Page 13 of Diablo

LeBlanc wasn’t the type to back down. He always got what he wanted, and he stopped at nothing to get it. He would return, sooner rather than later, and I had to be ready for whatever came my way.

Chapter Four

Stevie

The next morning, I couldn’t stop smiling to myself at the memory of yesterday with Diablo. My body still felt sated, warm all over. And if I was honest…I’d already weighed the temptation of calling him up for round two.

By the time I pulled on a robe and made my way into the kitchen, Judge and Tarzan were there. My door was always open to my club and a few of them often lingered at my place instead of the rowdy clubhouse.

Judge raised his spatula in greeting from his position at the stove. The coffee maker sputtered on the counter and fat, greasy sausages sizzled in a pan. He flipped up the edge of a towel to reveal a plate of large, fluffy biscuits, still warm from the oven.

“Oh, Judge, you know how to spoil a woman right,” I said, snatching up a biscuit and breaking into it.

“I thought I’d show my appreciation,” he replied. “Since you’re making great progress on my bike. It’s looking good.”

I retrieved a stack of plates from the cabinet and set them next to the stove. Judge began distributing sausages.

“It should be done in a day or two,” I replied. “However, I will never finish painting it if that means you continue to show up and cook me breakfast like this every morning.”

Judge chuckled and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, brushing a kiss to my temple.

“You’re sweet for saying that, darlin’,” he replied. “I’m just glad you’re willing to eat my cooking.”

In his mid-fifties, Judge was like a father figure in the club. Even though Lloyd was our leader, Judge was the one we came to for advice, wisdom, and comfort.

Tarzan turned a page in the newspaper he was reading, a cup of coffee giving off steam by his elbow.

“The old man is trying to fatten us up, Stevie. Don’t fall for his tricks.”

Judge huffed a dry laugh.

“Watch it, boy. You might be twenty years younger but I can still kick your ass.”

Tarzan glanced up, amused.

“With a stomach full of biscuits and sausage, I doubt you’re much of a threat.”

I stabbed a sausage with my fork and waved it around.

“Take it outside, gentlemen. You will not be having a wrestling match in my kitchen.”

Judge set aside the spatula and gestured to the stove.

“I gotta take a piss anyway. Stevie, would you mind watching the food while I’m gone so it doesn’t burn?”

“No problem,” I replied, taking up his position.

After Judge was gone, Tarzan cleared his throat and his expression grew serious. He folded his arms atop the table and fixed me with a look of concern.

“Uh oh,” I said. “Here we go.”

“You and that Prospect,” he said.

I sighed. I should have known this was coming.

“It’s nothing.”

“Stevie,” he said in a tone that indicated he was not going to be brushed off so easily. “You were eye-fucking each other right in front of me.”

---