by Hope Stone
Diego
An MC Romance (Outlaw Souls Book 5)
Hope Stone
Contents
Dedication
1. Diego
2. Misty
3. Diego
4. Misty
5. Diego
6. Misty
7. Diego
8. Misty
9. Diego
10. Misty
11. Diego
12. Misty
13. Diego
14. Misty
15. Diego
16. Misty
17. Diego
18. Misty
19. Diego
20. Misty
21. Diego
22. Misty
23. Diego
24. Misty
25. Diego
26. Misty
Epilogue
What’s Next?
Special Invitation
Colt
Preview: Colt
1. Colt
2. Amber
Connect With Hope
About The Author
© Copyright 2020 - All rights reserved.
It is not legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental.
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Dedication
This book is dedicated to YOU, the readers and supporters of indie authors like myself. Your posts and kind words on Facebook and Email give me the motivation to keep writing and publishing these stories for you all. Thank you!
Now prepare to escape into the world of The Outlaw Souls MC for some pulse-pounding action in this, binge-worthy
Ready To Meet Diego and Misty?…
One
Diego
Riding on the wings of freedom. Or as close as a man can come to it. I weaved slowly through the Pacific Highway traffic, the wind breezing past my face and the soft throttle of my Harley-Davidson leading me to my next destination. My chopper took me where I needed to be. Right now the road was leading to an unknown destination somewhere along the Californian coast. Just how I liked it. Things had changed drastically since Ryder took over from Padre as president of the Outlaw Souls. The chapter roster was switching up and people were being shuffled around the chessboard. I wanted out. My restless bones wanted someplace fresh and new. Someplace where people didn’t know my name. With the changeover, my nomad patch stripes came into full effect and I got my chance.
“It’s what Padre would have wanted. The floor is yours.” Yoda, Padre’s brother and chapter chaplain, sealed it at the Blue Dog Saloon meeting before I left. Music to my ears because the town of La Playa was…well, played out.
“You’ve officially been given your nomad stripes. Padre always wanted to open a new chapter and expand the operation,” Yoda explained.
“Then I’m the man to do it.”
“Job’s all yours, Diego. I approve of it.” Yoda nodded while shaking my hand.
My essentials were neatly packed in my leased apartment. Ready to go. I would sort out the rest from wherever I landed. My heart had been calling me to leave for years. But I’d met someone that slowed my progress down. A beautiful woman. After things went sour with Crystal, I felt a sense of relief. I still wanted to remain loyal to the chapter, but the desperate ache to spread my wings made me jump at the chance to leave.
My chopper continued gliding smoothly through the California traffic as my stomach rumbled, telling me it was about time to stop and eat. No sad goodbyes and no heavy hearts either. I wasn’t the man for that. When I moved on I liked to cut it clean. I planned on staying within the borders of California. I would know when to put the kickstand down. My plan was to check in somewhere and land where I felt best. That was as far as I got with it.
Thinking back to when I first met, things with Crystal had probably deteriorated over time. I used to frequent Marty’s every Friday night. One Friday, I rode in solo and parked myself in a good spot. A mixed crowd of both men and women were out for the night, crimson lighting flooding the stage. I’d found myself a nice little spot close by. I was ready to kick back with some entertainment, maybe drop a little change. A tanned blonde with legs for days, ample curves and a pouty mouth graced the stage, making me sit up. Her moves on the stripper pole were more sensual than the other girls, not so grimy. The difference with her was her body looked natural and soft—no enhancements like I saw with the other strippers.
“Who the hell is that?” I’d tapped the shoulder of the bartender Alice, who I was on a first-name basis with. She put my beer in front of me.
“Ah, you like the look of her? That’s Crystal, she just started here last week.” I inched forward to get a better look. Her eyes met mine and I knew it was on. That was all it took with me. Eye contact. Took a few more visits before anything ramped up between us.
One midnight hour two years ago, that changed as Crystal slid towards me. “You come here all the time. I think it’s about time you take me on a date.” A long tongue suggestion and a kitten crawl across the stage would get you a date real quick with me.
“Sure. We can work something out.” Heavy breasts jiggled as she swayed like fluid water to her feet.
“Sounds good, big boy. Meet you after my set. Drop them fifties right in here.” She pointed to the elastic of her g-string. Of course I did. Any man in their right mind would. Just like that, we got started in a relationship that lasted two years. I grew to love her. But it wasn’t enough. We got into it one night at my place.
“I don’t want to strip anymore. I have enough saved to take a break for a while. Can’t we think about taking the next step? I want a family with you.” That cutesy voice I liked had become whiny to me, making my skin crawl as soon as she said it.
“It's not what I want. I’m not ready to settle down right now. I respect that’s what you want. But honey, it’s not for me.” The tears flowed, and I comforted her as best I could. I knew the man I was inside.
“I didn’t mean it. I mean, I can live without them. I just thought we had something.” Crystal stroked my face and I left her with a kiss.
“We did, but it’s run its course. If you want kids, I don’t want to rob you of that decision.” I rubbed her hands. I wanted to have some level of compassion. “You’re going to find someone just your vibe. I’m not your guy.” Sometimes my honesty got me into trouble. Led to heartbreak. Might be part of the reason my name Diego the “Dog” Christopher fit me. Women never called me that to my face, thankfully. My devilish charm usually won them over. I remained friends with most of the women I banged. Even had a few of them on replay. Just depended on the season and the timing. But I treated all of them with the respect they deserved, which was why they kept coming back. Others in the club might have argued I got my nickname because of my loyalty.
So that was how it was left. No ties. Just the wind puffing up the back of my jacket and a hamburger joint coming up. I’d been riding for three hours and that was about my limit in any given stretch. Time to let my long limbs have a rest. Standing six feet two could have its advantages, but on a bike, it could tighten up the legs a little. I kinda wished I’d taken the coastal route. To have some of the ocean spray hit me in the face along the way. But for some reason, I’d chosen to stick to the Pacific Highway. The sign said “Bakersfield” as I pulled up to an old-school diner. I parked and stretched, taking in the clear blue California sky. A few large trucks were parked on the gravel driveway as I pushed through the screen door
. The familiar sizzle of hamburgers on the grill and the distinct smell of onions made my mouth water. Wouldn’t mind a beer as well. However, I was riding so I’d wait. A Mom and Pop hamburger joint, right up my alley. Anytime I rode out and found a good place to stop off for food, I stored it in the memory bank for the next ride. A few truckers were in the booths, making their stops and reading the paper. The sound of the radio flowed through the diner.
“Hey, good looking. On a stop? What can I get ya’?”
I gave the lady behind the counter a big grin. I liked her spunk. A little dumpy probably, in her early fifties with brown hair stuck to her forehead from the Cali heat. She was wearing an old apron. It was just her out front with a rectangular peephole where the meals were being placed behind the counter. An older man with a net was whipping up the meals in the back. I looked up at the chalk menu board.
“Yep. Just passing through. I’m looking at that mega burger. I’ll take it. Don’t leave anything out,” I replied.
“Okay.” She laughed and her stomach heaved along with her. “That’s a mighty fine bike you got out there.” She pointed to it.
“Sure is. My pride and joy.”
“I can see why. We get some bikers that roll through here from time to time. Check out those mags in the rack if you want.” She pointed to a pile of magazines in the middle of the diner. “Take a seat and I’ll bring your burger out. Help yourself to water on the side there.”
“Will do.” My meal came out ten minutes later. I devoured the juicy hamburger with everything included and washed it down with juice. I sat out front of the takeaway, flicking through a local bike magazine. I stopped a few pages in. A bunch of old dudes in riding gear, getting together for rides. But where? Merced. I looked again. So they like their bikes up there. The article mentioned they tried to get a club going with no success. Disbanded. As good a place as any to start. Might take some legwork to get it going, but my instincts told me yes... Merced, California, here I come. The open road had become a sanctuary for me long ago. A place to unwind, to contemplate, to be free. Heading to Merced was no exception. I could lay down roots and set up shop for a while. Yep. Might be nice, see how I like it.
I’d been married once to Catarina. Fresh out of high school and struggling to make ends meet. “You’re too young to get married, Diego. Why don’t you wait?” my sweet mother warned me, but we were blinded. I was nineteen at the time and I wanted what I wanted.
“Stay out of it. I love Catarina and she loves me. We’re getting married.” Five good years or so, I’d thought. Put my heart and soul into it as a man. We thought we would never want to be apart from one another. Fairy tales don’t last forever; sometimes they end badly. A vivid flashback came to mind as I sat in Bakersfield.
“What the hell is going on? Get the fuck out of my house!” Some weedy dude was bumping and grinding with my wife. “Is this why you’ve been working late?” I screamed. I nearly lost my mind when I caught her.
“You were never home and I was lonely.” Catarina’s sad eyes filled with tears, staring back at me. The irony was that I was working hard as a mechanic at my local garage trying to make ends meet. Catarina worked as a secretary in a doctor’s office. The divorce sucked the life right out of me. Then add the drain on my little bank account and you could say I received the ultimate uppercut. After that, I vowed never to be committed again.
“I heard you're looking for members? I’m in, if you’ll have me.” That was the moment I joined the Outlaw Souls. Six years ago to the day and I never looked back. A brotherhood that would never abandon me, so I couldn’t abandon them. I would support my fellow riders to the death.
Belly full and with a new resolve, I briefly looked over Merced on my phone. It was close to college campuses and the nearby Yosemite park. Good places to take day rides to.
I rode into Merced, California on a candy-coated sunset two and a half hours later to start my new life and a new chapter.
Two
Misty
The size of a clenched fist. The one muscle that does all the work. The illustrious aorta and master of the pulmonary valve function. The door to the lower heart chamber, allowing the pulmonary artery to do its work, pumping blood through the body.
My vision was blurring because of all the back and forth over the textbook pages. I was tired from trying to absorb information and retain it for my upcoming test. I was getting back to basics first and revisiting my knowledge of myocardial infarctions. In layman's terms, the heart attack. I was knee-deep in the study zone with anatomy books spread open to various pages at my study desk in my room. The sun streamed through my curtains, making it a little more bearable. My mug of strong coffee helped that along as well.
Funny that scientists say the heart holds more intelligence than the brain. It’s the epicenter of the body. If my heart had such intelligence, why was I always getting stabbed in it? It made me think of Carlos. I raised my head up from my books, giving myself an eye break, and sipped on my coffee. The guy was a heartbreaker and dream killer – that was what I called him. The suave Mexican with jet-black hair, chiseled face, and well-toned physique. He was older than me by three years. I didn’t know any better when he wormed his way into my life.
“Hey, pretty lady. You’re waiting on your brother, right?” That silky voice entered my ears while I waited on Palo outside the clubhouse to give me a ride to my friend's house. When I looked at him, I thought he was mesmerizing. I thought he was a god. My first mistake.
We dated from the tender age of twenty-three on the low for three long years. He was part of the fucked-up motorcycle club – Las Balas. I shook my head at my stupidity as I listened to the birds chirp. As the hands of fate would have it, he left later down the track after we broke up. From that point on, I wanted nothing to do with Las Balas. Hard to deal with because my brother was involved with them, heavy.
“El Diablo’s gone now. I can run the club the right way now.” My older brother Palo had his sights set on being the next head of the club. He’d been riding with Las Balas a long time.
“I don’t want nothing to do with the club. All that criminal activity is what Carlos was involved in. I’m studying to be a doctor and you need to keep that shit out of the house.” My limits had been reached. The destruction and bloodshed that Las Balas caused was common knowledge to those in the know. I used to live with Carlos and got caught up in the lifestyle he provided. The cars, the shopping, the dinners and the sex. All that money could buy. Except that it couldn’t make him keep his dick in his pants. I didn’t know the extent of the cheating until we broke up.
It was exposed one night when I was out with my study partners from campus. Another Spanish chica approached me at a local bar.
“Ola. I see what he likes.” Her long dark hair swung as she walked. She had olive skin and wore a skintight dress. I was halfway wasted at the time so I was paying little attention to her.
“What?” I slurred back at her.
“You Carlos’s girl?” The bar was cranking and I was ready to get back out on the dance floor with my girls and this payasa was scanning me. Up and down. Up and down.
“Used to be. Not anymore.” I could barely focus. I was that drunk. I was hanging on to the bar for support, laughing like a hyena. All I knew at that point was having fun. A damn good time in fact.
“I had him.” She wiggled her manicured hand in my face. Then I watched as she turned and sashayed away. That happened a lot during the relationship, not just after the fact. But every time, Carlos sweet-talked me back off the ledge.
“Baby, she’s lying. You can’t believe nothing these chicas say.” The pleading, the begging, and the puppy dog eyes. I somehow managed to take him back every time.
“No, it wasn’t like that! I gave her a kiss on the cheek.” He would always hunch his shoulders up like I was attacking him when I accused him. “You didn’t see what you thought you saw.” Toxic screaming matches followed pretty quickly after that. Some involved me throwi
ng plates at his head. Blame it on my hot Spanish blood.
“Estúpido!” So the cycle continued where I cried and Carlos would wine and dine me right out of my clothes. Things would go back to being good for a few months. Like nothing happened.
“When you finish med school, you and I can get married. We can have a family.” The guy was a compulsive liar and fed lies like cotton candy to every woman he met.
Then I would inevitably hear through the grapevine that he was together with other girls. The last straw was when I caught him red-handed. I walked into the bedroom. I had to adjust my eyes at first. It was as if they didn’t want to absorb what they were witnessing. A slender girl riding on top of him, moaning in the middle of the act. In our bedroom. My heart fell apart right then and there. Our sheets soiled by this heifer. Cheated on more times than I could remember.
I let out a deep sigh at the memory. Carlos, with his swarthy looks, was one that my brother actually approved of. And he didn’t approve of many. So I left. Packed right in the middle of the night.
“Don’t leave! We can work this out! It’s not a big deal, my heart is with you.”
The texts and phone calls came for weeks, trying to win me back. And that was how I ended up living at the other end of my brother’s house. My brother got on my nerves sometimes so I thought it best to get my own place in due course.
