Prologue 1
Diablo
Thesoundofthegavel hitting its mark echoes throughout the courtroom. My father’s verdict replays in my head. Frank Sharpe, on the count of murder in the first degree, you have been found… guilty.
It comes as no surprise; this was bound to happen eventually. Murder has always been his way of dealing with shit, I’ve honestly lost count of the number of people he’s killed in the name of the club. But this last one, he got cocky, believed in the hype of his own legend, thought he was untouchable. He wasn’t. The club lawyers are good, but good enough to get someone off for a murder they committed in broad daylight on a street full of witnesses? Nobody’s that good.
“Diablo!” He shouts across the courtroom as one of the guards leads him away, “Remember what we talked about.”
I nod, remembering every word he’d said. I’m not going to miss him, we’ve always had a hate-hate relationship, any love between us purely a result of my role in his motorcycle club. But what can I say, I’m good at following orders and I’m not afraid of getting my hands dirty.
A huge part of me feels relieved that my mom and younger brother will finally be safe from him, but I still can’t get my head around what this all means for me and my future. Now that Frank’s no longer in charge, things at the club are going to change, and only time will tell if it’s for the better.
My thoughts are interrupted by the sounds of sobbing, mainly coming from the family members of the man my father killed; I don’t even remember his name. Mom also cries beside me, but I think her tears are ones of relief, knowing he’ll likely be put away for twenty-five years to life. Anyone who doesn’t know us will assume her tears are because she’s losing her husband to prison, the loving wife, forever faithful to her husband, even through a murder trial.
“Come on, Mamá.” I put my arm around her to help her to her feet, “Let’s get you home.”
They weren’t allowed in the courthouse, but all twenty-two members of our club line the street outside on their bikes, here to pay their respects to Frank, El Jefe—the boss. They rev their engines as a sign of respect for him, and for my mom and me. She cowers from them, but I hold my head high as I lead her to the taxi.
“We’ll see you back at the clubhouse later,” Rafael says.
He’s my father’s second in command, and next in line to be El Jefe if the vote goes his way, which it will.
“Yeah, we’ll have the drinks ready,” Tipo, the enforcer, says.
I nod, not knowing what to say. Am I supposed to be celebrating, commiserating? Who the fuck knows?
They ride away in formation, Rafael now in front. Cops follow on their own bikes, keeping their distance, but making sure their presence is known, so we never forget that they’re watching.
I pay the taxi driver before walking my mom up to her house, the one I grew up in. Now I live at the clubhouse, a newly patched member of Lobos Aulladores MC.
“Will you stay for dinner, mijo?” she asks.
“No, Mamá, you know I can’t.”
“You’re going back to the club, aren’t you? After what you just saw happen to your father, do you really think that’s smart?”
I know she deserves more, but I don’t have the energy to fight with her about this again. “Mamá—”
“No, unless you’re going to tell me that you’re leaving the club, I don’t want to hear it.”
“The club isn’t all bad. You know that now Rafael’s in charge there’s a chance we’re gonna start moving away from illegal shit.”
“It’s not only the illegal things, mijo. The club will take over your life. Your father loves the club more than me, more than you and your brother, is that what you want your life to be?”
I chuckle. “I just turned twenty-one, I’m not exactly thinking about settling down.”
“It’s not funny.” She grips my leather cut. “You can laugh and joke, but being in the club will make it impossible for you to have a relationship, have a family.”
“Right, and you think after my experience of a family that that’s something I want?”
Hurt flashes through her eyes and guilt pierces my heart; that wasn’t fair, I know none of this has been her fault.
“I’m sorry,” I say, moving to hold her hand, but she steps away from me. I reach into my cut instead, pulling out an envelope. “Here, it’s to pay for the house, and to help with college fees.”
She stares at the envelope like it’s a curse from the devil.
“I don’t want your dirty money. I want my son back.”
