Page 37 of Diablo

After getting my bike back on the road, I returned to Merry Field, clinging to the thin hope that Diablo might have lingered just a little longer.

No luck.

The trailer lot where he’d parked his camper was gone. The only indication he’d been there at all were the tire tracks he’d left behind.

Something in the dirt drew my attention and I rolled my bike closer. Leaning over, I picked it up and brushed off the dust.

A ragged patch in bold letters read PROSPECT.

Diablo’s kut.

He would have never left it here. And he certainly wouldn’t abandon it in the dirt. A kut was a source of pride and a symbol of brotherhood. It was supposed to be treated with respect and care.

You heard about the vote. It’s a no. Again.

But Diablo didn’t belong to a club, did he? The Alpha Riders had turned him away. His kut held no meaning for him now.

Cold fingers of dread squeezed around my heart. Tucking Diablo’s kut under my arm, I turned my bike onto the road, heading for the Alpha Riders clubhouse.

Chapter Eleven

Diablo

Road Rage was a stark, dusty place, with weeds sprouting from the pavement and paint peeling off the building. At this hour on an early Saturday evening, most bars would be nearing capacity limits, but there were only a handful of motorcycles and battered trucks in the parking lot.

After selecting a table in a corner of the room, I ordered a beer just to have something to do while I waited. I had no intention of touching a single drop of alcohol. To pull off this job and see it through, I had to be stone-cold sober.

A waitress came by with the beer and slipped a scrap of paper under the bottle when she placed it on the table. I glanced over my shoulder as she walked away but I didn’t get a look at her face. Tugging the paper free, I expected a phone number with a flirty little message like, call me, accompanied by a lipstick kiss.

Instead, the few words scribbled in ink were neat, precise, and clearly from LeBlanc.

Get in the white SUV outside.

Leaving my beer untouched, I made my way to the door. My boots had barely touched the pavement of the parking lot when an explosion of pain burst at the back of my head and everything went dark.

***

My head throbbed. Muffled voices echoed around me, sounding like they were swathed in a cocoon of cotton. Swallowing despite my dry throat, I slowly lifted my head and opened my eyes.

“It’s good of you to join us, Enzo,” LeBlanc said.

I was seated in a chair in a dimly-lit, grungy motel room. My hands were cuffed in my lap, and judging by the tight restriction around my ankles, I was probably tied in place there, too. The gray carpet was peppered with dark stains I didn’t want to think about, and the thick, cloying scent of stale cigarette smoke hung in the air.

LeBlanc stood by the window with one hand tucked in the pocket of his dress slacks. In his other hand was a glass of amber-colored liquid, punctuated by the clink-clink of ice. Two other men dressed in dark clothes with grim expressions were stationed by the door, arms crossed—the hired muscle LeBlanc paid to keep tabs on me, no doubt.

“Is this where you’ve been hiding out?” I asked. My tongue felt slow and my words slurred together slightly. “Seems you could have shelled out a little more cash to get a nicer place. Oh, wait, I forgot. You’re too cheap for that.”

LeBlanc turned to look at me with a tight-lipped smile.

“You never did learn to curb that tongue of yours.”

“Obedience isn’t my strong suit.”

“Finally, something we can both agree on.”

LeBlanc gestured to one of his hired men, the tattoo of a dagger on his neck. He retrieved a suitcase from the foot of the bed and placed it on my lap. Flipping the locks open, he lifted the lid to reveal a heavy-duty laptop inside. Whatever I’d gotten myself into, it was serious business. The hired man returned to his position by the door without saying a word.

“Since you were so eager to get started,” LeBlanc said. “Let’s go over the job description, shall we?”

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