Page 35 of Diablo

Then he sighed.

“Tell me what happened, tiger.”

I rubbed at my eyes with my palm. Judging by the sandy grit on my hands and my damp cheeks, I was probably making a mess of myself.

“He confessed to robbing you. Diablo said he knew that he wouldn’t make it into the Alpha Riders so he stole from you as a way to look out for himself.”

“Little fucker,” Tarzan mumbled.

“I should have listened to you.” I swiped at a smear of dust on my pants, as if the back of my jeans weren’t coated in dirt already. “You saw it coming right from the start.”

“Well,” he hedged. “I wouldn’t say that.”

I squinted at the horizon, the endless rise and fall of the sandy dunes punctuated by the dark slash of highway.

“What do you mean?”

He made a non-committal noise.

“I’m not some kind of prophet, Stevie. I can’t see into the future. I had no idea this would happen.”

“Then why—?”

I broke off, confused. Tarzan huffed a faint laugh. The drone of voices in the background disappeared, followed by the suggestion of an echo, hinting that he’d closed himself into somewhere more private—maybe the pantry at the clubhouse, or a back room.

“I warned you to stay away from him for entirely selfish reasons, Stevie,” Tarzan said at last. “Sure, he’s a cocky son of a bitch. I’ll admit that in a heartbeat. But that’s not the reason why I hated his guts.”

“He took everything you had,” I replied. “It’s understandable.”

“Stevie,” Tarzan said. “I hated his guts because of the way you two looked at each other.”

I pressed my lips together, suddenly feeling like I couldn’t breathe. It was supposed to be just sex. But it had been something more than that in Diablo’s shitty little camper—something soft and fragile, something that we couldn’t even speak about for fear of cutting it to ribbons with our sharp tongues.

Tarzan continued, his voice low and pained.

“You never looked at me the way you looked at him. I think I was always holding out a little hope that might change. Then Diablo entered the picture and…that hope was gone for good.”

“Tarzan,” I whispered, apologetic, torn.

“It’s okay, Stevie. It’s not your fault. And I wouldn’t mess with your chances in the club anyway. I made my choice and you made yours.” I could hear a wobbly little smile creep into his voice when he added, “I’m proud of you.”

I bit the inside of my cheek as a fresh onslaught of tears threatened to spill down my filthy, dirt-stained face.

“Fuck, Tarzan,” I rasped. “Don’t say that. I’ve screwed up everything.”

“No, you haven’t.”

“But Diablo—”

“He’s protecting you, Stevie.”

My breath caught in my throat at Tarzan’s words.

“How…how do you know that?” I stammered.

“Call it a gut feeling. I could be wrong. If he really is toying with your heart, I’ll hunt him down myself.” Tarzan paused and blew out a breath. “But it seems pretty obvious from where I’m sitting.”

I rubbed at my forehead, my thoughts spinning at a hundred miles an hour. The pieces started falling into place and it all made sense—LeBlanc’s visit, Diablo’s sudden change of heart, his aloofness and his refusal to tell me anything about what was going on.

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