Chapter 1
Elizabeth
“I can’t believe we got away with that,” I say, nudging my best friend Donovan in his side.
“Do you think it’s because we look so young and innocent?” He nudges me back and we laugh, jostling each other.
“Oh please, I look young and innocent, I’m not sure how you got away with a young person’s bus pass, you definitely don’t look innocent.” I link my arm in his and lean in. “I reckon it’s because the bus driver was checking you out.”
“I wouldn’t complain,” he says, “he was fucking hot!”
We continue to walk towards the large metal gates that loom ahead, and Donovan’s smile soon vanishes.
“Anyway, enough jokes like that,” he says, “I want to actually leave this place alive so I can go on this semester exchange and get the hell out of this town.”
I squeeze his hand, hating that he has to hide such a big part of himself from everyone but me.
When he first told me he was gay, but that no one knew, my immediate response was that he should just tell his family.
If they had a problem with his sexuality, then they could go fuck themselves.
But I quickly had to check my privilege, I’d soon learned that it isn’t always that simple for people.
It’s easy enough for me to say that to him, but I’m not the one who might lose my family, or worse, my life.
My heart broke when he told me that his father, Frank, is serving time in prison for murder.
He was the leader and one of the founding members of a motorcycle club, Lobos Aulladores.
They used to be heavily involved in illegal shit; having one of their members go away for murder was not a rare occurrence for them.
His older brother, Diablo, is still a member, but things are different now.
They call themselves a legit club, meaning that all of their money comes from legitimate businesses they run.
Donovan describes them as ‘old-school’ though, meaning they have lots of archaic rules, one of which is that gay people aren’t allowed in the club.
Personally, I think the term ‘old-school’ is too good for them, ‘bigoted assholes’ is more appropriate.
But Donovan loves his brother more than anything, and he has friends in the club too, so if he’s cool with it, I guess I’ll have to be okay with spending time with them too.
Initially I came to the club to be a buffer of sorts, so that Donovan could be seen with a girl and throw them off the scent.
But it became habit, and now we often hang out at the clubhouse after class, using the time to study, and now that we’re both twenty-one, enjoying a beer or two with the guys and having a laugh.
That’s if I don’t need to rush off to my graveyard diner shift which I work Monday to Thursday—9 p.m. till 3 a.m. is a killer, but it’s the only job that fits around college, and it’s often quiet enough that I can at least get on with some of the reading for my literature modules or try and sneak in some writing of my own between customers .
We reach the gate to the clubhouse and Donovan knocks on the corrugated metal. A gruff voice sounds through it, “?Quién es? Who is it?”
“It’s Donovan! Let us in, Walrus.”
There’s a rusty screech of a lock shifting before a small section of the gate opens, just big enough for us to step through.
“Hey, Walrus,” I say.
He always mans the gate as he’s in charge of club security; it’s obvious why, considering he stands over us at around six foot five and is wider than both of us combined.
He’s got a bald head with a long beard and mustache, hence his nickname, and both are graying at the tips showing his age.
His voice is rough from too many cigarettes, and he’s a man of few words.
He nods at us. “Donovan. Beth.”
Even though my name is Elizabeth, everyone calls me Beth. My parents used to, Donovan does, as well as everyone at work and college, and of course the guys in the club. Well, except Diablo.
He calls me princess, which in most scenarios wouldn’t be a bad nickname to have, except in his case I know it’s short for Princess Prude.
Which honestly just goes to show how much he doesn’t know me, no one else has ever accused me of being remotely prudish.
Donovan told me it has something to do with Diablo thinking we’re involved but not having sex, which is why I just accept it.
I’d rather he calls me a prude than question Donovan too closely about girls or his sex life.
I wouldn’t go as far as to say that I hate Diablo… well, maybe I do. He certainly made it clear from the start that he didn’t like me.
The first time Donovan introduced me to the club, the other guys were so friendly and welcoming, but Diablo just glared at me.
I spent the entire time wondering what the hell I’d done to piss him off.
And ever since, on top of calling me Princess Prude, he feels the need to put me down at every chance he gets.
He’s never said anything overtly mean or cruel; but it’s constant digs and jabs.
I’m all for banter; but what he does isn’t banter, he’s just an asshole.
I guess the main reason I hate him is because of how scared Donovan is of him finding out he’s gay.
I can’t even imagine living in fear of your own brother because of what he might do to you, purely as a result of you being who you are.
To my knowledge, Diablo’s never killed anyone, like his father.
But I’ve seen the scars on his hands, he’s no stranger to violence, and the thought of that being turned onto Donovan, well, it makes me feel very protective over him.
He’s my best friend, he knows me better than anyone, and I’ll do anything I can to look out for him.
The dusty yard is full of bikes, meaning all the members are probably here.
They aren’t a big club, like others in the State.
Donovan told me that most of the guys transferred out the more legit they got, preferring to move to clubs who are still involved with illegal work, whether it’s running drugs or guns.
A lot of riders like the money and respect that comes with the illegal stuff.
Usually, it’s hard to leave a club once you’re a member, but El Jefe said that they were allowed to move on if they wanted to.
Honestly, I’m relieved the club isn’t involved in illegal shit anymore, otherwise Donovan and I probably wouldn’t be friends, and I definitely wouldn’t be spending any time here.
As it is, the guys in the club are harmless; they love their bikes, they love the girls that come as part of that, and they love spending time with their brothers.
Their money comes from the garage and the work they do on bikes.
With motorcycles becoming so much more popular, people are always after custom designs and specialist pieces.
Seeing their bikes lined up in the yard shows how talented they are.
I don’t know anything about the models or styles, but they look impressive, each unique in their design and showcasing the personality of its owner.
I hate to admit it, but Diablo’s bike is my favorite.
The others have custom artwork, some with flames, or skulls, or tribal designs, or even a single vibrant color that makes it stand out.
They look gorgeous, but there’s just something about Diablo’s bike that I love.
Shiny black paint with chrome details, simple, but stylish.
“See something you like, princess?” The smooth voice of the devil himself sounds from behind me.
Great, he caught me staring at his bike.
“No, I was just noticing how everyone’s bike shows off their personality. You know, artistic, cultural, strong.” I point at each of the bikes in turn, before pointing to his. “And yours… simple.” I smirk, not able to resist the small dig at him.
Laughs erupt from the table near the clubhouse where the other guys are sitting, having a smoke and drinking. But Diablo stands completely still to the side of them, staring at me, hands behind his back, his face the empty stare I’m used to seeing on him.
Well done, you’ve pissed him off.
As much as I hate him, I can’t deny that he’s incredibly hot.
He and Donovan are clearly brothers, what with them looking so similar.
Both have light brown skin with dark eyes—inherited from their Mexican mother.
But where Donovan has let his hair grow out with soft waves starting to form, and his face is always shaved clean; Diablo keeps his darker hair very short and maintains a five o’clock shadow.
The other obvious difference between them is the fact that Diablo has a large neck tattoo—a devil on one side and an angel on the other, meeting at the center of his throat.
He probably has more tattoos, but he always wears long sleeves under his leather cut, so I’ve only ever seen the one on his neck and the smaller ones that cover his hands.
“Ouch!” Donovan laughs as he gently pushes me. “I’d better go get my brother some aloe vera for that burn.”
More laughter rises from the table as we make our way towards them.
Diablo
“See something you like, princess?” I can’t resist asking as Elizabeth stands there, staring at my bike.
It was a surprise when Donovan introduced us to her six months ago; she wasn’t the type of girl I expected him to show up with. I mean, I don’t know what I did expect, I’d never seen him with any girls before, but I wasn’t expecting her.
I hate to admit it, but he has great taste; there’s no denying that she’s beautiful, even if she never shows it off with her clothes.
She’s thick and curvy, but it always looks like she’s trying to disguise or hide her figure.
Like today, she’s wearing pale blue jeans which are slightly too big for her and have rips across the knees, with a t-shirt that has a picture of some actor or musician I don’t know on the front.