Page 9 of Diablo
Rule six, we will have several Brothers scheduled to fucking babysit the fuckers. I’ll send you the fucking schedule.
Rule Seven, no fucking excuse or bitching,” I huff, crossing my arms.
“Those are the new rules for the hang around! Shade, did you get it? Spy, you will vet them ASAP,” Demon says, looking at the Brothers.
“Yeah,” Shade hums.
“Will do,” Spy says.
“Prez, what do you want to do about the Folsom Mayor at the strip club,” Crazy asks.
“Record the fucker; you never know when the photos could help us,” Demon hums, resting his arm on the chair.
“Will do. Prez, I think that the security system, the camaras need to be updated,” Crazy says, grabbing onto the chair armrests.
“Spy and Shade, take care of the security system,” Demon hums.
“Right,” Shadow hums.
“Will do,” Spy says.
“Church is over! Satan Warriors power,” Demon growls, banging the gavel on the wood.
“Riding till we die,” Brothers shout.
“It’s time, let’s go,” I growl, taking a drag of my cigarette.
I drop it on the floor and stomp it out. I slide off the black wooden stool and look at my crew for the run.
I walk to the back door, and Fiend, Menace, Killer, Sin, Viper, Maniac, Lethal, and Shadow follow. We get on our bikes, and I put on my helmet and gloves and look around the clubhouse property. I turn on my bike, and it roars to life, and that sound is music to my ears. I smile, and I pull out of the clubhouse and onto the road. Soon we get on the Hwy, and ride to Vegas. Soon, the wind in my face, and the dark black night with bright stars. The moon lights up the night, and it’s the best time to ride.
We get to Vegas early in the morning, and that’s great. We get to see what’s happening before the Cutthroat MC knows that we’re here.
My Brothers and I stopped a few hundred feet away from the clubhouse to check it out. The clubhouse is an old warehouse, but it’s clean. I don’t see any activity, so they must be sleeping.We ride into the clubhouse parking lot and turn off our bikes. The light turns on, and the door opens. Two huge fuckers walk out with their guns.
Yeah, that’s good. No, some stupid wuss.
“Who the fuck are you,” the tall man yells.
“Satan Warriors,” I hiss, lowering my eyelids.
We didn’t take out our Glocks because we’re not here to fight, and they want in.
“Oh, man! Why didn’t you tell me that you were coming? I’m Moose,” Moose says, putting his gun at his back.
He’s a tall man with dirty blond hair, and muscular. Moose fits.
“Hey, I’m Diablo the VP. These are my Brothers Fiend, Viper, Shadow, Sin, Menace, and Killer. Do you have some coffee?”
“Yeah, come in. How long are you staying,” Moose asks, walking back to the clubhouse.
“A couple of days,” I hum.
We walk into the clubhouse; it’s clean, with a pool table, bar, and some sofas.
“This is the clubhouse; we have some rooms if you want to rest,” Moose says, walking to the corner.
“Yeah, thanks,” I say, nodding.
