“Yep, she got any weak spots?”
“None that I’ve noticed. She’s not super skilled all around, just average. Her kick is not very high or powerful, but enough to hurt. However, she always seems to land that headshot and down they go. Her record doesn’t reflect her overall skill as a fighter. She’s lazy and relies solely on that temple tap for a win. Avoid it, and you’ll force her to fight, and then her weakness will show. She’ll tire out, and then you wail on her. Do that fucking power kick I’ve seen you land. That’s your money right there. Unless someone has watched you train, no one is expecting that height with that kind of power. Either way, take the bitch down.”
“Okay, let’s do this.”
Before she entered the octagon, she’d scanned the entire crowd and Killer wasn’t there. Disappointment overtook her, but she had to get her head on the fight. Killer was one of the top draws, so she knew she would see him soon enough.
As the ref checked her for cheats, he swiped her bangs away but was looking at her boobs. Andy cut her gaze toward Ozzy to see if the eagle-eyed man had noticed the cut. He squinted, but she entered before he could tell.
Sarah “Sleep Tight” Stevens was inside bouncing on the balls of her feet. When the ref gave the rules and they bumped fists, Sarah growled. Andy blew her a kiss and smiled, making sure her opponent could read CUNT on her mouthguard.
The fight was on and the chick just kept bouncing and trying the land that left, just as Cap said. Andy was getting tired just watching her. When she finally stilled long enough to set up for her shot, Andy landed a flurry of punches to her face. She recovered and came back swinging wildly.
This chick is crazy and undertrained. That was a deadly combination for a fight where there were rules. Because that meant one fighter would be following them, but someone like Sarah would not.
It was nearing the end of round two when Andy got caught in her own head and let her guard down. She was thinking about how to end the fucking fight before three so Ozzy would give her another chance and boom. The left temple tap. Andy stumbled and went to her knees. Before Sarah could punch her while she was down, the round ended. Thank God. She was practically seeing blue cartoon birds flying around her head.
“Shit. How many fingers am I holding up?” It was Cap’s voice. She focused on his blurry fingers, but all she saw was red. “You’re bleeding like a stuck pig.” He was dabbing at her temple, the one she’d cut. Or at least she felt like she had, but the memory was just out of reach.
“Fuck your fingers. Let me at her. She is going down.”
He was shining a light in her eyes and it hurt. “Not sure that’s a good idea. I think we need to get you looked at.”
Andy grabbed his wrist as he went to raise his hand to pull her out. “Please, Cap. Just give me twenty seconds into three. I promise I’ll go to the ER and say I was mugged as soon as I’m done, but give me twenty, that’s all I’m asking. What difference can less than half a minute make to anything now?”
It felt like it took him forever to decide. “Fine, but not a second more. If you don’t lay her out in nineteen seconds, I’m pulling you.”
He cleaned her blood again before she stood. Andy covered up her wobbles by bouncing around, which hurt like a bitch. Her head felt like it was in a vise and on fire.
As soon as three started, Andy didn’t hesitate or give her opponent a second to prepare, she sprinted across the mat and launched herself feet first into the other woman’s throat.
They both hit the mat, but Andy was the only one who got back up. Cap was at her side immediately. “You only needed nine. Good job, now, you’re getting changed and I’m driving you to the ER.”
By the time Cap walked her into the ER declaring she’d been attacked, she’d thrown up a few times. He said he didn’t see what happened but got there after. She felt fuzzy. Her skin was fuzzy, her brain was fuzzy, her hearing and vision too.
Fuzzy, fuzzy, fuzzy. She was rocking one hell of a headache. Something was tickling at the edge of her understanding, but she couldn’t really grab it. The nurses took her from Cap. He was a trainer at her gym, but she’d never worked with him. Maybe she was mugged outside of the gym or something.
“Ma’am, what’s your name?” they asked as they examined her.
“Andrea Marx.”
“Do you know the date?”
“May fourteenth unless it’s after midnight already.”
They cleaned the cut on her temple and stuck something to it.
“Can you tell us what happened to you?”
“Not really, no. But I have one doozy of a headache.”
Boy, did she. Especially with three people poking and prodding at her.
“I bet you do. What’s the last thing you remember?”
“Asking Lexi to look after Fern and not to wait up because I’d be home late tonight?” What did I have planned that I was going to be late? Oh snap, Ozzy called her that morning and gave her a fight. Did she miss it or was the attack a cover-up? She’d heard it from attending the fights as an observer. Mugging, carjacking, robbery, slip and fall. Well, she wouldn’t know until she talked to Ozzy or Cap. That would make sense why he was with her. Shit, did she win at least?
She had a strange feeling. One that was indescribable.
“Do you know what time that was?”
“It was around eight.” The nurses shared a look. Maybe one was a doctor. She seemed like the one giving all the orders. “What time is it now?”
“It’s just shy of one a.m. Sounds like that bump on your head maybe caused a little memory loss, but nothing major. I suspect you have a concussion; I’ve ordered some scans so we can know a little more, but we’ll be keeping you overnight. Do you want us to send in your friend before you’re admitted?” Overnight? Oh no. Lexi worked nights. Poor Fern had never spent a night alone since she brought her home. Oh, well, there was nothing she could do about it. Andy had taken care of her before she left, so surely one night wouldn’t be so bad.
“Yes, please.”
Thankfully, as they exited the curtained-off area, they dimmed the lights.
Cap entered the striped curtain and whistled low. “Shit, Andy, you look drunker than my ex. I told you that left temple tap would get you, but you only went to your knees. That bitch didn’t lay you flat. Nosiree.”
So, I made my fight.
“How’d I do?”
“You’re shitting me, right?”
“No, Cap, not shitting you. I remember leaving my apartment and saying bye to Lexi and Fern, but nada after that.”
“Oh, shit. Well, I can’t help you out with anything that happened before the fight, but in the cage, you were a beast. You were landing some good hits, but something distracted you at the end of two and she got that temple tap in. You fell to your knees, but I got you up, and you refused to quit. I was ready to call it and considering how your eyes look right now, maybe I should have.”
Andy interrupted. “Did she get another hit on me?”
“Nope.”
“Then pulling me wouldn’t have changed anything. So how did I avoid her in three then?”
“There was no three. You begged me for twenty seconds of three, but you only needed nine. You flew across the cage like a fucking video game fighter and landed that kick to her neck and she was done. I got you to the dressing room and then here. I told them you were attacked in the lot by your car. No need to expose anything we don’t need to.”
“Of course, I just don’t know if Ozzy will ever give me another fight.” Ozzy played rough and tough, but he had a soft spot for his patrons and fighters. As soon as he heard concussion, he wouldn’t book her for a really long time, if ever.
“Probably not, but a fighter’s life ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. Besides, you damage those hands and the world loses your art.”
Andy was taken aback. “How do you know what my day job is?” She’d never hidden the fact she worked at Horns & Halo; she just didn’t actively recruit at the gym
. Mostly because she’d been taught not to shit where you eat, but also because she was booked months in advance.
“Anyone who gets a fight at Ozzy’s is vetted. Plus, this is Vegas, locals know locals and off-strip gold mines, but we keep that shit to ourselves. Let the tourists have the boulevard, we get the rest.”
Cap wasn’t wrong. Maybe fighting wasn’t for her. She made decent money at Horns, so most would say her need to fight was all her daddy or boyfriend issues, anyway.
3
Thunder
PRESENT DAY
The room was more crowded than usual. Granite ran the club in his way. Most meetings were open to any fully patched member unless they were voting or discussing something for officers only. Just no cell phones, no computers, and no discussing what was said inside the room with those outside.
It was one of the many things Thunder liked about his brotherhood. They were discussing plans for Billie’s birthday. It was Bullseye’s first year with the club and Granite wanted them to feel as welcomed as possible.
Thunder dragged his attention away from the carved surface of the table. Three years with the club and the damn thing still fascinates the shit out of me. Thunder asked Granite about it once when he first took a seat as an officer.
“It was the darndest thing. Some big, bearded fucker I met at a rally down in Florida walked right up to me and slapped his card in my hand. He saw the president patch and said he carved shit. He wanted to carve a Phantoms table for fucking free, but I’d have to pay to transport it. He seemed like a decent guy, so I agreed.”
“Seriously? Some stranger just walked up to the president of the fucking Phantoms? What did Pound or Taps have to say about it?”
“Nothing. We’ve always known he likes to feel things out for himself,” Pound had said as he entered the room that day.
“Even Sully was there.” Granite had said. “He sized him up, nodded once and went for a beer. He’s the best judge of character I know. Anyway, I forgot all about it until months later, I get a text with the transport information.” Granite slammed the rest of his beer and leaned forward to run his fingers along one of the guns.
“Big fucking flatbed truck pulls up with ten dudes to deliver it. They were struggling too. Handed me the damn bill of laden and I about shit my pants. Table was free but the shipping fucking put a dent in my account. Stuck with the damn thing ever since because it ain’t going nowhere.”
Thunder pulled his head out of his ass when the voices discussing Phantoms’ business trailed off and all eyes were on Taps.
“Dude, seriously stop that shit. Can’t you just eat a donut like a normal human being?” Prez lobbed the question to his SGT at Arms and looked away, shaking his head.
“Normal is boring.” That was all he stated before returning to his breakfast, but threw in some moaning and groaning because, well, he’s Taps. “Besides, you banned me from bringing my little rubber chickens to meetings, so what else can I do, but eat.”
Those fucking chickens were on Thunder’s last nerve. No matter where they were or what was going on, there was a seventy five percent chance they’d get beaned with one if Taps was around.
“Stop tongue fucking that damn thing and let us know if you ordered the cake for Bullseye’s old lady’s party?”
“Of course, I did, I wouldn’t let them down. Vegan with the blackberries just like she likes. Why do you think I brought donuts for all of you ungrateful asshats? That sexy ass baker lady gave me a couple dozen for free because she wants the D.”
“Ugh.” The collective sigh was almost deafening.
“Go ahead and complain, but why do you think she gives me free donuts? She loves to watch me eat ‘em.”
“Yeah, well, we don’t, so knock it off. If that’s all settled, anyone who isn’t an officer or running a business can pound sand.”
Members slowly shuffled out the door and the music from the bar faded in. Once the door was closed and the music almost completely muffled, Granite got to business. “Priest, how do our monthly numbers look?”
The man who looked most out-of-place sitting at an MC table shuffled through some papers. Not a tattoo in sight. Oh, he had a fucking big one, they all did, but none that could be seen with his tee-shirt and black denim cut on.
“Not bad, Prez. Phantoms’ income is holding steady. It’ll be up next month for the poker run, it always takes a jump then. It’s up at the garage, just got some custom builds and paints. The front of the gun shop is steady, the back is up. Soft Tails is seeing a slight dip in the front, but we are up a touch in the back. All in all, not bad. I think it’s worth pointing out that Pipes Night brought in the most money of the month. One night and it carried the month for the front of the house.”
“Shit, really? Maybe I can take the stage one night. Eat my donuts in that sexy way I do, shake my dick, and make enough to get my custom done.” Taps looked stone-faced serious. Shit, knowing him, he probably was.
“Keep it in your pants, Donut. This club is not running a male strip club out of Soft Tails. The name alone makes it ridiculous.”
“Prez, he might be on to something.”
Thunder absorbed the glare of the men he called brothers and rolled his eyes. “Fuck, no. I’m not saying we let Taps do perverted things with food and shake his little johnson on stage.”
“Hey, I object to that gross misrepresentation of Mr. Johnson. Three is the new seven.” He dropped his gaze and baby-talked his crotch. “Right, Carlos? Yeah, you are perfectly adequate. He’s just jealous because that sexy baker is coming to see us on Saturday and not his grumpy ass. I’ll write you a sonnet. Dear Carlos—”
The room erupted in laughter for a multitude of reasons. Unfortunately for them, they knew three inches was in fact a gross misrepresentation. Emphasis on the gross. Taps was naked more often than clothed. Also, he was apparently calling it Carlos Johnson. Last week it was Clint Pounder, the week before that, Drill Sergeant Long. The man was rarely serious.
“Enough! Taps, ten, okay?” That was Granite’s way of getting Taps to drop the joker act and focus. It was just between them, but Taps’ entire demeanor would change. He would go all business for ten minutes.
“You got it.” Just like that, Taps was serious as a fucking heart attack.
“Okay, back to business.” Granite turned to Thunder.
“As mentioned, Pipes Night was a moneymaker. I agree the club ain’t running a male strip club. Blast had a very interesting conversation with the girls, and I think he gained some valuable information and a possible direction to head. Blast?”
“Why not offer the same back door service as we do with the girls? The girls are bringing in some bank. Lexi dropped a thousand in the till Friday.”
“Because we’re not pimps.” Pound didn’t sound thrilled with the idea.
“Well,” Taps started, making points on his fingers. “Our girls go on dates. We offer them protection. We take a cut of the money. Face it, we are just a cane and a hat away from the textbook definition of pimps.” So, not heart attack level serious, but enough to conduct club business.
“You work at Shooterz, you don’t know what really happens at Tails.” Thunder was defensive about being called a pimp. “Our girls don’t turn tricks. They sleep with who they want and when they want. If that happens in one of the apartments up top, we protect them. Boyfriend, husband, or one-night stand. It doesn’t matter. It happens on our property to someone under our protection, we get involved.”
The more he spoke, the madder he got. “And we do not take a cut of anything they make through sex, if that’s their thing. They do however pay us a little off the top from their dates, so we vet the asshole upfront. I’ve explained this before, but apparently some people have a hearing problem. Three of the dancers run a side hustle as escorts, not prostitutes. The G Lexi dropped us? It was from a high roller who wanted a pretty woman on his arm at the casino. She didn’t even kiss the fucker.”
Taps raised his hands in submission
. “Their body, their rules, their money. We just make sure the men who reach out to them don’t have a history of slitting throats or beating women. Back to the topic at hand. Blast?”
“Lexi wants to make it an actual business. She has a business degree of some sort and has a proposal for you, Prez. It looks promising from what she explained, and she wants to add men. More women are looking for non-sexual dates than men. The numbers look pretty sweet. Sweet enough to float Tails through the slow times and put some decent scratch in the club coffers, too.”
“Ooooooh, Sexy Lexi. She is not hard on the eyes at all.” It was the first time Trip had spoken all day, and of course it was about a woman. He wasn’t called Trip for nothing. He was always tripping and landing dick first in pussy he had no business in.
“You haven’t hit that yet? Shit, I thought you’d had every stripper from here to Reno,” Whiskey piped in. Both had damn sure made the rounds with the club girls.
Trip made the motion of racking a shotgun and aimed it at an invisible target and fired. “Shot down every damn time. After another year of rejection, I might start to think she’s just not into me.”
For a moment they all shook their heads in solidarity. As in, they all had baggage when it came to women and relationships. Different, but the same. Thunder’s mind drifted to the locker room of The Rage Cage three years ago. To the woman who would haunt him until the end of time. He didn’t even know her name, but that didn’t stop him from comparing her to every woman he’d met since.
Shit, she could have been a stage five clinger or a raging psycho for all he knew about her, but his gut said no. It told him that she could’ve been the best thing to happen to him outside the club.
And if he learned anything from flying the A-10, it was to listen to your gut.
If he’d only gotten her number.
If he’d only gotten her to his place for a repeat performance.
If he’d not fucked her face into a broken mirror.
Thunder (Desert Phantoms MC Book 1) Page 2