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

by Chiah Wilder

  “Yep. Everything’s the same.” He counted out ten one-hundred-dollar bills in Diablo’s hand.

  “You promised to take me to Colorado Springs next weekend,” the blonde whined.

  The promoter turned to her and kissed her quickly on her shiny lips. “The weekend after. For sure.”

  “That’s what you said last weekend.” She pushed away from him.

  “Don’t be like that, baby. You like all the fancy clothes and jewelry I get you, don’t you? Well, if I don’t make money, how am I gonna keep you in the lifestyle you love?” He nuzzled her neck. She stared at Diablo and smiled.

  Diablo cleared his throat. “I’ll see you next Saturday.” He walked away knowing the busty blonde was staring at him still. She was wasting her time; she wasn’t his type. He swung his leg over his blue metallic Harley and pushed the ignition button. The iron beast sprung to life, purring loudly.

  Before he turned onto the old highway, he looked back. And her sparkling eyes watched him. He tipped his head to her. She didn’t move. When he turned back toward the venue, she moved away from the window. Then the lights went off, blackness shrouding the small warehouse.

  He circled around the parking lot; then, with a hopeful glance backward, he roared down the empty highway, the reflectors glowing eerily when his headlight hit them. The inky sky shimmered with thousands of stars as the warm air caressed him.

  When he went to his room later and lay on his bed, he didn’t doubt for a moment that the woman’s shining hazel eyes would dance in his head. They’re already dancing around in my mind. Next week, I gotta find out who she is. Since she was still in the place when he left, he knew she was part of the staff and not a spectator or crazed fangirl. He didn’t know why, but he wanted to talk to her. Wanted to get to know her.

  He breathed in deeply. He loved riding alone on quiet roads in the dark. It made it seem like he was the only person in the whole universe. The solitude wrapped around him like a comfortable blanket.

  He craved quietness. A lot of people feared it, but he’d become best friends with it. That wasn’t the case for most of his life. Before he came to Alina, he’d lived amid chaos, noise, and turmoil. His childhood was fraught with grief, fear, and anger.

  He shook his head as the memories of a past he wanted to forget faded into each other. He concentrated on the road and relished in the silence the night brought as he headed to the clubhouse.

  Chapter Two

  “Get out of the way, you stupid bitch!” Emerald pushed past Fallon, nearly knocking her over. She had a rag over her head as she rushed over to the bathroom.

  “Don’t you pay any attention to her,” Sylvia said as she pulled tightly on the sash around her robe. “She’s pretty hungover from partying with them bikers last night. Come with me and we can have a cup of coffee in the kitchen.”

  Fallon smiled. Sylvia was the only ring girl who was nice to her; the others treated her like she was either a piece of trash or a nobody. Sylvia usually told the women to stop picking on her if she heard them making fun of her. Fallon appreciated her efforts, but she’d learned to ignore the girls, and a lot of other people as well.

  Emerald came out of the bathroom, her face white as a sheet, her hair disheveled. She groaned as she brought her hand to her head, then staggered to a room down the hall and disappeared into it. Sylvia laughed. “Serves her right. She’ll be a raving bitch all day. You better stay outta her way. Let’s get that coffee.” She grabbed Fallon’s hand and led her to the kitchen.

  The kitchen was small but convenient, and the ring girls had full use of it. Each of the six women had their own room, but they had three bathrooms they had to share. There was a large family room adjacent to the kitchen where the girls could watch television. Most of the time, they’d start arguing if they were in the family room together for too long.

  Fallon took the thick mug Sylvia handed her and wrapped her fingers around its heat. She took a sip, then padded into the family room and sank down on one of the cushy chairs. Ahead of her stood the expanse of the desert through the picture window. She loved staring at the desolation of the land on Sunday mornings. Most of the ring girls were still in bed, either hungover from too much partying or exhausted from too much screwing. Her dad and his wife—her step-bitch—stayed in bed until early afternoon, so she had a slice of the luxury that was solitude every Sunday for a few hours.

  “You okay? I’m gonna go to my room, but if you want me to hang with you, I can.”

  “I’m good. Thanks, Sylvia.” She took another sip of coffee, the black liquid warming her.

  When Sylvia had gone, she breathed out, her body finally beginning to relax. She hated living at the warehouse, but she usually spent weekends there because Shanna, her father’s wife, hated her being around. Her dad deferred to her as he always did, and he gave Fallon a bunch of chores to do at the warehouse every weekend. Shanna acted like Fallon was a child even though she was only six years younger than Shanna. During the week she lived with them, but she stayed in her room most of the time.

  She tucked her legs under her and watched the dust swirl around in the morning wind. The night before had been the first time she’d seen someone who intrigued her. She wasn’t sure who he was, but she’d been thinking about him ever since she spotted him among all those people. It was a sign. And she believed it because her eyes had gravitated to his. What were the chances of that? After all, there were so many people there, and everyone was transfixed on the fight but him and her.

  Goose bumps carpeted her arms as his face flitted in her mind. It was a handsome face but anger and distrust painted it. His eyes were dark and shone like chips of black onyx, and he had a bent nose that could pass for a streetfighter’s. Even though his gaze was tough, she swore it’d softened when he looked at her. I’m probably imagining all this. He was probably trying to figure out if I belonged in there or not. But she didn’t really think so. She knew he felt the connection she’d felt, even if it had only lasted a blink of an eye.

  There was no doubt about it—he was built. From where she stood, he had colorful tattoos all the way up both of his arms. She giggled, then looked around quickly. No one was around. She giggled louder. When she’d seen the tattoos, she had an overwhelming urge to go over to him and get a better look at them. She wanted to touch them… maybe even lick them.

  Fallon sucked in her breath. I have to stop thinking like that. He probably wanted to take me upstairs and fuck me, but he didn’t have a chance since that ruckus started by the ring. He ran in to break it up. Then her eyes widened and she swallowed. I bet he was one of the bouncers. I’ve never seen him before, but I didn’t see Roy last night either. All of a sudden, her stomach flipped over when she thought about the upcoming fights on Saturday. A part of her, buried deep down inside, wanted him to be there again. Even though he looked like he could break someone’s neck with one hand, she was curious about him.

  The loud voices from the television made her jump and spill her coffee on her freshly laundered shirt. She craned her neck and saw Heidi shuffle in, a frown on her face. “Don’t you have to hose down the ring and stages?” She plopped on the couch and stretched out, her eyes glued to the TV screen.

  “I’ve got all afternoon to do that,” Fallon said softly.

  “Last time you did a shitty job, so you better take some time doing it. My stage was sticky. It was fuckin’ gross.”

  Fallon pushed up from the chair and left the room, disappointment over her morning being ruined climbing up her spine and pricking her nerves. One of these days I’m gonna tell all of them exactly what I think of them.

  She went back to her room—a closet her dad had converted—and changed into her work clothes. Pulling her hair into a high ponytail, she locked her door and made her way downstairs to the room where the fights took place. She hated seeing the dried blood, vomit, and spit, and when she took a hose to it, the mixture of scents was putrid. I have to get out of here. I’m twenty-one years old and all I’v
e ever known is living with my dad and his world. I can’t fucking stand it anymore.

  She limped over to the utility room and pulled out the long hose. As the water dissolved evidence of the violence from the night before, her mind floated back to the man with the dark beard and penetrating gaze. She couldn’t get him out of her mind, which surprised her since she didn’t trust men and tried to stay away from them as much as possible.

  “You finished in here?” Jose asked as he took a cigarette out.

  “Yeah. Did I miss any spots?” She squinted against the sun’s rays pouring through the window panes.

  “It looks good. If I find something, I’ll get it. A lady shouldn’t be doing this shitty job. What’s your dad thinking?”

  She rubbed her neck. “At least it gets me away from everyone.”

  “You should be going out with friends and have a novio.”

  “Friends are fickle, and I don’t want a boyfriend.” She dragged the hose behind her.

  “Then you haven’t found the right amigos. And you get the right novio and you’ll be so happy. A good man makes a woman feel like she’s the best woman in the world.” He smiled, the deep lines in his tanned face running into each other.

  “I think those men only exist in fairy tales and movies.” She yanked hard and the hose curled around her feet. “Oh!” She flung her arms out, grasping wildly to hold on to something so she wouldn’t fall.

  Jose rushed over and caught her under her arms as she was ready to hit the floor. “See? You need a man to make sure you don’t have to do this shit. You okay?”

  Smoothing down her T-shirt, she nodded. “I just lose my balance easier than normal people.” Her cheeks burned.

  “What’s normal? Just because you got a limp you don’t think you’re normal? You’re better than the putas who sleep all day and make fun of you. You’re a good girl, Fallon.”

  She smiled. “Thanks, Jose.” I wonder what he’d say if he knew I was a whore too. “I better get going. I have to wash all the towels and rags. Thanks for helping me.”

  “I’ll see you this weekend. Take it easy.”

  Jose was an okay guy. Sometimes he drank too much and would fight with Sam, the announcer with wiry hair, but he always protected her. He was better than her father. She wished she could say that her dad changed since he’d married Shanna, but it wouldn’t be true; her dad was a mean sonofabitch way before Shanna ever entered the picture. And now he thought he was the big honcho because he ran illegal fights where men spilled each other’s blood and other men bet on them. Real respectable job, Dad. Fuck you! And Shanna too!

  She threw the towels into the washing machine and slammed down the lid. Sitting on a chair in the corner, she took out a book from her back pocket and opened it. The words blurred together, and she couldn’t concentrate on what she was reading. The handsome face of the stranger from the night before kept bumping around in her mind. Whenever she thought about seeing him again, her insides lurched.

  Sighing, she looked back down at her book. It was going to be a very long week until Saturday.

  Chapter Three

  Diablo chomped on his nachos as he watched the race cars zip around the track on the big-screen TV in the main room. He took a long drink of his Corona, then lifted his chin at Muerto and Goldie as they approached.

  “Hey, big man, how’re the nachos?” Goldie asked as he looped his foot under a chair and pulled it out.

  “Awesome,” he said as he picked up a chip loaded with cheese, beans, and ground beef.

  “Heard the fights this past Saturday made a few of the brothers a lot of dough.” Goldie motioned to the prospect to come over.

  “Yeah. I was surprised you didn’t go. It seemed like your kind of thing.” He looked at Muerto. “And yours too. Maybe Raven is keeping you home all the time?”

  “Bring me a Coors, then go to the kitchen and have Lena make me some nachos,” Goldie said to the prospect before turning to Diablo. “I had two chicks occupying me on Saturday night.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

  “Raven’s cool with me going out with the brothers, but I wanted to take her for a ride over to Cortez. We had dinner and played some pool.”

  “Did she hustle?” Army asked as he joined the group.

  “Nah. She told the guys she was fucking good, but you know how it is.” He looked fixedly at Army. “A dude always thinks he can beat a chick. It’s the way we’re wired. Anyway, a few played, lost, and she won a bunch of money. I had to beat the shit outta one of the guys who disrespected her before we rode back to Alina. It was a fuckin’ good time.” Muerto brought his beer bottle to his lips.

  “When’s the next fight?” Army asked.

  “This Saturday.” Diablo guzzled the rest of his beer.

  “I’m in,” Goldie said as he dove into his nachos.

  “Count me in too,” Muerto said.

  “We should enter the fights. It’d be cool to bust someone’s head open.” Brutus joined the conversation.

  “We do that all the time,” Diablo replied, and the brothers laughed in agreement.

  “The ring girls are hot pieces of ass. It’s worth it just to see them. A few of them came back to the clubhouse with us and partied.” Brutus looked at the food on the table. “Lena’s making nachos?”

  “Yeah. Tell Ruger to get you some.” Goldie picked up a tortilla chip and shoved it in his mouth.

  “They wear these bras that make their tits look big and up to their chins, these sexy panties, and lace stockings. They wiggle around between the fights. The ones I’ve been to in Silverado and Durango just had the fighters and that’s it. This is more like a legit show but it isn’t. The promoter does a good job.” Army leaned back.

  “Now for sure I’m in for Saturday night,” Goldie said.

  “Where do they hold the fights?” Muerto asked.

  Diablo pushed his empty plate away from him. “About twenty miles east of Tula. The combats are in a small warehouse. From what I could see, Bloody Knuckles owns the building. I think the ring girls and some of the dudes working for him live there.”

  “Bloody Knuckles is his road name? Fuckin’ awesome!” Goldie pounded the table with his fist.

  “He’s not a biker. It’s his nickname. You know, something he uses for promotion. The guy’s an asshole, but he pays me well.”

  “You’re not making enough money from the club’s businesses?” Brutus said as he picked up a tortilla chip.

  “I need more.” Diablo’s jaw tightened.

  “That’s the fuckin’ problem with money… you always need more.” Goldie pulled out a bag of weed and a pack of rolling paper. “Who wants a joint?”

  “You finished your nachos already? Damn, dude, you must’ve been hungry. I’ll take one for later.” Brutus held out his hand.

  While the brothers talked, Diablo’s mind wandered to the honey-eyed woman he’d seen the previous Saturday. She’d been on his mind for the past several days. He looked forward to working the next show mainly for the hope of seeing her again. He’d decided if he did, he’d make it a point to go up to her. He wanted to hear her voice and find out how she fit into the gritty underworld of illegal fighting.

  “You tuning us out, Diablo?” Goldie’s voice sliced through his thoughts.

  “Just thinking ’bout something. Were you asking me something?”

  “Just asking if you want a joint.”

  Diablo nodded. Inhaling deeply, he diverted his attention to the TV screen. Around and around the track the colorful race cars sped. He stared at them and the face of his brother popped into his mind. Beau loved race cars. Diablo remembered the summer he turned twelve was when Beau decided he wanted to become a race car driver. Beau was a year and a half younger than Diablo, and they’d walk together to the local tracks in Salt Lake City. They’d pay the small entrance fee and scramble up the bleachers to watch a bunch of metal heaps drive around a track.

  That summer they must’ve seen a couple races a week, and at each one of them
Beau had told Diablo that he wanted to be a race car driver when he grew up. His dreams were spun out during that one summer where their lives almost mimicked a fucking Norman Rockwell painting. It was before the Department of Social Services took them away from their mother and Beau gave up his dreams for the prick of a needle.

  “What the fuck’s with you?” Goldie’s voice cut through the memories.

  Diablo shook his head. “Sorry, dude.” He looked at Goldie.

  “I was asking if you’d gambled on the last fights?”

  “Nope. I can’t do that since I work there.”

  “Do you have some insider info about the fighters for this weekend’s match?”

  “I know a few of them ’cause I’ve seen ’em when I was working the shows in other towns. Spider has a mean punch, so I’d go with him. Danny’s good but it’ll depend on who he’s up against. I don’t know who else will be fighting. That’s usually determined the day of. It depends who shows up. It’s really random.”

  “You gonna keep working with this Bloody fucking Knuckles?” Army said while the brothers chuckled.

  Haunting hazel eyes from a delicate face flashed through Diablo’s mind. “Yeah.”

  Muerto’s chair scraped on the floor as he pushed it out. “I gotta get to the pool hall. Later.”

  “I’ll walk out with you,” Diablo said as he stood up.

  Outside, Muerto bumped fists with him, then jumped on his Harley and took off. Diablo sat on his bike, images of the woman at the fights, Beau, and his mother strung out on crack blazing across his mind. He switched on the motor and his bike vibrated underneath him. He needed to take a long ride to clear away the images that kept running through his head. Ever since the previous Saturday, his head was a clusterfuck of shit from his past, and the chick he’d seen at the fights was front and center. Why a woman he’d only seen for a short moment should stay with him was beyond comprehension, but she did.