Page 24 of Diablo

I rolled my eyes as I climbed off my bike.

“Weren’t you the one who told me you were going to vote no? Again?”

Mack grinned. “Definitely.”

Red took me by the shoulders with a squeeze, directing me toward the clubhouse entrance.

“Don’t pay any attention to them, Diablo,” he said softly. “You’re doing fine. They’re just full of hot air.”

“Whose side are you on anyway?” Mack protested good-naturedly.

As Rooster, Red, and Mack bickered lightly back and forth about my fate and the upcoming vote, a sudden thought struck me.

I’d pushed Stevie away. Made her hate me so she would keep her distance in the hopes that it might protect her from LeBlanc.

But I hadn’t considered the Alpha Riders. LeBlanc could hurt my club, too, if I didn’t do his bidding. Even though I wasn’t officially a member, I’d developed a fondness for these men.

Mack was a pain in my ass.

Axel was the handsome one I secretly envied and looked up to.

Rooster was like a gangly, obnoxious older brother that I never wanted.

Brewer was the gruff, serious mentor I strived to impress, just to see his tough exterior crack a little bit.

I hated the idea that any one of these men could get caught in the crossfire because of me.

Swallowing hard, I glanced back at my bike. Maybe it wasn’t too late to make a run for it and leave everything behind…

“Diablo.”

Brewer’s voice—low, smooth, commanding.

I turned to find him just inside the clubhouse, propping the door open with his boot.

“I’d like a word in private before the meeting starts.”

“Sounds like someone is about to get a time out,” Rooster whispered behind me.

I wished I shared his confidence. Judging by the look on Brewer’s face, this wouldn’t be a simple pep talk between President and Prospect before I was patched in. Brewer waited while Red, Rooster, and Mack filed past him into the clubhouse. Then he stepped outside to join me and closed the door.

“What’s going on with you lately?” he asked.

I shrugged. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been distant. Distracted. Unusually quiet.”

“I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or a criticism,” I replied—a knee-jerk instinct to shield myself with sarcasm.

Brewer didn’t look amused. He arched an eyebrow, letting the silence between us stretch longer and longer until it grew unbearable. I cleared my throat and glanced away.

“It’s personal,” I said at last. “I’m dealing with it.”

Brewer paused before he responded.

“I need to know I can depend on you, Diablo. If your head is somewhere else, my club could pay the price when you make a mistake.”

I sighed and scrubbed a hand through my hair. Before I could come up with a reply, Brewer pulled a photograph out of his kut pocket and held it up.

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