Page 62 of Miguel

Ink was our resident tattoo artist. He ran Diablos Ink, the club’s tattoo shop, and another place to launder our money. Tattoos spread across most of his body, the hint of them peeking out from beneath the neck of his collar shirt. He wore, as always, a severe expression. He tended to look unhappy with life, and the club constantly riled him up because the fucker had anxiety when it came to perfection and doing things a certain way.

Until he met his Vieja.

“Hey, Xiomara.”

Xiomara Nava gave me a finger wave and a soft smile.

The two were a fucking pair.

Xiomara wore a chola aesthetic that made her look, quite frankly, badass. Though she was shy, she was no stranger to the dangers of MC life. She could beat a man to death with a fucking bat in a rage if provoked.

She’d beat a couple of gringos to death once before.

None of the members of Los Diablos dared to fuck with her because of that.

“Xiomara, nena, when are you going to leave this grumpy pedazo de mierda and warm my bed?” Loco teased.

Xiomara laughed while Ink shot a glare at the prez.

Normally, those kind of jokes wouldn’t fly, but Xiomara was comfortable enough with all of us, and enjoyed teasing Ink to no end.

“I’ll come visit you tonight.” She winked.

Ink’s grip on her tightened, and he pulled her hips hard against his lap. She let out a soft gasp and a moan. “I’m gonna spank your ass for that later,” Ink threatened.

I turned away from their easy, open affection. There was a painful tug in my gut. Now that we were safely back at the compound, the product turned in, the money behind the doors of Loco’s office, I let myself think about Lorena.

About the ease in which she brushed me off. The ease in which she broke off what we’d started to build. I thought I could convince her, but there was a nervousness in her gaze as she told me we were over. I knew she didn’t want to say those words. Her face was too expressive for the lies that slipped like honey from her tongue.

And they only made me that much more determined to keep her.

Seeing Ink and Xiomara only reminded me what I could lose. Ink was one of the younger members of Los Diablos to shack up with a Vieja. Most members were single, save for the older generation. And I wanted what Ink and Xiomara had.

I wanted Lorena here, on my lap, whispering in my fucking ear.

“Prospect,” I growled out in frustration. “Tequila. Rápido.”

The prospect behind the bar hurriedly slammed a shot glass my way.

Loco whistled, his brows kicking up his forehead as he took in my sudden grumpy demeanor. “She did a number on you, huh?”

That drew Ink’s attention. The usually morose bastard who could hardly be bothered to string together whole sentences became talkative all of a sudden. “What’s this I hear from the putas about you getting shacked up? Mayan too. Or this I hear about a son?”

Ink had been gone on his honeymoon and was out of the loop of club happenings. I sighed, not wanting to revisit the events that had made premature gray hairs sprout from my fucking scalp, but Loco had no such qualms.

“Some puta from way back when Migue was fun came and abandoned her kid at the compound. Said he was Miguel’s.”

“That’s sad,” Xiomara whispered, compassion dripping from her words. “Is he okay?”

I tossed back my shot. “He’s as well as can be expected.”

“Shit, Migue, and is he really yours?”

The DNA test results had come back, but I hadn’t opened them yet. We had more important things to worry about than something I innately knew to be true. Or maybe I was just being a fucking pussy and was too afraid to face the truth.

“Yeah, looks exactly like Camila. His name’s Ezekiel. Zeke.”

“And your woman?”

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