Devil's Disciples MC (Box Set)

by Scott Hildreth

  “Brothers or sisters?”

  “One brother.” She smiled. “Older by a year. What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Texas. My father’s been a Senator for thirty years, give or take. My mother doesn’t work. No brothers, no sisters.”

  “What brought your family to California?”

  “My parents are in Texas. I came here to maintain my sanity after ten years of being at war. Do you remember the guy that was in here with me that had the tattoos on his neck?’

  “Crip?”

  “Jesus,” I gasped. “You remember his name?”

  She looked at me like I was an idiot. “Should I be surprised that you remembered mine?”

  “There’s one of you. There were eight of us.”

  She wagged her eyebrows. “I’ve got a good memory.”

  “Well, Crip and I were at war together,” I said. “He was starting up a motorcycle club, and I came here to see about being in it. Riding motorcycles is my way of escaping reality.”

  “Why don’t you wear a vest, like the rest of the guys?”

  I chuckled. “You’re perceptive, too.”

  “Why do you act surprised?” She leaned halfway across the table and gave me a shitty look. “Do you think all women are fools?”

  “No.”

  Her look lingered for a moment before softening. “You sure do act like it.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “It’s just. I don’t know. I haven’t spent that much time with women.”

  “Well, we’re not a substandard species,” she said with a laugh. “We’re just as able as men, only we’re less apt to brag about our accomplishments.”

  She rested her elbow on the back side of her chair and waited for me to respond. Instead of sticking my foot in my mouth, I admired her for a moment.

  Her hair was long and brown with highlights in it that I imagined she had done professionally. They were too perfect to be natural. Her skin was golden in color, but not brown, like many of the SoCal natives who spent their waking hours in the sun. She could easily pass for being American. If she claimed she was, no one would argue, that’s for sure.

  She was average height and had a smaller than average build, with slightly above average tits that were as perky as any I’d ever seen. I’d have to describe her as petite, but her attitude made her seem much larger.

  Her face was where the averages stopped. She had an erotic appearance that was nearly hypnotic.

  Looking at her for extended periods caused me to slip from reality.

  “What?” she asked.

  I blinked. Several times. “Huh?”

  “You were doing that staring thing.”

  “What staring thing?”

  She laughed. “The thing when you stare.”

  I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Your mouth was open, and your eyes went glassy.”

  “I just kind of zoned out for a minute.”

  “I noticed.”

  Her top was unbuttoned just enough that I could see a hint of cleavage. I glanced at it, wishing there was more.

  She reached for the one button that was undone and buttoned it. “For a guy that’s scared to have sex, you sure spend a lot of time looking at my tits.”

  “I’m not scared of sex. And, I glanced at them.”

  She scowled jokingly. “Your glances are lengthy.”

  “Sorry.”

  Her glare softened into a slight smile. “I like you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re fun,” she said. “I like sitting here talking with you.”

  “I like talking to you, too. It’s nice to just, I don’t know, talk. Do you think we can just, you know, do this?”

  “Be friends?” she asked.

  “I guess,” I said. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

  She chuckled. “I don’t know what else you’d call it.”

  “Do you think we can do it?”

  “Be friends? I know I can.” With her eyes fixed on mine, she unbuttoned her blouse. “I have my doubts about you, though.”

  “Wanna bet?”

  She leaned forward, revealing a mile of cleavage. “I’ll bet you that same twenty you lost to me the other night. Eventually, this friendship will turn sexual.”

  It was a bet I destined to lose but determined to win. I extended my hand. “Twenty bucks. It’s a bet.”

  175

  CARMA

  My brother Samuel was a year older than me. We were much more than siblings. Best friends since childhood, we shared intimate details of our lives with each other. Most of them, anyway. I’d never been completely truthful with him—or my family—about Angel. How I allowed him to treat me was extremely embarrassing, and not something I wanted my family to know.

  Apparently, Sam hadn’t been completely truthful with me about his relationships with women, either.

  “Have you ever been friends with a girl?” I asked.

  He forked a wad of scrambled eggs into his mouth and nodded. “Tons of ‘em.”

  “Tons?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Who?”

  “Adelita, and that little short chick from down the beach. Our neighbor, or whatever you want to call—”

  “Adelita Zepeda?” I asked.

  “Yeah. And our neighbor. Linda, or whatever her name was. Belinda.”

  “You and Adelita had sex,” I insisted. “You weren’t friends.”

  “According to who?” he asked.

  “According to me.”

  With his elbow resting on the edge of the table and his fork dangling from his fingers, he studied me.

  “She told me,” I said.

  He pierced a potato with the fork’s tines. “She wasn’t supposed to tell anyone.”

  “Well, she did. What about Belinda. Did you have sex with her?”

  “A few times,” he said, as if it were no big deal.

  I tossed my napkin at him. “You’re a pig.”

  He threw it back. “She begged for it.”

  “It may have been consensual, but you weren’t committed to either of them. They weren’t your girlfriends.”

  He poked the potato in his mouth and shrugged. “It doesn’t mean we couldn’t have sex.”

  “Have you ever been friends with a girl and not had sex?”

  After swallowing his mouthful of food, he scooped up a healthy forkful of eggs. Halfway to his mouth with the fork, he paused. “I don’t think so.”

  “You’ve had sex with all of the women you’ve been friends with?”

  “What’s with all the questions?” His eyes narrowed a little. “Did you meet someone?”

  “We’re talking about your inability to be friends with a woman without having sex,” I said. “Not about me.”

  He set his fork down and laced his fingers together. “You didn’t wake up this morning and think, I wonder if Sam had sex with any of his female friends. I think I’ll ask him and add his responses to a recent poll I’ve been taking. You’re asking me because you’re wondering about someone else’s ability to be friends with a female without having sex. Do you have someone that you hope can be a friend without benefits?”

  I took a bite of my bagel and considered what I was willing to tell him. After I made him wait impatiently through two more bites, I told a modified version of the truth.

  “I met a guy at the restaurant. He’s nice, but not really my type. He wants to hang out. You know, just be friends. I was wondering if that would be possible—on his end. I know I can do it, but I have my doubts about him.”

  “He’ll fold like a deck of cards,” he said.

  “Really?” I asked excitedly. “When?”

  He laughed.

  “What?”

  He blinked a few times and then shook his head. “You’re so transparent.”

  “What?”

  “He w
ants to be friends, and you want to have sex.”

  “Says who?”

  “Says me.”

  I cupped what was left of my bagel between my hands. “He’s so intriguing. And sexy. His voice is like that guy that says, beef, it’s what’s for dinner. When he talks, I melt into a little puddle. And, the way he looks at me? You have no idea.”

  He chuckled. “And he wants to be your friend?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “He’s married.”

  “No, he’s not.”

  “He’s in a relationship.”

  “Nope.”

  His eyebrows raised. “He’s gay.”

  “He’s so not gay.”

  “There’s something wrong,” he insisted.

  “He’s a war veteran. He said ten years at war made him insensitive. That lack of emotion prevents him from falling in love. Personally, I think it’s admirable that he admitted his problems. He doesn’t want to hurt me.”

  “You’re talking out of both sides of your mouth,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Talking out of both side of your mouth. It’s biblical. Proverbs, I think. It means you’re saying one thing and also saying what contradicts it.”

  I glared in opposition of his statement. “How?”

  “You’re telling me how admirable it is that he doesn’t want to have sex, and that he’s trying to keep from hurting you. Then, when I said he’d fold like a deck of cards, you about jumped out of your seat asking when he’d have sex with you.”

  “Who’s having sex?” my mother asked from behind me.

  Shit.

  I sighed. “Nobody, mother.”

  As she walked past, she peered over her shoulder, toward Sam. “Who’s having sex, Samuel?”

  “Carma wants to have sex with this guy she met, but he told her no.”

  “Sam!” I screeched.

  She got the cream out of the refrigerator, set it on the counter, and turned around. “You need to be careful, Carmelita.”

  “I know, mother.”

  “Not just careful with sex. Careful with people.”

  “I know, mother.”

  She gave me the same motherly look she’d given me since I was a toddler. The one that meant she thought I’d made a bad decision. Fearing her disapproval, I slumped in my seat.

  “Where did you meet this man?”

  “He came into the restaurant.”

  “Who is he?”

  “He’s just a guy, mother. A nice guy.”

  “A local?” Her brows raised in wonder. “A citizen?”

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You didn’t tell him our history, did you?”

  I mouthed the words I’m sorry.

  Her hands snapped into place at her hips. “Carmelita Rosarita Garcia Lorca!”

  When she called me Carmelita Rosarita, she was disappointed with me. When she attached both surnames to it, she was angry.

  Very angry.

  “I can’t go into detail about everything, mother, but I had to.”

  “You had to? You don’t have to do anything. You’re putting our family at risk, Carmelita. Maybe he doesn’t care. But he tells someone. They tell someone. Soon, someone knows who does care. All it takes is one phone call.” She raised her index finger. “Just one.”

  I stood and faced her. “I’m sorry. But you must believe me, mother. I had to tell him.”

  “I think you used poor judgement.”

  I wanted her to understand that the last thing I expected any of the men to do was to say anything, but I couldn’t tell her why. Nor could I tell her the truth about what happened.

  I lowered my head. “I’m sorry, mother.”

  She looked at Sam. “Do not.” She shifted her gaze to me. “Tell.” Her eyes darted back and forth between us. “Your. Father.”

  I swallowed heavily. “Yes, Ma’am.”

  She looked at Sam.

  He nodded. “Yes, Ma’am.”

  She poured a cup of coffee, added cream, and then took a drink. After taking another, she lowered the cup and looked at me. “I want you to stay away from this man. Hopefully, he’ll forget you exist.”

  “He comes into the restaurant,” I said. “I can’t deny him service.”

  “If you must...” She turned away. “Get a different job.”

  176

  RENO

  I sat through another relatively meaningless Devil’s Disciples weekly meeting with my mind elsewhere. While Baker talked about the dangers of dealing with the Tijuana Cartel, my thoughts drifted to Carma.

  Although I should have been focused on protecting her, the difficulties we faced with Alacrán, and making sure she was up to speed on the plan’s progress, they weren’t. Instead, I was recalling how her left eye squinted when she smirked, and how cute she looked when it happened.

  “Meeting adjourned.” Baker said.

  I looked around the room.

  Thank God.

  Baker glanced at each of us. “Where does everyone want to eat?”

  “We’re going to eat?” I asked.

  “Everyone said they wanted to,” he responded. “Where the hell were you?”

  “I was thinking about going to Vegas,” I lied. “It’s about time for me to go shoot some craps.”

  Cash picked a large crumb off his lap, looked at it, and then poked it in his mouth. “Ready to lose another two hundred grand?”

  “I’m due for a win.” I looked at Baker. “My vote’s Mexican.” I rubbed my stomach. “I’m feeling an enchilada dinner.”

  He gave me a look. “Why am I not surprised?”

  “You asked where. I gave an opinion. The food’s good.”

  “I want to try it,” Ally said. “You both sang the place’s praises.”

  “Ditto,” Goose said. “I want to try it, too. You fuckers went without us the other night.”

  “We were helping plan that upcoming poker run,” Baker explained. “I wanted to get the information before our Wednesday meeting, so we could vote on it.”

  “Doesn’t matter what the reason is, you went without us,” Goose said. “I say we give it a try.”

  “Agreed,” Tito said. “I haven’t had good Mexican in forever.”

  “It’s good,” I bragged. “Really fucking good.”

  It seemed strange to admit it to myself, but I wanted everyone to meet Carma. I looked at Cash. “Well?”

  “Sounds good to me,” he said. “I want to see this chick you’re banging, anyway.”

  “Banged.” I stood. “Not banging.”

  Cash stood and brushed the Chex Mix crumbs from his shirt. “I bet we’re not going there for the food.”

  “Why the fuck else would we be going there?” I asked.

  “The food is remarkable,” Baker said. “Compared to the places here that call themselves authentic.”

  “Well, it’s two miles from the border, what do you expect,” Cash retorted. “Probably got border crossers in there making the food. Swim the river, climb the fence, dodge a few federal agents, and then make a taco.”

  Cash’s Ol’ Lady was black. To hear him spouting prejudicial remarks just to get everyone to pay attention to him was annoying.

  I gave him a side-eyed look. “She’s Spanish. From fucking Spain.”

  “I wasn’t talking about her, and I was just joking, asshole,” he snapped back. “Settle down.”

  “I made a remark about your Ol’ Lady and you blindsided me for it.”

  “You called her the N-word.”

  “You just called Carma a wetback.”

  “She ain’t your Ol’ Lady, and I wasn’t talking about her.”

  I remembered that the men had no idea that Carma was in the country illegally. As far as they knew, she was an American.

  “She’s a human fucking being. Have a little compassion, asshole.” I looked at Baker. “I want to get Chinese. Let’s go somewhere else.”

  “I thought we were getting Mexican?
”

  “I don’t want to take this big dumb fuck in there and have him embarrass me,” I said. “Let’s go somewhere else.”

  “Fuck you, Reno,” Cash barked. “We’re getting Mexican.”

  I faced him and puffed my chest. “You going to act civilized?”

  He sized me up. “What if I don’t?”

  “You will,” Baker said. “Or else.”

  “Or else what?” Cash asked.

  “We’ve talked about this,” Baker growled. “I’m sick and fucking tired of the arguing. You do it just to get a rise out of him.”

  Cash shrugged. “It’s fun.”

  “For you, maybe. No one else wants to hear it,” Baker said. “Stop it.”

  Frustrated with Cash’s bullshit, I turned toward the door. Crip’s offer to join the Filthy Fuckers was sounding better and better.

  “Where are we going?” Ally asked.

  “Mexican joint, I guess,” I said. “But, if he acts like a dick, I’m stabbing his dumb ass.”

  The twenty-minute ride to Chula Vista was relaxing, but that relaxation didn’t last long. After the group pulled into the parking lot, Cash revved his engine to a point of rattling windows within a ten-mile radius.

  Wearing a shitty grin, he shut off the engine.

  I glared. “Is that fucking necessary?”

  “What’s it hurt?”

  “Other’n my ears? It’s fucking irritating.”

  He cackled a laugh. “If you don’t like the sound of power, maybe you ought to start riding with a moped club instead of a motorcycle club.”

  He glanced at everyone, hoping the others would appreciate his keen sense of humor.

  No one did.

  “Maybe you ought to act like a fucking adult.” I gestured to the four cars in the parking lot. “These people are inside trying to eat. I doubt they want to listen to you rev your shit up like you’re trying to wake the fucking dead.”

  He stepped off his motorcycle and removed his helmet. After hanging it from the handlebars he gave me an apologetic look. “I’ll keep it quiet when we leave.”

  I gave a nod of appreciation. “Appreciate it.”

  Cash was like a great big muscular child. His behavior was immature more often than not, but he was loyal to the club one hundred percent. In the end, he was a difficult man to warm up to, but equally difficult to hate.