Diablo jerked his head slightly toward the two men standing near the entrance. “You know those two?”
Steel shook his head. “They seem nervous.” He motioned for Jorge to come over. When Jorge didn’t recognize them, the cluster of brothers stiffened.
The tension between them wound around the other Night Rebels, and Army joined them. “What the fuck?”
“Something’s up with the two dudes by the door,” Paco said as he slipped his hand inside his cut.
“We better watch them. I don’t have a good feeling about them,” Diablo said, reaching inside his cut as well.
Before he could take out his Glock 9mm, there were two pops, one right after the other. Shrill screams, scraping tables, knocked-over chairs, and more shots drowned out the music. Citizens were ducking under tables while the brothers were shooting at the two men by the door who’d caused the panic.
“Get down!” Steel yelled out to the club girls, who stood hugging each other.
Another shot. Diablo saw Maria as she hit the floor. “Fuck!” As he ran over to her, he saw the two men dash out the door. “Maria’s been hit. I’m going after the fuckers.” He ran to the front door and saw Chains lying on the floor, blood pooling under him.
“I got this, bro. Just go,” Crow said.
Diablo barreled out of the bar and saw the two men leaving the parking lot on a couple of Harleys. Jumping on his, he tore after them. As they sped toward the highway, Diablo could see the back of one of the men was covered in red. He pushed his bike harder. Cams and engines screamed behind him, and he looked in his mirror to see Muerto, Army, and Goldie coming from the rear.
Harder and faster they pushed. As he gained on the two assholes who’d opened fire on them, one of them fired his gun, the rush of bullets whizzing by Diablo. He took out a tire iron from one of his saddlebags and threw it at the wheel of the rider soaked in blood. The bike careened out of control and crashed, throwing him off. The smell of burning rubber filled Diablo’s nostrils as he watched the rider slide down the pavement, leaving his skin on the asphalt. Diablo passed by him, figuring he was most probably dead, with Army, Muerto, and Goldie in hot pursuit.
The other rider slowed down to avoid a dip in the road, those few seconds allowed Diablo to overtake him. He pulled in front of him, Muerto and Goldie on each side, and Army in the back. The rider slowed down and they forced him off the road. Diablo leapt off his bike and dragged the guy off his.
“You motherfucker!” He punched and threw him on the ground, kicking him over and over. Goldie, Army, and Muerto joined in, taking out all their anger on him.
“Who the fuck are you? Did someone send you?” Army yelled in the man’s battered face. He remained silent.
Diablo spat on the sand. “Muerto, call and tell Steel to send a truck. We’re gonna take this fucker to the cell and get some answers.” Through the swollen slits of the rider’s eyelids, Diablo saw fear building. He kicked him hard. “You better be scared, you sonofabitch.” He turned around and went to his Harley, pulling yards of brown rope out of his saddlebag. Goldie took it from him, went over to the downed rider, and began hog-tying him.
A white pickup truck kicked up dust as it skidded to a stop near the four bikers and their prisoner. Jigger jumped out and rushed over to the quartet.
“What the fuck’s going on back there?” Goldie asked as he helped drag the restrained man to the truck.
“A fucking mess. Badges everywhere. Citizens freaking out.”
“Besides Chains, did any other brothers get hurt?” Army rolled the grunting man into the back seat of the truck.
“No. Chains was shot in the shoulder. He should be good. Paco got him back to the club house and called Doc.”
“How’s Maria?” Diablo asked in a low voice.
“She didn’t make it. Took a bullet in her chest.”
“Fuck.” Heaviness pressed on his chest as Maria’s face flashed through his mind. In his world, death was a common occurrence and could happen in the blink of an eye; each day they lived was a cause for celebration. But Maria was a club girl. Even though she was part of their world, her role was to please the brothers. In many outlaw clubs, the girls were inconsequential.She didn’t deserve to die. She never did shit to anyone.
After they loaded the guy’s bike in the bed of the truck, they went to where his buddy had gone down with his Harley. The dead rider lay face down in the sand. Diablo picked up his tire iron while the others loaded the man’s crumpled motorcycle in the truck’s bed. They picked up the dead man, threw him in the back with his buddy, and headed back to Alina.
***
Paco joined themin the cell as Diablo picked up a pair of pliers. “This fucker talk?” he asked.
Diablo shook his head. “I got all the time in the world.” Goldie, Army, Muerto, and Jigger laughed.
“Fucking badges are all over the damn place. This asshole’s caused a shitload of trouble. Coming into a bar with a bunch of citizens. What the fuck were you thinking, asshole?” Paco punched the guy in the face. His head hung down as drops of blood stained the cement floor.
“How’re the girls doing?” Diablo paused and looked at Paco.
“They’re in shock. They’re not talking. The only ones talking are the citizens, and they didn’t see shit. What a fucking mess.”
