Page 15 of Devil's Queen

Rick places a comforting hand on my shoulder, offering silent support. “Your father was a legend in the industry,” he says solemnly. “And you’re carrying on that legacy with every bike you build.”

“Thank you.”

“We should start loading this beauty up soon.”

I nod in agreement, stepping back to give him space to work his magic.

As Rick begins moving the pallet a couple of my guys had loaded the bike onto yesterday with meticulous care, I can’t help but wonder about Diaz—what kind of person he is and why he sought out such a unique and intricate creation.

I decide to take a chance and ask Rick about Diaz. I’d mostly worked through intermediaries until it came down to the final design decisions. That’s when I got to speak to the man himself. “So, Rick, what can you tell me about Diaz?”

“Not a whole lot considering the iron-clad non-disclosure arrangement I had to sign to work with him.” Rick chuckles softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I’ve actually only met him once in the eight years I’ve been working with him, and ironically, it was about this bike. He has plans for her.”

I lean against a workbench, intrigued by Rick’s words. “What does he do with all these custom bikes? Does he showcase them or keep them hidden away?”

Rick finishes securing the bike onto the pallet and straightens up, wiping sweat from his brow. “Well, that’s the thing, no one really knows. Diaz is known for acquiring these unique creations, but what he does with them remains a mystery. Some say he has an extensive private collection while others believe he auctions them off to the highest bidders.”

My curiosity deepens. “Auctions? That’s intriguing. I wonder who would be willing to pay such a high price for a custom motorcycle.”

Rick shrugs playfully. “You’d be surprised. There are collectors out there who would do anything to get their hands on one-of-a-kind pieces like this.” He gestures toward the bike, admiration evident in his eyes.

As Rick finishes loading the bike onto the truck, I walk over to him, ready to bid farewell. “Well, Rick, it’s been a pleasure meeting you.”

He extends his hand once again, a warm smile on his face. “Likewise, my friend. If Diaz is pleased with this delivery, I have no doubt we’ll be back for more of your exceptional work.”

I grip his hand firmly, feeling a newfound sense of purpose and excitement. The world of custom motorcycles is vast and filled with endless possibilities. With Diaz’s seal of approval, doors could open that I had never dreamed possible.

“Thank you, Rick,” I say sincerely. “Your kind words and support mean a lot to me.”

Rick nods, his eyes reflecting a genuine interest in my success. “You deserve it. Your talent speaks for itself.”

With a final wave goodbye, Rick climbs into the truck and drives off into the distance, carrying the manifestation of my hard work and dedication. As the sound of the engine fades, I stand alone in the workshop, surrounded only by memories of my dad. He loved this place.

I can’t help but wonder if he’d be proud of me for carrying on his legacy and how hard I’ve fought to keep it.

A gentle breeze rustles through the open workshop doors, carrying with it a sense of anticipation and possibility. Maybe I can do this after all.

Lost in my thoughts, I’m startled when approaching footsteps break through the stillness. I turn to see a figure standing at the entrance, obscured by the glaring sunrise behind them.

“I’m sorry. We’re closed,” I call out to them.

“I’m not here for a bike, Rem. I’m here for you.”

As the figure steps forward, my heart stops. There, on my driveway, stands the last person I thought I would see here.

Rex.

REMY

The ghostof my past has finally come to haunt me in person. And, dammit, if the years we’d been apart haven’t served him well. I’d left Rex, the boy, behind the night we left my father’s clubhouse, but in front of me now stands Rex, the man. His arms were once slim but are now thick with rippling muscles from hours spent at the gym. Each tattoo on his skin seems to come alive, accentuating the definition of his biceps and triceps. Rex’s formerly thin frame is now a testament to dedication and hard work. Where his long hair had been now sits a high and tight crew cut. Why couldn’t the years have aged him instead of shaping him into this perfect specimen standing in front of me, patiently awaiting my acknowledgment?

My arms instinctively cross against my chest, a physical barrier between us. “I have absolutely nothing to say to you. I would have thought I made that perfectly clear after your call,” I continue, unable to hide the bitterness in my voice as I recall the harsh words exchanged. “Leave.”

“I can’t do that, Rem. Not until you hear me out.”

He takes a step closer to me. I counter, adding more distance between us. My eyes peer out, looking for anything I can use against him—a wrench, screwdriver, or anything to make sure I can protect myself. The old Rex I knew would never hurt me. I didn’t know this version well enough to have a solid opinion on the matter. For all I know, he could be here on club business to put an end to my claim of the business. I take a few steps back, leaving an open toolbox within reach.

“Don’t make me repeat myself, Rex. Just go. I don’t want you here.”

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