Page 1 of Diablo
Prologue Diablo
It’s the middle of the week, and the clubhouse is full of hangarounds. I need to make it fucking clear that they’re only welcome on Friday.
Motherfuckers!
I take a pull of my beer, looking at the fools through the mirror behind the bar. They want to prospect, but I don’t think the bastards fit in the MC; they don’t have the grit. The MC is no joke and not for the weak. Those fuckers are weak.
The music is blasting, and the bass vibrates at my feet. The club whores are with the Brothers doing their thing.
Then one of the Brothers loses his shit and smashes the hangaround Bill with the pool stick on the back.
Fuck!
“Crazy, son of bitch, don’t kill the asshat,” I shout, pushing off the bar stool, pulling out my Glock, taking long strides to stop the fight. “Grab the hangaround!”
The Brothers grab the asshat, and Crazy stands holding the broken pool stick, red face, scowling, and fuming.
Yeah, he’s a crazy motherfucker.
The Brother is our older Brother, old school, hard, need I say crazy. A badass biker that takes no shit, and he’s a mean fucker, so I know that the stupid hangaround said something stupid.
My Brothers are behind me; yeah, they have my back, and I have theirs.
I stop next to Crazy, gathering my brows.
“What the fuck? You can’t kill the fucker, Crazy,” I hiss, grinding my molars.
As the fucking VP, I have to stop this shit. I don’t want the fuckers to go rogue on the MC.
“VP, the fucker had the balls to disrespect me!
He called me a fat pig, stupid bitch! The fucker is going to die,” Crazy hisses, pulling out his Glock.
I move, placing my Glock on his head, shaking my head.
“Crazy, calm the fuck down. This is what we’re going to do. You have a minute to kick his ass, and then we’ll throw him out of the clubhouse because we don’t need the po-po up our ass over this skinny motherfucker,” I hum, raising my brow.
“Fuck! VP, let me have at him,” Crazy hisses.
“Give me your Glock,” I say, moving my fingers to hand it over.
Crazy places his Glock on my hand and cracks his knuckles.
“Fiend, hold Crazy’s Glock,” I say, handing him the gun.
“Right,” Fiend hums, taking the gun and moving his head up and down.
“Now, let me turn on the timer.”
I pull out my cell from the inside pocket of my cut, sliding my finger over the screen. I tap on the screen to get the stopwatch and look at the Brother.
“Wait! I want to apologize, don’t kill me,” Bill yells.
“You damn retard! You don’t get to insult the Brothers and apologize. Don’t ever show your skinny ass in here again because next time, I might kill you,” I hiss, lowering my eyelids.
“You can’t do that,” Bill yells, bopping his head as he tries to get away from the Brothers.
“I can do whatever the fuck I want, motherfucker!”
