly toward him, her lips twitched in what Sting could only assume was a smile. “That’s for very special fights.” Her head nodded in the direction of the crowd. “See those two bitches over there?”
The women Lace was referring to took Sting off guard. They were trolling the fight ring, the crowd parting like the Red Sea for them. Just by looking at them, one would never have guessed they were women.
The shorter of the two had close cut sandy brown hair with an athletic build. Both of her arms were sleeved with ink, bright and colorful. Low slung jeans were haphazardly stuffed into a pair of black half-laced up boots, her muscle shirt hidden by her black vest that sported a three-piece patch Sting couldn’t make out.
The taller girl also had short hair, but her sides were shaved, leaving rich brown hair in a faux-hawk fashion, riding glasses propped on the back of her neck, hiding a tattoo from view. One arm was sleeved, half hidden by the tight red T-shirt whose front was tucked behind a belt buckle. Loose black jeans covered her Doc Martins that looked to have seen some asphalt grime in their days.
“Yeah, I see them.” Sting looked back to Lace, swearing he saw a momentary flicker of affection behind the cold hazel eyes.
“That’s Nytemare and Chaos from the Revelations MC. They’re a support club to us, crotch rockets only crew. Those two have been the only two to fight in that ring. Two go in, one comes out—no rules apply.”
“No rules?”
Lace nodded as she moved toward the back once more. “You’re either knocked the fuck out or dead.” She looked back over her shoulder at him before she spoke again. “You think Viper is bad? Fuck with their crew or me, and find out just how bad it can get. Those two are my ride or die bitches. We go way back.”
Sting couldn’t help but wonder just what the fuck Steel had gotten his ass into. He’d heard about the RWMC, but wasn’t aware there were women out there worse than Viper. Was that even possible?
“Why are they only two that have fought in it?”
“People like to live,” Lace stated in a very matter-of-fact tone. “The fights here range from boxing, to street fighting, to MMA, to straight up brawling. That cage is for bare knuckled fury or a dispute that needs to be settled straight up old school. Once people witnessed those two in there, it’s rare to have anyone ask for a caged match.”
Sting’s attention was drawn to the crowd going wild over two men fighting, both bloodied and winded in the makeshift ring. Durty was in the middle of the ring, dressed in a tight referee shirt that hugged her torso and a pair of black jean shorts, showing off her shapely legs.
“Excuse me, Lace?”
A female voice Sting didn’t recognize, pulled him out of his silent inspection, causing him to turn his attention to the two women.
“Yeah?” Lace sidestepped two staggering men, motioning Sting to follow them. “What’s up, Fenix?”
“Well, uh,” the girl stammered as she trailed after Lace. “I’ve got some bad news.”
Sting looked between the two as they came to a stop right beside a concession stand. Viper and a curly haired girl were behind the counter, serving drinks that ranged from water to beer. He swore he could smell popcorn too.
“Out with it, Fenix.” Lace looked exasperated. “Not trying to be rude, Brett. This is Diane, or as we like to call her, Fenix.”
“Pleasure to meet you and all that polite shit I’m supposed to say.”
Sting nodded to the chestnut-haired girl, focusing once more on the crowd, acting like he wasn’t eavesdropping on the women’s conversation. He needed to make sure none of the Warriors showed up anyway. Though, it was difficult to keep from drooling over the woman in the ring. She was looking fine as hell in that outfit.
“Someone challenged you.”
Lace sighed, and Sting turned as she yanked open the door to the stand and stepped inside. May as well traipse after them, he wanted his caffeine fix.
“Who?” Lace asked as she picked up two plastic cups. “How do you take your coffee?”
“Black.” He nodded in thanks as she passed him a steaming cup.
Fenix looked away from them both, her eyes dropping to her feet. “Tiopa Runningbear.”
Lace’s shoulders sagged, and her head slowly shook. Blowing on her coffee, she leaned against the counter, carefully taking a sip of the hot liquid. “Seriously?”
“Who’s she?”
“One of the reservation bitches who thinks her shit don’t stink.” Lace sighed, running her fingers through her short pink strands of hair.
The girl who looked like Viper strolled up and clapped Sting on the shoulder. “She thinks because she’s Indian, she’s She-Ra. Oh, I’m Stiletto, by the way. Guess you’re the stud that has Durty all up in a twist, huh?”
“Brett,” he held out his hand to grasp hers and give it a squeeze and shake with his award-winning smile. Nice knowing Durty was talking about him when he wasn’t around. Turning his attention back to Lace, he lifted one shoulder and let it fall. “So, kick her ass then? What’s the issue?”
“The only issue is she’s the daughter of one of the tribal council. They all know once you enter the Battleground, there’s no rules and no pasts or relations. But some people have a problem leaving that shit at the door.”
The image was becoming clearer by the minute. “And she’s one of them.”
“Give the man a cookie.” Lace smirked as she finished her coffee and set the cup aside.
“Any betting going on?”
Fenix nodded, pulling her long tresses up into a pony tail, her voice rising over the sudden eruption of yelling and applause from the crowd. “Nothing big, just personal betting. I handle all of us girls and our wagers.”
Sting could only smile on the inside. It’d be a perfect outfit for the guys to dip their fingers in. It’d be legal to have betting on the land and it was right up their alley. “Guess I’ll be putting money on you, Lace.”
She snorted as her name was called out by Durty over a bullhorn. Pushing off of the counter, she pulled off her rings and handed them to Fenix. “Don’t lose those, Prospect.” A warning was clear in her voice as she stepped past everyone and made her way to the ring.
Sting stepped in behind the line of girls that followed Lace toward the center of the ring. As Durty announced the challenger, heavy metal slammed through the PA system, Drowning Pool growling about bodies hitting the floor. He noticed a jacked-up truck backed into the building, a DJ
working out of the bed, a large series of sound equipment was hooked into the speakers of the warehouse.
The woman who challenged Lace was bouncing around the ring, keeping her muscles active and warm, making Sting do a double take. The woman was fucking huge. She was at least six-foot-three and if he had to guess her weight, she’d be close to three hundred pounds, not the two hundred he assumed Lace was.
Durty’s voice rang out over the loud speakers, introducing Lace, as New Kids on the Block’s, Hangin’ Tough, reverberated through the building.
Sting looked over as the crowd erupted into laughter and cheers when Lace entered the ring, waving her middle finger at Durty, who’d climbed up into the back of the truck, so the crowd could see her when she made the contestant announcement.
“Payback is a bitch, Durty,” Lace called out over the spectators and their clapping.
Durty blew Lace a kiss, then locked eyes with Sting, causing him to lift up the corner of his mouth.
There was something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but whatever it was, she did it for him. He hated that he couldn’t tell her who he really was, but it was part of keeping them all safe.
“Umph!” The air rushed out of his lungs as he was hip checked by Viper, nearly sending him into the poor prospect standing on his other side. “I think you’ve bruised me enough for one week, Viper. My nuts are still recovering.”
“At least you aren’t singing soprano anymore.” Her brows bounced, arm lifting to point at Lace. “She get her coffee?”
“We both did, thanks.” Sting shifted his weight as Durty hit a cattle bell, the echo clanged to signal the start of the fight.
What happened next would forever be marked as the most dominating fight Sting had ever witnessed. It was blatantly obvious Lace was in no mood to be in the ring, standing there still as a tree, a look of sheer boredom written across her face. The other girl rushed toward Lace, her arms spread open in a clear attempt to grab Lace, using her size and weight as an advantage.
It never happened.
At the last possible second, Lace lunged forward, throwing a right cross while in mid-air, landing squarely on her opponent’s chin. Their bodies crashed into one another, the girl’s head snapped to the side just as blood splattered on the hay bales. Her body crumbled to the floor in a limp pile. Lace stood over the fallen opponent, composing herself, smoothing down the front of her shirt, before turning and strolling casually out of the ring.
“Holy shit,” Sting breathed out, impressed by the precision and quickness of the blow Lace dealt.
“Dude,” Viper laughed, falling into him. “Someone call Detective Benson. I have a rape to report.”
Fenix giggled, handing Lace a bottle of water as she exited the ring. “Damn, Lace. I’ve never seen anything like that.”
“Yeah, well, I bet she won’t charge someone like that again.”
“That was sick.” Sting had no other word for what he’d witnessed. “Battlegrounds my ass. It’s more like the KO Corral.”
Lace gave off a shrug. “Precision beats power and timing beats speed.”
Sting swore she blushed as she quoted a famous fighter. “If that’s the case, remind me not to piss you off, Lace.”
****
When the alarm clock went off, it took everything Sting had not to throw the bitch across the room. Eight o’clock was way too early to be up after pulling an all-nighter with the girls. He didn’t get home until four in the morning.
Unfortunately, breakfast with Steel wasn’t going to wait.
Inconspicuous was the word as he rolled into the truck stop parking lot where he agreed to meet Steel for coffee and a bite to eat. He was dragging ass as he flopped down in the booth, opposite of Steel.
“You look like shit.”
Sting grunted, motioning for the waitress. “Yeah well, the ladies kept my ass up all night.”
“Oh? How so?”
Sting ordered his morning intake of caffeine, followed by an omelet, then focused on Steel once more. “I got introduced to the Battleground last night.”
Steel laughed, leaning back in his seat, throwing up an arm to rest on the edge of the booth’s bench top. “I’ve been there once or twice.”
“No one showed up out of the Warriors, though the other female crew made an appearance.”
“Nyte and Chaos?”
Sting nodded, thankfully taking a sip of his coffee, wincing as it burned the roof of his mouth. “Oh, yeah. Lace warned me about them.”
“Bri and Alyssa are their names, and they’ll do anything for Tilly. She’s known them for as long as I can remember. Always been there for her and vice versa.”
“Yeah, well. I’m not sure who scares me the most.”
“What do you mean?”
Cupping his hands around the warm mug, Sting tilted his head slightly. “Viper is one mean female, those two have killed in that ring. But Lace?” Sting shook his head, scoffing. “I watched her knock a giant bitch out last night with one swing.”
“These girls don’t fuck around, brother. But don’t forget, they’re still women. They do have certain limitations. When it comes down to it, a man can still overpower them. They just tend to fight dirtier and have no scruples.”
“And that’s what scares me.”
Steel half laughed, his arm dropping to pick up his coffee cup and motion for a refill. “Exactly. You’re a smart man.”
“Which brings me to my idea.” Sting leaned back and allowed the waitress to set down their breakfast and refill their mugs before he spoke up again. Scooping up his fork, he stabbed a piece of beef. “We’re missing out on a huge opportunity here, Steel.”
“If you want to bust your balls in a ring, be my guest.”
“Not fighting, taking bets. I watched people betting amongst themselves last night. It’s unorganized and a racquet you don’t want to pass up. Think about it. It’d be legal.”
Sting could see the wheels turning in Steel’s head as he laid out his plans.
Steel’s thumb rubbed across his brow, in thought. “I can talk to Tilly about it. I’ll have to feel her out though. I don’t need to tip her off we have people watching over her and the girls. You know that violent side you saw last night? I particularly don’t want to be on the receiving end of that, so we’ll have to tread carefully here. Not to mention, she might not want us moving in on her turf. She might see it as a threat, infringing on their business, since she and Viper set up the Battleground.”
“I can understand that.”
“We don’t need negative exposure for the club. People tend to get greedy in this sport, and if Tilly even allows this, we’ll have to give not only the Death’s Angels a kickback, but also Santa Muerte.” Steel lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “That’s the breaks on being a support club.”
“I guess we’ll see what she says then.” Sting sighed, knowing Steel was right following protocol. Didn’t mean he had to like it.
Chapter 11
Seven Nation’s Army
“You looked like a zebra hopping off the truck last night when Lace knocked that chick out.”
Durty grabbed a bar stool trying not to giggle at Stellar. Pulling it off of the table top, she glanced over her shoulder. “That was wicked. I’ve never seen Lace do anything like that before.”
“I have,” Fenix interjected. “It was a couple of months ago. She was at Skull Canyon and some heifer who didn’t know any better sat on her bike. I thought Lace was going to kill the bitch.”
“Ouch.” Stellar laughed, picking up a bottle of liquor to wipe down. “That’s one of the first things you learn in this world.”
“Not everyone gets a proper introduction into Biker 101, Stellar.” Durty snorted, tugging another stool down. “That’s why we have to put in the time. Just blows that some guys don’t teach their ol’ladies the same.”
“Heard.” Stellar nodded, picking up a bottle of tequila. “Did you see all
the money flowing last night?”
“We made a lot from the betting between us girls and some customers.” Fenix grabbed the dust mop, turning to walk backward as she pointed to Stellar. “You need to suggest we do this every weekend.”
Durty cocked an eyebrow and shook her head, nudging a stray stool into its cranny at the bar. “Nope. That would draw way too much attention and reduce the novelty of it. It’s better to have them begging for another fight, jonesing for their next fix. A consistent schedule is way too much and routine.”
A random text was sent out through a burner to alert people when the fights would take place. People signed up to fight upon their arrival to the Battleground. It was a perfect setup with no flaws.
“I guess you’re right,” Fenix grumbled, leaving to the back of the bar.
Durty rolled her eyes, scooping up a bar rag. “She’s got a lot to learn.”
Stellar tilted her head toward Durty, wagging a bottle of rum at her. “It wasn’t so long ago we were saying the same thing about you.”
She grinned, turning her attention to wiping a section of the bar top. “Yeah, yeah. I know. Sometimes you forget that fact.”
Durty sighed, trying not to remember her prospect days. It was hell. Not as bad as how the guys were treated, but it sure as hell wasn’t easy. Prospects were always someone’s bitch when they were in the training phase, proving their worth and loyalty to the sisterhood. God forbid if they asked an innocent question wrong.
During a party at the Roja’s club house, Durty had been instructed to go to the store to grab Lace some creamer since the guys forgot to get some. She’d asked Steel if he needed anything, and he told her to come back with a hooker. She learned her lesson rather quick on how to word questions, because of the games they liked to play. Durty searched for over three hours to find a hooker, knowing if she came back to the party empty handed, it would’ve been her ass. Luckily, she found one.
Fenix roamed back into the main area, pushing a mop bucket. “I’ve got a shift at the hospital tonight, so I’ll finish this up and head back to my place to catch a couple hours of sleep, if that’s okay, Stellar?”
Policy of Truth (Sacred Heart Continuum Series Book 1) Page 6
