Badass in Disguise Chapter 234

Jade's POV:

The driver introduced himself as Miguel and pulled away from the curb, his tires kicking up dust. "You know, that place isn't for tourists. Especially not pretty American girls traveling alone."

"I'm not a tourist," I replied, watching the small town's buildings thin out as we headed toward the outskirts.

Miguel kept stealing glances at me. "Business then?" His tone suggested he had his own ideas about what kind of "business" a young woman might have at a fighting club.

I stared out the window, ignoring his implications. "Something like that."

"Are you with the club? Because I've lived here twelve years and never seen you around."

"The guy who runs that fighting club, I think he's American too," Miguel said, clearly trying to establish some connection. "You know him?"

I turned slightly toward him. "What do you mean by 'I think'?"

Miguel shrugged, navigating around a pothole. "They're pretty mysterious, you know? Been here twelve years and still haven't figured them out. The club gets busy every night. Winners get big money, but then..." he lowered his voice dramatically, "I never see those winners again. Poof! Gone."

Our conversation was interrupted as a black 4x4 approached from the opposite direction. Miguel immediately perked up, leaning his head out the window.

"Hey man, where'd you get that sweet new ride?" he shouted.

The driver of the black SUV - a younger guy with a scraggly beard and sunglasses - leaned out his window with a smug grin. "Some poor bastard's bad luck!"

Miguel laughed. "You dog! Tell me about it later, I've got a fare."

As he pulled his head back in, I studied his profile. "Friend of yours?"

"Coworker," Miguel replied, still grinning.

The SUV continued on its way - my SUV, to be precise. I felt a cold anger building but kept my expression neutral. We bounced along the unpaved road, Miguel seemingly enjoying the desert drive.

"So what's your connection to the club?" he pressed again.

"I don't know if I have a connection to the club yet," I said, watching his hands on the steering wheel. "But I definitely have a connection to your coworker's new car."

"Huh?" He turned toward me, confusion evident on his face.

I didn't hesitate. My hand shot out, grabbing his head and smashing it hard against the steering wheel. His nose broke with a satisfying crunch, and he slumped forward, dazed and bleeding.

Before he could recover, I reached across him, opened the driver's door, and shoved him out with a brutal kick. He tumbled onto the sand with a pained groan.

"Congratulations on being today's unlucky bastard," I called as I slammed the door shut and took control of the vehicle.

---

Twenty minutes later, I parked a safe distance from a weathered concrete building at the edge of town. No signs announced its purpose, but the reinforced door and small, high windows told me everything I needed to know. This was the fighting club.

Inside, the place was nearly deserted. A single ring dominated the center of the space, surrounded by rickety chairs and tables. The smell of sweat, blood, and disinfectant hung in the air. A bored-looking man cleaned glasses behind a makeshift bar, while two others swept the floor around the ring.

I ordered a beer I had no intention of drinking and positioned myself in a dark corner, watching. After about an hour of nothing interesting, I noticed movement on a metal staircase leading to a second floor. Two men descended, deep in conversation. I shifted slightly to hear them better.

"We're recruiting as many as possible," the taller one said, his voice low but urgent. "After what happened in New York and Princeton, we need to rebuild quickly."

The second man nodded. "AS and KH are confirmed dead. Shadow team lost several members too."

"Someone's targeting us systematically. The higher-ups think it might be payback from Shadow's last failed mission."

I nearly smiled at that.

---

I spent the afternoon cruising the town in Miguel's borrowed SUV, familiarizing myself with the layout. As I turned onto the main street, I noticed a black SUV parked outside a café. The driver - Miguel's coworker - was just climbing in.

Our eyes met through the windshields, and recognition dawned on his face. He shouted something to others nearby, and suddenly three black SUVs pulled out, falling into pursuit.

I gunned the engine, swerving around a fruit cart and down a narrow alley. The chase was on. The SUVs followed, their engines roaring. I led them through the maze-like streets of the old town, using every trick I knew to lose them. A hard left here, a sudden reverse there, and one by one, I managed to shake them off.

By the time I returned to the hotel, the sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple.

To my mild surprise, Miguel himself was waiting in the lobby, a white bandage across his nose, dried blood still visible on his shirt collar. His eyes widened when he saw me.

"You!" he exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger. "You stole my car and broke my nose!"

I walked past him toward the elevator. "Tell your friend to return my car."

Miguel followed, hands on his hips. "Come on, be reasonable! The guy who stole your car isn't me. That's that bastard's fault, not mine! I need my car back and medical expenses!"

I turned slightly. "Isn't it true that in this place, unlucky bastards are randomly selected? It was just your turn. Why expect fairness?"

Miguel's face reddened. "My car was purchased legitimately, not stolen from some unlucky bastard!"

"Oh really?" I raised an eyebrow. "My new car was taken from an unlucky bastard this morning."

"I'm asking for my property back," I said, stepping into the elevator. "You can either return my car or bring me your friend's hand. Your choice."

Miguel reached for my shoulder as the elevator doors began to close. I sidestepped his grasp and delivered a precise kick to his midsection. I didn't use my full strength, but it was enough to make his eyeballs bulge as he doubled over, gasping for breath.

"You psycho!" he gasped, clutching his stomach. "What kind of woman fights like that?"

The elevator doors closed on his pained expression.

Back in my hotel room, I grabbed my phone and dialed the number Ethan had given me earlier.

---

At dusk, I drove Miguel's SUV to a small tavern near the fighting club. The place was dimly lit, with only a few patrons nursing drinks at scattered tables. I spotted Miguel sitting by the window, clearly waiting for someone.

His expression shifted from professional detachment to shock when he spotted me. I felt a flicker of amusement. So this was Ethan's contact. I should have recognized his voice during that phone call - it had seemed vaguely familiar, but I couldn't place it at the time.

I walked directly toward his table and sat down across from him.

"I don't have time for car issues right now," he said nervously. "But we can schedule something to discuss it later."

"Where are my goods?" I asked calmly.

Miguel blinked. "What?"

"My name is Jade Morgan."

Miguel's posture straightened, his eyes widened, and a flash of panic crossed his face. He hesitated, then aske: "You're Miss Morgan?"

"The one and only," I replied, enjoying his discomfort. "I see Ethan has reliable people here."

"I manage the local assets," Miguel said carefully. "Not the business deals themselves. I'll have your car back to you tonight - perfectly intact."

"Good." I smiled, and he visibly relaxed.

"If I may ask," Miguel ventured cautiously, "what's your relationship with Mr. Haxton? Business partners? Mr. Haxton was very clear that I should treat you as himself and follow your orders without question."

I leaned back, studying him. "Let's just say we're both single, with unlimited future possibilities."