DIABLO: Night Rebels Motorcycle Club (Night Rebels MC Romance Book 3)

by Chiah Wilder

  He veered his Harley onto the back road and increased his speed. Riding fast always cleared his mind, and he needed to think clearly. The sand-filled wind pricked his skin like a thousand needles. It was good; it made him feel alive.

  Picking up speed, he flew down the roads that crisscrossed the desert. He kept going, harder and faster, until it was like he was flying higher than a bird. And it was at that point that he was able to push her out of his mind.

  Chapter Four

  On Saturday night, Diablo pulled his Harley behind the small warehouse outside of Tula. The setting sun made the building shimmer as it caught the rose-colored rays from the west. Jose was outside smoking a joint when Diablo came to the back door.

  “Hey, bro. Ready for tonight?” Jose grinned.

  “Yeah.” Diablo grasped the doorknob.

  “You don’t talk much, do you? The other bouncer, Rocky, is the opposite of you. He’s always bragging about how many heads he’s cracked.” Jose sucked in a long drag on his joint.

  Diablo swung the door open and went into the darkened room. Sam stood off to the side crossing and uncrossing his arms as Bloody Knuckles talked to him, their voices inaudible. A few of the ring girls stood on the small stages stretching out their limbs. Emerald waved to him while she bent down real low, her breasts practically falling out of the tight push-up bra she wore. He walked by without a side glance.

  His eyes darted around the room, seeing everyone but the one he’d been thinking about all week. He pressed his lips together when he saw Bloody Knuckles coming toward him.

  “You’re a bit early,” the promoter said. Diablo just stared at him. “Should be a good fight. A couple of the guys battling it out tonight have an amateur rep in the neighboring counties. I’ve hired a few extra guys to help you, Rocky, and Moe out.” He wiped the corners of his mouth. “Uh… I guess that’s all. We got some chow upstairs in the kitchen if you want. Might as well relax for a few as we set things up.”

  “Does the kitchen have any beer?”

  The promoter let out a nervous laugh. “It does. Help yourself, but don’t tell the other dudes.” He grasped Diablo’s shoulder but then quickly withdrew his hand when he glared at him. “I’ll see you in a bit.” He rushed off.

  Diablo went over to Jose who was tightening the ropes around the ring. “Where’s the stairway?” he asked. Jose pointed to the far left corner, then resumed his task.

  Diablo made his way to the far end of the room. He entered a hallway and saw the stairs, taking them two at a time until he ended up on the landing. To the left of him was a long hallway with a bunch of closed doors. To the right, he saw a large family room and moved in that direction. When he entered the room, he found several couches and chairs, a large television, some lamps, and a coffee table. Walking through, he saw a small kitchen in the back. He ambled over and opened the fridge, taking out a can of Coors. Curling his fingers around the cold can, he popped the tab and guzzled it down in one long drink. After tossing the crushed can in a trash can underneath the sink, he took out another beer and went into the family room. The room had a lived-in feel to it, and a large sliding door facing east opened to a balcony.

  As he looked out at the brown terrain, the jagged peaks of the San Juan Mountains drew his gaze. White still capped the tallest peaks, and for a moment, Diablo was transported back to his childhood home with its breathtaking view of the Rocky Mountains. The house had been small for him, his three siblings, and his mom, but it had been enough. He and Beau bunked in one room and his older sister, Clarissa, bunked with their youngest sibling, Taya. For a few years things had been great, until his dad had decided he didn’t want a family anymore.

  Diablo’s chest tightened as he brought the can to his lips. I don’t know why I’m thinking of all this shit from my past. He turned around and went back into the room.

  Grabbing the remote, he switched on the TV before sinking into the couch. As he stared blankly at the screen, he felt someone watching him. He nonchalantly shifted his position and looked behind him to catch her peeking at him from the hallway. She moved away quickly. Afraid he’d scare her away, he got up and walked quietly to the doorway. She gasped when she came in for another peek and saw him standing before her. She spun around and started to leave.

  “Wait. I want to talk to you.” Diablo’s deep voice filled the space between them.

  Slowly she pivoted back around and carefully walked by him; she had a pronounced limp. He glanced down at her feet and he noticed one of her shoes was higher than the other. His eyes flew up to her face but her head was bent down and her hair covered her features. She settled into one of the cushy chairs and tucked her legs under her.

  Diablo sat back on the couch and watched her, a small smile tugging the corners of his mouth when she stole a few glimpses at him. He snapped off the television and they sat there in silence, him waiting for her to say something and her looking through her hair at him. Wiping his hands on his jean-clad thighs, he said, “Why don’t you lift your hair so I can see you.”

  Her small shoulders rose up and down.

  “I’m not gonna hurt you. I just want to see you,” he said gently.

  “Maybe I don’t want you to see me,” she whispered.

  “Why not? I’ve already seen your beautiful eyes.”

  “Are you a bouncer?”

  “Yeah. Who are you?”

  She ran her hand up and down her sleeved arm. “Nobody,” she said in a soft voice. Then she lifted her head slightly and said in a stronger voice, “I’m nobody at all.”

  Diablo leaned back against the cushions and stretched out his legs. “Everyone’s someone. You a ring girl?” That got a laugh out of her and he joined in on it. “Then who?”

  “Bloody Knuckles’s—I hate that damn name—daughter.”

  Fuck. I didn’t expect that. “No shit. He doesn’t seem like the fatherly type,” he said, more to himself than to her.

  “He’s not.” She rubbed her arm again.

  Silence engulfed them once again.

  “You live up here?”

  “Just on the weekends. During the week I live with my dad and Shanna.” He heard the contempt in her voice when she said the name.

  “Not too crazy ’bout your dad’s wife?”

  “And they say all muscle men are dumb.”

  Normally her attitude would start to piss him off, but he heard such bitterness and loneliness in her voice that he wanted to reach out to her. He knew very well how easily life could throw a multitude of shitty curves. “So are you gonna show me your face? I don’t like talking to a head of hair.” Her small chuckle touched him, but she didn’t move the hair off her face.

  He stood up and walked over to her, bending down as he gently moved her hair away. Cupping her chin, he tilted her head back and gazed into the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen. They weren’t enhanced with makeup, and they were even prettier up close.

  Staring into their depths, he saw distrust and fear.

  “No need to be scared of me. I’m not gonna hurt you,” he whispered as he scanned her face. She didn’t wear a stitch of makeup except for a swipe of gloss on her lips. He surmised that her flawless skin, high cheekbones, straight nose, and perfectly arched eyebrows would make her the envy of most women. “You’re a beautiful woman,” he muttered.

  She jerked her head away. “Don’t say that to me!”

  Taken aback, he straightened up. “Why not?”

  “Just don’t.” She turned her head and stared out the window.

  “Sorry if I offended you. I didn’t mean to.” I’m apologizing for calling her beautiful. That’s pretty fucked. “You got a name?”

  “Fallon,” she said softly. “You?” She darted her eyes at him, then away again.

  “Diablo.” He grinned when she looked at him for more than a millisecond.

  “I didn’t know anyone ever named their kid ‘Devil.’ That’s pretty cool.” She licked her lips and then looked down. “I like your tattoo
s.”

  Fuck, she’s cute. I can’t remember the last time a girl was so shy around me. “I’m glad you like ’em. I got more on my chest and back. Do you have any tats?”

  Shaking her head, she glanced up. “No. All the ring girls have them. Some of them are real pretty. I don’t like needles. I guess I’m chicken.”

  He laughed. “I’m not gonna lie to you and tell you they don’t hurt, ’cause they do. It’s worth it, though. They’re a form of expression you wear on your skin. I’m gonna get a couple more.”

  Giving him a weak smile, she started rubbing her arm again. Then their time together ended when Shanna bustled in.

  “There you are. Your dad’s been looking all over for you. He’s so pissed. You forgot to put out the towels and rags. You better get your ass movin’.” While she spoke, she ran her gaze over Diablo, slowly walking toward him. “And my hubby’s looking for you too.” She ran her finger down his arm. “You’re looking mighty fine, Diablo.”

  Diablo glanced at Fallon who’d jumped up, panic etching her face. Shanna looked from him to Fallon, then back to him. Redness covered her face as her eyes narrowed. “Get downstairs. Now. I’m gonna tell your dad exactly what you were doing when you should’ve been working.”

  Fallon rushed to the door. “Fallon,” Diablo said. She stopped and turned around. “It was good talking to you.” He threw her a warm smile, loving the way her cheeks colored before she smiled back and then disappeared out the door.

  “Fucking unbelievable,” Shanna fumed. He’d forgotten she was there. He turned to her, his face hard. She tossed her hair over her shoulders, the anger dissipating from her face. Stepping closer to him, she smiled. “Fallon is such a pathetic girl. Her whole existence begs for pity. Thanks for being nice to her. I know it wasn’t what you wanted to do on your break.”

  Diablo brushed away from her and walked out of the room, then dashed down the stairs and entered the fight room. He spotted the large punching bag hanging from the ceiling at the back of the room, near the back door. He went over and pummeled the bag over and over until sweat soaked his T-shirt.

  “What’s going on, amigo?” Jose asked as he came from behind him. “A few of the fighters are here so we gotta hustle. You practicing for hitting some people tonight?” His laugh was tight.

  Breathing heavily, Diablo stepped away from the punching bag. He felt better. He figured it was better than rearranging the plastic bitch’s face. Grabbing the towel Jose handed him, he wiped his face, neck, and arms. “Is there a shower around here?”

  “In the back room. Be quick about it. You need another shirt?”

  “I’m good. I carry spares in my saddlebags.” As he walked to the back room, he looked around for Fallon, but she wasn’t anywhere to be seen. She intrigued the hell out of him. He thought he’d talk to her and satisfy his curiosity, but he found that he wanted to see and speak with her more. He hoped he’d be able to see her again before the night ended.

  Two hours later, the fights were in full swing and the place was more crowded than the week before. Goldie and Muerto had come along with the brothers who were there the previous week. They all had taken Diablo’s tip seriously and placed their heavy bets on Spider, cheering when they won a load of money.

  During the break, the ring girls took to their stages and wriggled their buttocks for the audience that was mostly men. Goldie and Chains came over to Diablo, waving their winnings at him.

  “Fuckin’ good fight. And I’m gonna give you a solid ten percent for the tip,” Goldie said as he counted out two hundred dollars. “And these chicks shaking their asses are giving me a goddamn hard-on.” He laughed as he put the bills into Diablo’s hand.

  “How the hell can you stand there and not be affected by these chicks?” Chains asked.

  “When you see something a lot, it doesn’t affect you. That’s how people get used to the shitty stuff in their lives—it becomes routine.”

  “Damn. That’s some heavy shit for a Saturday night,” Chain said.

  “The only thing missing is booze.” Goldie leaned into Diablo. “You don’t have some beer stashed somewhere, do you?”

  Diablo chuckled. “No. You’re gonna have to wait until you get back to the clubhouse. These fights usually go until midnight. Promoters don’t want them to end too late because they don’t want to attract the badges or anything.”

  Army and Muerto came over, bumping fists with Diablo. “Tonight’s even better than last week,” Army said. “The fighters are better.” He jumped in the air, kicking out his leg. “This shit gets me all pumped up! It’s like a goddamn drug. I swear I’m gonna sign up to do one of these fights. I’m ready to go now.”

  “I don’t think Steel would like that. You better run it by him before you enter the ring,” Muerto said. “But I know what you mean about the rush. My adrenaline’s been pumping since the first round started. I’m itching to smash something too.”

  The lights blinked on and off three times. “Time to get back. Later, dude,” Goldie said to Diablo as they all raised their fists in the air.

  During the next session of combats, Diablo kept scanning the room like he’d done ever since the first fight started, but Fallon was gone. It was like she’d hidden herself away from him, but he knew she was somewhere close. He could feel her gaze on him.

  On his second scan of the room, his gaze caught a flash of red with yellow and black lettering on the back of a tall guy’s leather vest. Unfolding his arms, he walked in closer to the crowd until he could see what was on it. His muscles stiffened when he read “Satan’s Pistons MC” in red and yellow colors. A few others with the same cuts and logo flocked around the tall guy, screaming and cussing at the combatants in the ring.

  They must’ve come in when I was out back helping Jose. Fuck. I gotta tell my brothers.

  As he made his way through the crowd, he heard a group of people screaming. He spun around and saw Army and Chains punching it out with two Satan’s Pistons members.

  Guess they know they’re here.

  Then all hell broke loose.

  Chapter Five

  Fists crunched cheekbones, brows swelled, blood sprayed, and the two fighters in the ring stood watching the crowd as men with and without leather cuts duked it out. Diablo jumped into the melee, trying to pull the non-bikers apart. His fellow bouncers rushed in, screaming, cursing, and dragging men out by the collars. Diablo saw one of the Satan’s Pistons take out a knife and come toward Muerto. Leaping over a couple of guys on the ground, he yelled out, “Muerto, to your right!”

  Muerto turned and saw the biker inches from him. He swung around and knocked the knife out of his hand, then kicked him in the chest with the heel of his boot. The outlaw biker crumpled to the floor. Diablo kicked the knife out of anyone’s reach and it went sliding across the floor toward the back of the room. Wanting to make sure no one picked it up, he sprinted after it, pausing when he saw Fallon bend down and pick it up.

  Bloody Knuckles was waving his arms all around as he ran around like a chicken with its head cut off. If there wasn’t such a ruckus, Diablo would’ve enjoyed the anxiety the asshole was feeling.

  Diablo came up to Fallon and she handed him the knife.

  “Thanks. You better go upstairs. It’s a fucking mess in here right now. You don’t want to get hurt.”

  She stared at him. Standing in the doorway leading to the staircase, she looked so vulnerable. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and keep her safe. She was a delicate-looking woman, but she seemed even more fragile among all the violence behind him.

  “Go on now. Do like I told you.” He reached out and slid his fingers over her skin. She flinched and backed away. He watched her go up the stairs, and then he turned back around. The crowd had thinned out and he didn’t see any of his brothers or the Satan’s Pistons members. He started to walk back to the center of the room when he heard a small voice call out his name. He whirled around and Fallon stood crouched on the steps, her eyes shining.

&
nbsp; “Be careful,” she said, then scrambled up the stairs. Her words energized him and he marched back into the thick of things.

  “Where are the bikers?” he asked Rocky.

  “They’re beating the shit outta each other outside. Most of the other people took off. I told Bloody Knuckles we oughta call the police, but he doesn’t want them here for obvious reasons. I get it, but someone’s gonna get killed.”

  “I’ll figure it out.” Diablo hurried outside and saw Crow, leaping like a panther, land on one of the Pistons’ backs. They crashed to the ground and his brother beat the fallen man about the head and neck with a savagery Diablo had never seen.

  He went over and pulled Crow off the unconscious man.

  “What the fuck?” Crow struggled to break free of Diablo’s grip. “I’m gonna kill that sonofabitch. He’s the one who cut me up in Arizona. I’ve been wanting to pay this fucker back. When this chickenshit sliced me, it was me against five of these fuckers. At least I’m giving him a fair chance.”

  “Steel won’t want you killing one of these fuckers without reason. You beat his ass, but it’s time to move on.” Diablo nudged the biker who was lying face down on the ground. He groaned. “He’s alive. Let’s help the others.”

  As soon as Diablo surveyed the fight, it was obvious that the Night Rebels outnumbered the Satan’s Pistons. The tall man, who Diablo had seen earlier inside, yelled out to his brothers to get their asses on their Harleys and leave. Several of the members were stained in blood, and several Night Rebels didn’t look any better. A couple of Pistons picked up the member Crow had beaten and dragged him to a SUV, threw him in the back, and jumped in. The rest of the club hopped on their bikes.

  “We don’t wanna see your fuckin’ asses in our territory again! You sonsofbitches.” Spit sprayed out of Crow’s mouth.

  “Next time you won’t be riding away,” Army said while the other Night Rebels yelled in agreement.

  The tall man glared at them. “This shit isn’t finished.” He and the other Pistons rode away.