Page 15 of Diablo

The French accent made me raise my eyebrows. What was a guy like this doing in a small town like Aerondale? I put my hand up to shield my eyes.

“You don’t sound like you’re from around here,” I said.

He chuckled and gestured to himself.

“Let me guess. The accent gave me away.”

“Just a little bit. I’m Stevie,” I added, extending my hand.

His responding grip was on the clammy side, but he held my hand longer than necessary. The stare he fixed on me was unnerving behind his sunglasses shadowing his eyes. He turned my wrist and kissed my knuckles with a small smile at the corner of his lips.

The gesture might have been flattering if a creepy feeling didn’t skitter up my spine. I pulled back, fighting the urge to wipe my hands on my jeans.

“What can I help you with?” I asked.

The man surveyed the line of bikes in my garage. Half of them were drying. Two of them were finished and waiting to be picked up by the owners.

“Your work is most impressive, Stevie,” he replied. “The mark of a truly superb craftsman is their keen eye for detail.”

I noticed he hadn’t answered my question, choosing to pile on the charm instead.

“I appreciate the compliment. But if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to work.”

The man made a noise of dismay and stepped closer, bringing with him the scent of overly strong cologne.

“Forgive me. Where are my manners? My name is LeBlanc. I dropped by because I’ve heard a lot about you, Stevie. I believe we have a friend in common.”

He paused, searching for the right name with his brows drawn together in thought. Then it dawned on him and his face brightened.

“Ah, yes. I know him as Enzo Rodriguez, Jr. But you call him Diablo. Is that correct?”

An alarm bell went off in my head. I shifted back on my heels. Something about this guy was giving me all the wrong vibes. I doubted he ran in the same circles with Diablo. Sure, clubs got involved in shady shit all the time. I’d dirtied my own hands on more than one occasion, but an instinctual tug in my gut told me LeBlanc was bad news.

“Diablo belongs to another club,” I pointed out. “We’ve met before. We’re not really friends.”

Not a lie and not the truth either. Diablo and I were…

A memory rose up in my mind—his dark eyes full of fiery intensity reflected in the mirror, his cock hard and deep inside me, his hot breath against my ear as he whispered, touch your clit, princess.

I didn’t know what we were, but friends didn’t seem like an accurate description.

LeBlanc nodded with a hum. His smile broadened.

“Would…paramours be a more generous term?”

I bristled and my throat went dry. Was he implying that he…knew…Diablo and I had sex? How was that possible? No one knew, let alone a guy I’d never met before. Tarzan was the only one who had his suspicions, but I hadn’t confirmed it.

Now that I thought about it, I hadn’t denied it either, which could be considered an admission of guilt.

I took a step back, placing my hand on my tool bench. A wrench sat just out of reach. If I moved fast enough, I was confident I could grab it if I needed to defend myself.

“What the fuck do you want?”

LeBlanc shrugged.

“Nothing at all, my dear. You have been a warm and gracious hostess, and I will take my leave so you may return to your work. Have a lovely day.”

I didn’t move, watching LeBlanc as he backed up along my driveway and disappeared around the corner. As soon as he was gone, I released a shaky breath and grabbed my phone with trembling fingers from my back pocket.

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