Page 16 of The Vows We Keep
Women make their own lives as best they can if they live in the orbit of a motorcycle club. I won’t ever blame Neva for her choices. But I hope they don’t lead her to Mateo. He’s cruel like Perrito and uses Neva when it suits him.
And I wouldn’t put it past Mateo to use dirty tricks to get information from her. If I go back and she snitches on me, my life would be over. Hers might be too if she can’t explain why she came with me.
My insides churn. What I learn here will affect so many lives. I don’t want it to hurt Neva. Or Mamá. All I can do is commit to the truth. Neva’s right, I need to keep whatever King tells me in context.
“Draw out the eight who left and where they’d normally sit on the formation,” King says suddenly. “You got pictures of them, show me. Let’s see if we can piece together who was where and when.”
“Why were they there?” I ask. “Can we start with that, King? As president, you must know all the details.”
Something akin to discomfort crosses his face. It must be to do with what I’m asking. King takes a deep breath. “Internal conflict. Old wounds. A club member made a deal with Los Reyes, as far as we know, to take care of business so there would be no links back to them. But we thought they came across the border. Didn’t know Los Reyes were now in the US.”
“They’ve always existed. Just never officially recognized. The charter is to remain a Mexico-based club. But time, situation, and opportunity has meant members have drifted north of the border to join family, for work, whatever. My father was pushing for that to change. Wait. Perrito was against it. He said he didn’t want the official oversight or to have to pay the club dues. Said it would cut the income for members. They aren’t a formal motorcycle club, even though they use the name.”
King leans back in the chair. “It feels like the club is on shaky ground.”
I grab a notebook from my backpack, then shunt his chair so he’s facing the kitchen table. I take the seat next to his restrained arm. “I’ll need to burn anything we write, but let’s make a start.”
“Gimme names, ranks, and photos.”
Opening my phone, I do as he asks. “Okay, so this is my dad. Eduardo Flores. He was vice president, right at the front. He led out.” I show him the image.
“You have the same mouth. And your eyes are the same shape and color.”
“Thank you. I think. This is Mateo, Perrito’s other son. Road captain.” The picture I show him is from a barbecue we had. “Have you ever eaten slow-cooked barbacoa ... lamb or goat? My grandfather was from Hidalgo, which is known for it. He taught my papá. It’s so good.”
“You reminiscing or showing me Mateo?” King asks.
“Sorry.”
King shoulder checks me. “No need to be sorry. You can tell me about Hidalgo and barbecue and whether you’re any good at grilling later. But I’m guessing there’s a reason you wanted your friend out of the house while we talk this through.”
“I have my reasons.”
“Good enough. So, Mateo?”
I zoom in on the picture until Mateo is clear. His bald head is a giveaway. And the tattoo of a serpent curled up on the back of his skull means he’s easy to identify. He’s laughing, but I also notice Neva watching him.
I was wrong to doubt my friend. She backed up my lies that we were headed out on a girls’ ride out. She may not think I’m right, but she was willing to come on the ride while I find out.
“He definitely wasn’t there.”
I turn to face him; his face is inches away from mine. His scruff and lips are a delectable combination, and it would take nothing to lean into him, especially when he’s looking at my lips as if he’s hungry and I’m breakfast.
“How do you know?” I say, conscious that the words might have a breathy edge to them.
“Because I was on cleanup that day. I know every body that went to ground.”
“I admire your style of leadership.”
King’s brow furrows. “What do you mean?”
I shrug. “Perrito wouldn’t have anything to do with cleaning up bodies. He’d just give the orders and watch while someone else did the grunt work. I think being hands-on with the men as a president is the sign of a good leader.”
He looks away from me and back to the phone. The compliment makes him feel uncomfortable. I guess that’s another thing to like. Humility. “Who’s in the third position?”
“Felipe. Sergeant at arms. There’s grumbling that Perrito is stacking the deck with him at the top and his two sons in prominent positions.”
King shakes his head. “It’s not that uncommon. Our club ...”
