“She goes, what is going on here?”  Ro demanded; and Juan shrugged, his lower lip almost pouty.

“We jumped you in, we are jumping you out.”  Ro tossed her head back and laughed, Bette not understanding what was going on.  Jumping in, jumping out?  All she knew was that Ro was in danger. 
<!–[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]–>
<!–[endif]–>

“You think you are going to take me?  Juan, who taught you to fight?  ***** you, get the ***** out of my garage, and get the ***** out of my life…”  Ro ordered, snarling at him.

“Blood in…”  He began and something came over Rosita, she couldn’t hold it all in any more, the cool collective Rosita disappeared, and this new, emotional Rosita emerged.

“***** YOU!  I have bled for you!  I’ve lost for you…”  Ro roared back and Ro thought it sounded like what Oscar‘d been telling her for years.  The blood pounded in her ears and her hands shook hard.

“I’m calling the police.”  Bette said, grabbing her cell phone and Ro shook her head no.  Ro moved to her, touching her hand and Bette was taken back at how gentle it was.  Even in all this, Ro was a gentle soul of a tortured artist, and a lost soul.
<!–[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]–>
<!–[endif]–>

“Take the car and get out of here.  Now.”  Ro commanded Bette looked at her, this was her life, her place of being, how different it all could have been.  Bette ached to make it different for her, but she knew she couldn’t, there was only so much she could do in this life.

“GO, before they change their minds and don’t let you.”  Ro said, moving to her, and whispering in her ear.  “I’ll be fine, nothing they can throw at me that I can’t handle.”  Bette stepped back, slamming into the bumper of the car as she watched Ro walk into the fray.  Bette clambered into the car, sweating, shaking, and scared as she started the car, stalling it because she let go of the clutch to quickly.

“Oh god.”  She muttered, the tires squealing and as she looked up, she saw Rosita taking the first swing at whom Bette thought was the leader.

“Dance with me Juan.”  Ro said, ducking and twisting to the right, turning and sweeping him off his feet, grabbing for the old broom at the front of the garage.  She snapped off the handle, twisting it hard and holding it like a staff, ready to fight. 

“No weapons.”  He growled and someone pulled out a gun, and Connie slammed the hand up and the shot rang out into the air.  Ro didn’t flinch, her jaw was set, and she kept tabs on where everyone was.

“NO!  We are not here to kill her!  We are jumping her out, that’s it!  All of you owe her your lives at one point or another!  Remember that!  Turning our back on her isn’t enough, she turned her back on us, and so we are going to leave her with a remembrance.  Come on Rosita, be the Picaro, and beat us fair and square if you dare.”  Connie cooed and Ro narrowed her eyes; then she chuckled.

“Poet and the ***** don’t know it.”  Ro said, tossing the handle aside into the garage, letting out a primal yell, wading in like Jet Li, but she knew she was going to come out looking like the Terminator at the end of the second movie.  Dead.

~*~*~*~*~*
<!–[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]–>
<!–[endif]–>