“Okay.”
Diesel watched his friend guzzle the rest of his beer, then pushed up from the table. He glanced around and noticed the crowd had thinned out a bit. The college guys he’d taken to the cleaners and their chicks had left.
“Aren’t you gonna say goodbye to Sandy?” Rags asked.
“No, but go ahead if you want to. I’ll be outside.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Diesel opened the front door. “It means I’ll be outside.” He lifted his chin at Beau and stepped out.
Fifteen minutes later, Rags appeared with remnants of gloss on his face.
“Looks like it was a kickass goodbye,” Diesel said as he straddled his Harley.
“Not too bad, and I got her number too.”
A few lights from isolated houses twinkled in the darkness. The black outline of mountain peaks was barely visible against the night sky. The music from the pool hall faintly filtered out from underneath the door and the ill-fitting windows.
Diesel switched on the ignition, and Rags followed suit. The roar of the powerful engines cracked through the night air. The two bikers peeled from the curb and rode into the moonless night.
Chapter Two
Myla leaned against the wall, chewing on the corner of her thumb. The booth at the back of the diner held four men decked in leather vests with a ton of patches. She wasn’t sure if Diesel was even in this group. Her only reference was a picture Freddy had given her of him and his brother, but it was at least twelve years old. She’d been scouting places she thought a biker might hang out, but after numerous bars, pool halls, small restaurants, and a couple of strip clubs, Myla had almost thrown in the towel. When she spotted a cluster of motorcycles in the diner’s parking lot, she pulled in, and now here she was. At least it was something.
The last few weeks, she’d attempted to find out where the Insurgents’ clubhouse was but it seemed to be a guarded secret. Fear crept into several people’s eyes when she asked; others just looked down and shook their heads. There were times she wondered if she’d done the right thing by coming to Pinewood Springs, but what other choice did she have? Freddy was in trouble, and his brother had a right to know.
“There’s a seat at the counter,” the hostess said.
Myla glanced up from the photograph. “Oh … I’m not ready yet.”
The older woman cracked her gum, shrugged her shoulders, and pointed at a woman in a tailored suit. “I got a seat at the counter.”
“That’s great,” the woman said as she walked past Myla.
The diner was busy. Myla watched as waitresses clipped tickets to the order rail, then snatched up fresh pots of coffee. Above the clatter of dishes and buzz of voices, she could hear the occasional strains of a country song from the large speakers perched on high shelves.
She glanced at the booth in the back again and locked eyes with one of the men. Turning away, she pretended to be engrossed in her phone, but when she looked up again, all four guys stared fixedly at her.
Oh shit. They don’t look very friendly. Then she sucked in a breath. There he was; those piercing blue eyes gave him away. Now what do I do? Shrugging off threads of anxiety, Myla pushed away from the wall, stood up straight, and clutched her shoulder bag strap. I didn’t come all this way for the mountain air. I’m doing this.
The walk to the booth at the back of the restaurant seemed like an eternity. She noticed the closer she got, the more the men stiffened up—if that was even possible. One scooted out and stood up while the others reached inside their vests.
Myla froze. They look like they want to kill me. Would they really do that in front of all these people? Her eyes darted around, and she noticed most of the diners dropped their heads and feigned interest in the laminated placards listing the daily pie specials. You’re on your own. Myla had been on her own as far back as she could remember, so it seemed fitting at that moment the only person she could rely on was herself. You can do it.
Forcing a smile, she started walking again. Before reaching the booth, two bikers stood in tandem, blocking any access to the table.
“Turn around and take that pretty ass of yours outta here,” one of them said.
“I need to speak with Diesel. I—”
The biker’s dark eyes narrowed. “Get your ass outta here. Now. That’s your last warning.” He and his buddy took a step toward her.
“It’s about Freddy.”
The broad-shouldered man with blue eyes pushed up from the booth and stood behind the two sentries.
“Freddy?” he asked as suspicious eyes scanned over her face.
“I’m Myla.”
A slow smile spread across his face, and she loosened the death grip on her purse’s shoulder strap.
“Hi,” she said softly.
The two men blocking her way didn’t budge an inch.
“It’s cool. This is my brother’s woman,” he said.
The men immediately relaxed and nodded at her before resuming their seats. Diesel pulled out some bills from his jeans and tossed them on the table.
“Let’s go outside,” he said.
As Myla walked back to the front door, she noticed how everyone now glanced her way, and a few even smiled at her. The whole experience was a bit surreal. Did Diesel and his gang hold that much control in the town?
“Tell me about Freddy,” he said the minute the glass door closed behind them.
“He’s in trouble.”
Diesel stomped his foot and shook his head. “I fuckin’ knew it. What kind of trouble did he get himself in, and why the fuck isn’t he telling me all this?”
Myla pressed her lips together while looking around. Leaning forward, she whispered, “He killed somebody.”
“Freddy? What the fuck.”
“I didn’t know where to go. When I came home that night, I found a shit ton of blood and no Freddy. I wasn’t sure what had happened. At first, I thought he’d been wounded or even killed.” She fought back the sob rising in her throat.
Diesel shifted from foot to foot but didn’t say a word.
Taking a few deep breaths, she pressed several fingers to her left temple to quell the throbbing that had been a constant for the past three weeks.
“So, he called and told me he was in San Diego. Said he’d send for me. I didn’t believe him, but I didn’t tell him that. I haven’t heard from him since.”
“He hasn’t returned any of my calls. Did he tell you he killed someone?”
“Just that he’d done something real bad. I was shocked and scared when his business partner called claiming Freddy had killed his brother.”
“Did you see a body?”
“No, and that’s what’s got me mixed up. I mean, Freddy could’ve gotten rid of the body, but there weren’t any traces of blood anywhere except a big pool of it in the family room area. So when Peter told me his brother had been murdered, I was shocked. I still am.”
“Do you believe him?”
“Yes … no … I mean, I don’t know what to believe. I know Freddy and Peter had some major disagreements. Freddy kept telling me Peter was cheating him.”
“What do you know for a fact?”