Diablo Chapter 1

Pacing the house at loose ends, I tried to decide what to do. It was unusual for me not to be able to fill my time. If I wasn't doing my president's work for the club, I oversaw stuff at Wrath's Prep & Restore, the club's preparation and restoration business. Being in Florida, we did a lot of that, especially where it pertained to hurricanes. I'd never understand why some people waited until we were battened down for one to hit before they decided to call us, frantic to have shutters and other work done to their homes and businesses. Although, with this business, we benefited either way, so it was no skin off our noses.

That wasn't to say we used their desperation or misfortune to line our pockets beyond what was reasonable for our work because we didn't. We started our own business, offering our services several years ago, because of those who did that underhanded stuff. We were tired of hearing and seeing so many people being taken advantage of. At first, many potential customers were scared to trust an MC, but after a few did and began to rave about our work and prices, more and more people began to reach out to us. We had gained an excellent reputation and had more work than we could handle a lot of the time.

I was kept busy with my job as club president and as Prep & Restore's manager. Still, I was lucky to have several brothers who managed our other businesses expertly, so the responsibility for them didn't all fall on me, too. Of course, after being in the club in one way or another since birth, I knew the ins and outs of everything. It was an advantage to being what they called a legacy, someone whose close family member had been a club member. My father, Fiend, had joined once he got out of the service after Vietnam. He needed a way to wrap his head around what he'd seen and done. Not having a bunch of bullshit rules and the freedom to set your own boundaries appealed to him. He eventually worked his way up to enforcer.

He'd been lucky to find a woman who understood him, let him be himself, and was willing to stick with him in this lifestyle. Mom had been an ideal old lady. Growing up, I knew I wanted someone like her when I was ready to settle down. She was tough, fair, loving, and simultaneously a badass you didn't relish messing with. Just like that, I was traveling down memory lane to my wife, Amy.

We'd been so damn young when we met and fell in love. Most people would've said we were too young and would never last. They had said it when they noted I was a biker while she was the sweet, good daughter of a middle-class family. I was nineteen to her seventeen. We knew if her parents found out about us, they'd find a way to separate us, so we hid it and snuck around until she was eighteen. By then, when she ran off to be with me, she was three months pregnant with our daughter, Brooklyn. We married a week later, and I'd like to think if she hadn't been murdered, we'd still be together. I hadn't met any woman who made me want to have one around permanently since her.

Maybe last weekend brought on my restlessness and thoughts of Amy. We'd traveled to Cherokee, North Carolina, for a wedding. Since Brooklyn married Torch and became part of the Archangel's Warriors MC in Dublin Falls, Tennessee, my club has become friends and allies with them, their other chapters, and their allied clubs. One of those, the Pagans Souls of Cherokee, had invited us to their latest wedding. Twisted and his old lady, Zahirah, had tied the knot.

It was a good time, and we relaxed and enjoyed spending time with everyone even if there had been a bit of work thrown in, but they refused to let it interfere. I spent time with Brooklyn and my two grandsons, Thane, who was two-and-a-half, and Jai, who was seven months. It was good to have small children around. The utter joy they felt in almost everything and their innocence was damn refreshing to me. I tormented Torch that it would've been perfect if I didn't have to put up with him. I grumbled and bitched about how he'd ruined my life by taking my baby girl away from me and then denying me my grandchildren. Threats were made to kill him and bury his ass in the mountains of Cherokee. There were a ton of places in the thick woods to do it.

Unfortunately, after being with her for over three years, he knew I was full of it, mostly. She loved him so much, and I knew he loved her. He would do anything to make sure she and their kids were happy and safe. He reminded me a lot of me with Amy, although I didn't tell him that. It was good to keep him on his toes. He knew if he ever hurt her or those kids, whether it was emotionally or physically, I'd take them away and punish him tenfold.

When it was time to leave and return home, I hated to part with them. Torch and Brooklyn promised to bring themselves and the kids to visit me in Florida soon. I hoped so. My house was too quiet and empty. More and more, I wondered if I should downsize. I'd built a bigger house right after Torch claimed Brooklyn. I'd hoped they'd be here more often and wanted plenty of room for them and any grandchildren. She'd teased me that I was getting ready to find another woman and settle down to have her some brothers and sisters. I told her that wasn't happening. Recalling the conversation made me reflect on it.

"Dad, it's good to see you make changes," Brooklyn said with a smile.

"What do you mean? It's just a different house." I waved nonchalantly.

"Yes, a new, bigger one. You're finally going to do it, aren't you? I'm so glad."

"Do what, Brookie? You're not making any sense."

"You're going to find someone special and settle down again. You'll have someone to grow old with. Maybe give me those siblings I've wanted all my life. You deserve it."

"Stop right there. This house is for you and your family. I want room for all of you and however many kiddos you have when you come to visit. I have no plans to find someone. I don't need or want a woman. I had my chance, and I lost her. I'm just happy I had her for the time I did, and I got you."

She gave me a sad look. "Dad, you're so young. You're only forty-four, with years ahead of you. A whole second family is more than possible. You love kids. I don't think Mom would begrudge you finding happiness. She wouldn't want you to be alone. Don't tell me you don't get lonely. And before you say it, because I don't want to think about it, those women you hook up with at the clubhouse or around the area aren't what I mean. Most of them are just chasing a patch and a man to take care of them. You need a good, loving, strong woman, not those sluts."

I chose not to touch on the subject of me and sex. There were things you didn't want to talk to your kid about, even if she was an adult. I didn't want to speak about her and Torch having it, either. The baby she was pregnant with was immaculately conceived, was what I told myself.

"It's not happening, so forget it. The house is for your family, and now that you've brought all these other clubs into our lives, I'll have more places for others to stay if they visit."

She tried to talk me into at least trying to find someone, but I refused. She finally gave up. She mentioned it a few times since then, wanting to know if I was seeing anyone, and I told her no every time.

So why was I dwelling on it so much after this last visit? I'd been to numerous weddings over the past three years and had seen countless happy couples. The other MCs seemed to have a knack for finding and knowing someone was their match almost immediately. I was glad for them. I wished them long, happy lives, but my mind hadn't changed. Except, could I still say that? This time, I found myself checking out the women there to see if there was anyone single I might want to get to know, though it wouldn't be ideal when living so far away.

All this week, as I went to and from work and about town running errands and other stuff, I'd found myself paying attention to the women I passed and ran into. There wasn't a lack of them, not in Florida. And even though I was forty-seven, I still got more than my share of looks and come-ons.

I hadn't paid a good, honest woman attention since Amy. I hadn't wanted to risk leading one on. To have her think there was a chance for something more than a casual fling. I loved sex as much as the next man, and I got my needs taken care of, but I'd always been careful not to do it where Brooklyn could see me. She was taught early on never to be at the clubhouse after a particular time, especially on the weekends. The guys mainly were single even then, and they liked to party and get wild. Even with that rule, I'd been cautious never to engage in sex of any kind out in the public areas of the clubhouse. I always took the woman to my crash room in the back. My house was off-limits, too. Even now that she was out of the house, none of them were brought home with me.

These days, those encounters were less often, but not because I wanted sex less or was becoming unable to perform. Every morning, my morning wood attested to the fact that I could still get it up. When I did have sex, I could get it up more than once and go for a long time. No, it was due to finding the whole process of being with club sluts or hangers-on unappealing. They bored me. It was the same woman, with a different body, face, and agenda.

What the fuck is wrong with me? Get out of your head, Diablo. You don't need a woman or anyone other than your daughter, her family, and your club .

A loud thumping on my front door got my attention. Wondering who it was, I went to answer it. I opened the door without looking out to see who stood there. There was no need. My house was inside the club's property, surrounded by fencing. You had to be either let in one of the gates or have the access code to open those gates to enter. Someone thinking they could jump it would have a difficult time getting over it without tearing their asses up. The ten-foot chain link fence had anti-climb mesh and fence extensions to prevent scaling.

In addition, at the top, we had the coiled wire, which most people call razor wire, to give it extra security and make it nearly impenetrable. Micro, our IT wizard, had CCTV security cameras, alarms, and motion sensors to alert us to unauthorized access. It looked like a military installation. Some might think that was going overboard, but if they had lost someone the way I had, they wouldn't. After Amy was murdered, I moved Brooklyn inside the fence and, over the years, fortified it. As the door swung open, my gaze landed on Butcher, our enforcer. He was wearing a sober expression. He gave me a chin lift.

"Butcher, come in," I said as I stepped back to let him inside. He stepped inside but didn't go to the living room, which was what he typically would do. He stopped to face me.

"Pres, we need to talk."

"Okay, do you wanna sit or stand here and do it?" I had no idea why he was acting this way.

"We can sit. I know this might not be my place, but I need to say something."

"Then let's have a seat. If you want a drink, help yourself."

He chose not to go to the kitchen, so I didn't either. After we sat, he launched right into it without waiting for me to say a word. I liked to get straight to the point. Some would say I was too direct, but to me, it eliminated confusion and wasted time.

"Something has been eating at you. It's been under the radar for a while, but it's become more noticeable since last weekend. Talk to me. This is me, your friend Butcher, talking to my friend, not my president. You've been restless and spending more time alone. The others are noticing and talking about it. I've waited for you to talk to me, but you haven't, so here I am."

Butcher was the next oldest in the club after me. I was five years older than him. We'd been in the club the longest. Others had come and gone, leaving us the elders. Christ, that made me feel old, an elder at my age. Maybe I should've gotten a drink after all. We'd come up through the ranks together, although I started five years ahead of him and moved slightly faster. He began prospecting at eighteen, the same as I had. I considered him my best friend.

I didn't answer him right away. Not because his bluntness surprised or offended me, but because I didn't have an answer. I considered what he said and what I'd been thinking before he arrived. It was as if he had read my mind. A minute later, I knew I had to say something. I sighed.

"Butch, I have no goddamn clue what's wrong with me. You're right. I am restless, feel unsatisfied, and I'm trying to figure out why."

"It's been coming on for a long time. What happened this past weekend? I thought you enjoyed yourself and loved seeing Brooklyn and the family. Did something happen between you two that I don't know about? Did you have a fight?"

I was shaking my head before he even finished. "No, nothing happened. I did love it. Thane and Jai are growing so fast. I admit seeing them and knowing I miss out on so much due to the distance sucks. We do web chats and calls, but they're not the same."

"If she didn't love Torch so much, I'd say let's go steal them back, but she'd be miserable and kick our asses, and he'd come down with his whole club to rescue them. The man is crazy for them, which is damn lucky for him," he muttered.

Butcher was like an uncle to Brooklyn. He'd been one of the ones who stepped up to help me raise her after Amy died. There were a few old ladies in the club back then. The ones to the older guys had helped a ton, too, but they had their own families, and I never wanted to take advantage of them. The sight of us learning to braid hair or put it in ponytails and pick out girly clothing and gifts had been hilarious to the others and stressful as hell for us. I thought she turned out pretty damn well. The newer members of the club claim they were her brothers versus her uncles. When she settled in Tennessee, there had been a lot of grumbling.

"He's a damn good father and old man," I agreed.

"So if it's not Brooklyn, then what is it? Are you no longer loving the club? Don't tell me you want to step down or get out altogether?"

"Hell no, I don't want to step down or leave! This club has been a part of me my whole life. I'll leave when I either can no longer ride, and I'm kicked to the curb, or I die. Now, if I can no longer effectively serve as your president, I'll step back and let someone else lead, but that's it."

"Whew, okay, it's not that. You had me worried for a minute or two that you might be losing your mind and contemplating doing one of those. I'd hate to have to beat sense into you, but I would," he told me, sporting a big grin.

"Listen, fucker, don't forget who the enforcer was before you. My ass isn't so easy to whip. You're welcome to try, but don't get upset when I beat yours." I smirked. He chuckled. but didn't deny it.

"Come on, you have to have some idea of the cause. You spend less time at the clubhouse. You barely look at any of the sluts or hangers-on, let alone accept their offers. As far as I know, you're not fucking anyone in town."

I threw up my hands. He was like a dog with a bone. He wouldn't stop until I gave him something. "I'm not sure, damn it! I was thinking about it before you showed up. You're right. The women don't interest me, and before you ask if I can get it up, I can—no little blue pills needed here. I'm tired of the same old thing. They're interchangeable—same conversation, and the majority are scheming patch chasers."

"You're lonely, and one of those women won't do. You need an old lady," he said decisively. I opened my mouth to deny it, but he cut me off before I could utter a word.

"Uh, don't say it. You see the same thing I do. Most of our friends in other clubs are settling down, and they're thrilled about it. I believe you want that because I do. I'm forty-two, Diablo. I've spread my wild oats and had a bunch of fun doing it, but I want more. I want someone to come home to every night. I want a family and love."

"And you should get it, Butch. In my case, I already had it."

"Don't take my head off, but Amy has been gone for over twenty years. I know you loved her. You can still honor your two's love and her memory and still love another woman. It's not betrayal or a sin. I won't nag you about it, but I need you to promise to consider it. I've always believed you would find another woman and your life would be even better. Okay, I've said my piece for now. On to the other reason I came over." He paused. The asshole always made me ask.

"Yeah, why's that?"

"The guys are at the clubhouse. It's a great day out—sunny and hot. They want to go for a ride. We were up to Cherokee last weekend, but let's get out and blow away the cobwebs again. Crash has a route plotted out."

His suggestion was one I could get behind. Any excuse to be on my bike with the wind in my face was a yes. I stood up. "Why the hell didn't you start with that? What're you waiting for? Get your ass moving. I'll meet you guys at the clubhouse. Give me about ten minutes."

He rose to his feet, chuckling. Giving me a fist bump, he strode to the door and opened it. "See you in ten," he called out before closing it.

As I got my stuff together and went to get my bike out of the garage, I tried not to dwell on what he'd said or the impact his words had on me. I might reexamine them later, but it was time to ride for now.

Pulling out of the garage a few minutes later, I revved the engine and headed to the clubhouse, which wasn't far from my place. I wanted to be close to it in case I was needed, but far enough away not to hear all the noise when the guys were partying. I wasn't the only one who had a house. All the officers and Crash had built one over the past few years. The others were talking about doing it one day. I thought we might get one or two sooner rather than later. There was plenty of room in the clubhouse, but it got old.

As I made my way toward the clubhouse, the sound of motorcycle engines grew louder. God, there was nothing like the throaty rumble of a bike. When Brooklyn was a baby and toddler and had a hard time sleeping, I'd lull her to sleep by turning on my bike. She'd go out like a light.

Today, I rode my Harley Road King rather than my Indian bike. I stopped in front of the clubhouse, where there was a designated area for bike parking and regular vehicle parking on the opposite side. A quick scan told me the entire club was going on the ride. Good. Zax and Liam, our two current prospects, had the crash truck and trailer out and ready to go. We took them along in case any of us broke down. We'd either be able to haul our bike back or fix it with the parts and tools we carried in the truck if it was minor enough.

Liam had joined us three months ago, and Zax two months before him. The two prior prospects hadn't been able to cut it, so they were let go. Suffice it to say, neither was happy with our decision. So far, I was pleased with what I saw from these two. Unless they majorly screwed up between now and when it was time to take a vote, they should patch in with no problem.

Unlike other clubs, who made their prospects do a year or less before deciding whether to patch them or not, in ours, it was two years. I'd implemented that rule a few years back when we had a run of issues with guys gutting it out for the year, only to end up disappointments after they got their patch. They were subsequently shown the door or made to see they weren't a fit. They were lucky. If it had been back in my dad's day or my early years, they would've been made to bleed, and, in some cases, that meant death. It depended on the reason they were no longer a part of us.

Hands were raised, and chins lifted in greeting as I weaved my bike to the head of the pack. I rode at the front, with the officers behind me and the regular members behind them. The prospects brought up the rear. If we didn't have them, the road captain often brought up the rear to ensure everyone stayed with the group. Once I noted they were all in their usual spots, I raised my hand and made a fist. The roar got louder as we made our way to the front gate. We had two of them, but this was the one we used most of the time.

Easing out onto our road, which wound through the heavily wooded area around us, we headed for County Rd 214. Our compound was outside the city of St. Augustine, near Cowan Swamp. As we got to the 214, I noticed a car sitting alongside the road. I didn't see anyone nearby. Probably someone who ran out of gas and had to call for help or, worse, hoof it to a gas station. Some people never learned.

We kept heading west, passing over Interstate 95. Once we got out further, we broke off onto more minor roads. We rode for a couple of hours. It was as great as I knew it would be. If we'd started earlier, we would've gone longer, but since we hadn't, and it was Saturday and I knew the guys would want to be back to party, we kept it shorter.

It was late afternoon when we came zooming back, headed for our turnoff. As we got close, I saw that the abandoned car was still there. Hmm, I wondered why it hadn't been either towed or recovered. The business-minded part of me knew we might be able to gain a customer. One of our main businesses was our garage, Horsemen's Repair, which offered a mobile mechanic service if you were willing to pay and the problem could be fixed without a lot of specialized equipment and tools. You'd be surprised how many times that was the case. The majority of people seemed unable or unwilling to do the most straightforward maintenance or repairs these days. I had no complaints. It made us a lot of money.

Raising my arm, I signaled I was pulling off. When I did, the others followed. It looked like it would be a club affair. Shutting off our bikes, I swung off mine. I stretched my back out for several moments before walking the rest of the way to the car. Hopefully, it wasn't locked, and I could get inside to hunt for the registration. With a name and address, Micro would have no problem finding a number to call. Lacking that, we'd get the license plate number so he could run it to get the information. Sure, it would be easier to have one of us jot it down and be done with it, but we weren't in a hurry.

Walking up to the passenger door, I checked out the car. It was a newer dark sedan with dark-tinted windows. There didn't appear to be any damage to it, to explain why it was here. Tugging on the handle, I was pleased to find it unlocked. The door swung open. Leaning inside, I discovered it was sweltering hot. Christ, why didn't whoever it belonged to at least open the window? If you left it sealed up enough times, your windows might crack.

I opened the glove box. I was taken aback to find only the owner's manual in it. Looking around, I saw no other places where the registration could be. Well, shit, so much for that idea. The guys were all talking and joking. Ignoring them, I went to the rear of the car to get the license plate number. There wasn't one on the front. A piece of cloth caught my attention as I glanced at the plate. It was hanging out of the trunk. Peering at it closer, I saw it was a semi-sheer blue material.

Immediately, every crime show I ever watched flashed through my mind, and there were a ton of them. All I thought was, what if a body was in the trunk? I gave a loud, piercing whistle to get the others' attention. They quieted down instantly and started toward me.

"What's wrong, Diablo?" Scorpion, my VP, asked.

"Someone pull the trunk release. I wanna check something out."

Thunder opened the driver's door and pulled it. As the trunk unlatched, my guys gathered around me in a semicircle. Slowly, I reached out and shoved the trunk lid up. As it fully lifted, I blinked. Hisses and muttering broke out as we took in the sight before us. Lying curled up in the fetal position, covered from head to chest in blood, was a body.

It was clear it was the body of a woman. Long jet-black hair was sticking in the blood covering her face. Around her wrists and ankles were ropes. The fabric I'd seen belonged to a long, gauzy skirt she had on. My gut clenched. Jesus Christ, no wonder whoever was driving abandoned it. They'd killed someone and were transporting the body. God knew we had enough woods and swamp land to dispose of one. We'd done it ourselves more than a few times.

Shit, we needed to think about how to handle this. If we called the cops, most likely, they'd think we had something to do with it and throw all our asses in jail. As I debated what to do about it, Wolverine moved closer and touched her neck. He was our medic. He'd done a few years in the Navy as a corpsman. As he pressed into the side of her bloody neck to check for a pulse, we were all startled to hear a soft, pitiful moan come out of her.

"Fuck, she's alive! Someone call 911, and one of you go get my kit," Wolverine snapped, taking charge.

I heard footsteps running away. I had no idea who they belonged to because I was too busy staring at the woman.

"We need to get her out of there. It's sweltering. She no doubt has heatstroke," Wolverine muttered angrily.

"I'll lift her out. You get your equipment out to check her over," I told him. I wasn't sure why. It was as if this overwhelming urge to do it overcame me. He didn't argue. He just moved back.

I had no idea if she could hear me. Other than that single moan, she hadn't made another sound or even moved. "Honey, I hope you can hear me. I'm gonna pick you up. I'll try to make it hurt as little as possible. We're here to help you, not hurt you. My brother, Wolverine, is a medic. He wants to check you out."

After lifting her out, I cradled her close. I took a few steps and then went to crouch down to lay her on the ground. I stopped. "Someone throw a blanket or something on the ground. She doesn't need any dirt in her wounds," I barked.

Liam popped up carrying Wolverine's kit, and he had a blanket, too. He didn't waste time handing the kit over and spreading the blanket out. I squatted and placed her on it as soon as it was down. I stayed there and watched as Wolverine got to work. He got out his stethoscope and blood pressure cuff first.

"How long until the ambulance gets here?" he hollered after he checked her blood pressure. He had a worried frown on his face. That didn't bode well.

"They said twenty minutes. There was a big wreck in town," Lucky answered back.

"Son of a bitch," he snarled. He was listening to her chest.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Her pressure is low. She's burning up. She's suffering from heatstroke from being in the trunk for God knows how long. I've got to get her body temp down now. If I don't, she might die or at least have permanent damage to her brain and organs."

It took me mere seconds to decide. "Load her into the crash truck, and we'll take her to the clubhouse. You can work on her there. Lucky, call the ambulance back and tell them where to come. Let's roll," I shouted.

There was a flurry as they went for their bikes. Zax ran to bring the truck closer to us. When he got it there, I was the one to carry her to it. As I placed her in the back, Wolverine told Liam to ride his bike back, followed by the obligatory threat of death if he put a mark on it, and then he climbed in with her. I almost protested, then stopped myself. He was the logical one to ride with her. I wouldn't have a clue what to do. Shutting the door, I ran to my bike, and we were off. The short ride to the compound was filled with me wondering who she was and why she'd been in the trunk.