Page 20 of Diablo

He pretended to think about it for a moment. I wanted to wrap my hands around his neck and squeeze the answer out of him.

“Ah, yes. I believe you know him as Tarzan.”

Chapter Six

Stevie

Lloyd rarely called emergency meetings. He tried his best to not make a fuss and stay calm, managing any crises as quietly as possible. Although when I stepped into the room in the back of the clubhouse reserved for meetings and saw the haggard, haunted look on Tarzan’s face, I knew something was seriously wrong.

After everyone was seated—eleven bodies in all, ringing the table—Judge was the first one to speak.

“It’s almost ten o’clock at night. What’s going on?”

Lloyd glanced at Tarzan, but Tarzan wasn’t looking at anyone. He had his hands folded together, thumbs worrying over his knuckles, with a dead-eyed stare at nothing.

Guilt stabbed me between the ribs. Since Lloyd was President of the club, it was natural for my brothers to go to him with their problems and concerns. But this was Tarzan—my closest friend, mentor, and confidant. Why didn’t he contact me? Why was I just as clueless as the rest of my club? We told each other everything…

Until Diablo came along.

Ever since Tarzan and I had our disagreement in my kitchen, it had been cold and quiet between us. I told myself we just needed time and space to cool off. Eventually, we would work things out. Looking at him now, my confidence wavered that we would patch things up and get back to normal. He just seemed so…lost. Confused. Something was eating him alive.

“We have a problem,” Lloyd declared. “A brother is in need and we have to use any resources available to make sure he gets back on his feet. Tarzan, would you like to explain what happened?”

Tarzan cleared his throat and finally, slowly, lifted his gaze to take in the rest of his club surrounding him.

“My bank account was hacked. Someone took every penny I had.” His voice cracked. “I’ve got nothing left.”

A stunned silence fell over the room. No one moved. No one said a word. We knew this could happen to any one of us. And to see a big, strong, stoic man like Tarzan rendered so low and miserable was disconcerting to witness.

He cleared his throat and went on.

“I’ve been fighting with the bank for two hours. Talked to the cops. They’re…working on it. But…uh…it’s obvious they can’t do much.”

“Jesus,” Ratchet whispered.

Judge scrubbed a hand over his mouth, leaning back in his chair.

“Your rent is due soon, isn’t it?”

Tarzan nodded—the movement jerky and stilted.

“Just had a tire replaced on my bike, too. That bill will be in the mail in a few days.”

Lloyd put up a hand in an attempt to stop the snowball of catastrophe from gathering too much speed.

“We’ve got you covered, brother. Ratchet, Judge, Stevie, I want you to put together a rally for this weekend to raise some funds. Contact as many clubs as you can within a hundred miles or more. I know it’s short notice but it’s better than nothing.”

“I’m not taking charity—” Tarzan started.

Lloyd shot him a silencing look.

“You would do the same if any of us were in your shoes. Besides, this isn’t charity. This is what a family does for each other.”

“Tarzan can stay with me,” I offered. “That would save him the trouble of paying rent on his apartment.”

Immediately, Tarzan shook his head.

“I won’t impose.”

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