“So, are we doing this again soon?”
How the fuck is he so calm?
My whole body feels like it’s on fire and my brain is barely working, and he’s just standing there like he’s waiting for a fucking bus. I don’t know how to answer him, so I force myself to walk to the door, making sure to give him a wide berth and keeping my head down as I pass. Unlocking thedoor, I hold it open for him and wait. He smirks and walks through, looking back once he’s out in the corridor.
“We need to keep this between us,” I say, before I close the door, lock it, and put the chain on as quickly as I can.
I rest my head against the door until I hear his footsteps disappear down the corridor.
Shit.
Chapter 5
Diablo
Imakemywaydownstairs to the main room of the clubhouse, and I stop at the wall of our fallen brothers. Their photos are a reminder of what we’ve lost as a club, as a family. Pouring out a shot of whiskey from the bottles we keep alongside them, I take my time looking them each in the eyes.
Some were lost to road collisions or accidents, others were killed in the line of work; running guns and drugs isn’t the profession for you if you’re hoping for a long life. The rest were lost to murder, whether during fights with other clubs, or at the hands of law enforcement.
Our relationship with the local police still isn’t a good one, they don’t believe we’ve gone legit and still watch us like hawks, especially when we’re on rides. You’d think they’d have better things to do than watch a group of mechanics ride around on motorcycles, but no. Then again, I suppose I can’t blame them, they lost people too.
The main door opens, and El Jefe enters, also heading straight for the wall. He pours out a shot of tequila and clinks his glass against mine before we both down our shots.
“Never again,” he says, his eyes only looking at one of the photos.
I nod. “Never again.”
It became our motto after Frank went to prison and we gradually transitioned to more legit business. We were tired of seeing people go to prison, or worse, burying people we loved. El Jefe lost his brother during an altercation with another club. It changed him, but as a result, it changed the values of the club for the better.
The others have already started drinking and we’ve even got some ex-members here tonight. There are no hard feelings and anytime they’re in the area they always come back around to catch up and have some fun with the girls.
I quickly check my phone before anyone greets me, opening my chat with Elizabeth.
You didn’t answer my question.
You ignoring me?
She still hasn’t hit me back, even though I messaged her yesterday and then again today; I hate that she’s left me on read. I’m not used to this, I don’t remember the last time I text a girl, and the fact that I messaged her but she’s ignoring me is pissing me off.
“Diablo!” A couple of the ex-members shout when they spot me and I make my way over.
“Hey,” I say, shaking each of their hands.
“Looking good, life treating you well?”
“No complaints here,” I say.
“And how’s your oldman? Anything he needs?”
“Uh, fine the last I heard, doesn’t need anything.”
Not that I know, I haven’t spoken to Frank in nearly a year, and don’t plan to, choosing to keep contact to an absolute minimum.
“Good, that’s good,” one replies, before they both get distracted when Destiny and Daniela walk by.
I use it as a chance to escape and head to the table where the guys are sitting, listening in as they finish their conversation about a difficult customer we’ve got at the moment.
“I swear to god,” Pretty Boy says, “if he asks me for one more change to the design after I’ve finished this latest paint job, I’m gonna fucking kill him.”
