my people up." Deborah's orange eyes glistened. "Gaston was in over his head. Angelica wasn't cute on him. She was here for the power... and I told her to get out."
The woman walked out through the door that Maxim was holding open for her. She paused in the warm air, pulled a pair of large sunglasses from her purse, and put them on. Taking the opportunity to get another word in, she turned around and the sun reflected off her silver lenses.
"Y'all are just two boys looking for two girls. There ain't nothing special about that."
She continued outside and left Maxim standing a moment longer. He looked back at Diego. "I didn't know you were missing somebody..."
The biker watched the detective as he failed to finish his thought. Maxim, also, was looking for someone. That's why he was pushing people who didn't like to be pushed. Diego had to respect that, even if the man was poking at wolves.
He gave a small nod to return the sentiment, and Maxim walked out the door.
v.
Diego de la Torre sat alone in the roadhouse. The rays of the sun peeking through the windows were longer now. In time, they would fade and the shadows would take over, welcoming a new throng of drinkers yelling above live country music. But before all of that happened, Diego had Sycamore Lodge all to himself and his thoughts.
The quiet should have been more soothing.
It hadn't been easy tracking Gaston to Sanctuary but it had been straightforward. He belonged to a gang with some notoriety. He was a loudmouth. Whatever obstacles Diego had encountered along the way, he'd always had a trail to follow.
But now his sister might be on her own. Or she could be missing, like the detective's wife. In one way or another, Angelica was still lost out there, and she needed him.
Without finishing his drink, Diego stood up and placed his wallet on the bar as he counted a few bills. The brown leather wallet was well-worn. Through the yellowed plastic ID window, he saw an old picture of himself under the words "United States Public Health Service Commissioned Corps." He folded the wallet back up and returned it to his back pocket. That wasn't him anymore.
On the counter, next to the money he'd laid out, was the Maker's 46 that Maxim had taken from the cabinet. Diego gave it a long look and then slid his fingers across the hardwood, nudging the bottle off the bar. The glass shattered as it hit the floor.
The biker walked out to the patio and put his hands up to shield his eyes from the glare. He would need to buy another pair of sunglasses. Jumping off the stone porch into the sand, Diego welcomed the heat of the sun and walked up to his Triumph, the lone bike outside Sycamore Lodge.
This was true freedom, outside, on the road.
As he was putting his riding gloves back on, Diego heard a Harley engine rev up from behind the bar. He turned his head and saw Melody slowly pulling up beside him.
He chuckled. Guess she didn't make it back to the clubhouse yet.
She didn't ride with a helmet or other gear, but then again, she didn't need the protection. Her magenta hair whipped her face as the wind picked up. Diego looked down her body and traced over her shapely legs straddling the large bike. It was a heavy hog with scratches and dirt and replacement parts—a far cry from her meticulous wardrobe.
Melody stopped her bike right next to him. "Have you ever considered that what you're looking for doesn't exist?"
The woods were thick here and there were no other buildings in sight. Even the winding road disappeared into them. One direction headed back into town, and the other into the wild, some degree closer to his answers.
"Is it true what Deborah said, that she's gone?"
Melody returned a smirk. "Mom can seem scary at times but she's a sweetie. And Gaston, don't you worry about that dummy. Angie knew how to handle him."
Angie? His sister hated that nickname. Angelica was much prettier. Why wouldn't she want to use her full name?
"She knew you'd come for her, you
The woman walked out through the door that Maxim was holding open for her. She paused in the warm air, pulled a pair of large sunglasses from her purse, and put them on. Taking the opportunity to get another word in, she turned around and the sun reflected off her silver lenses.
"Y'all are just two boys looking for two girls. There ain't nothing special about that."
She continued outside and left Maxim standing a moment longer. He looked back at Diego. "I didn't know you were missing somebody..."
The biker watched the detective as he failed to finish his thought. Maxim, also, was looking for someone. That's why he was pushing people who didn't like to be pushed. Diego had to respect that, even if the man was poking at wolves.
He gave a small nod to return the sentiment, and Maxim walked out the door.
v.
Diego de la Torre sat alone in the roadhouse. The rays of the sun peeking through the windows were longer now. In time, they would fade and the shadows would take over, welcoming a new throng of drinkers yelling above live country music. But before all of that happened, Diego had Sycamore Lodge all to himself and his thoughts.
The quiet should have been more soothing.
It hadn't been easy tracking Gaston to Sanctuary but it had been straightforward. He belonged to a gang with some notoriety. He was a loudmouth. Whatever obstacles Diego had encountered along the way, he'd always had a trail to follow.
But now his sister might be on her own. Or she could be missing, like the detective's wife. In one way or another, Angelica was still lost out there, and she needed him.
Without finishing his drink, Diego stood up and placed his wallet on the bar as he counted a few bills. The brown leather wallet was well-worn. Through the yellowed plastic ID window, he saw an old picture of himself under the words "United States Public Health Service Commissioned Corps." He folded the wallet back up and returned it to his back pocket. That wasn't him anymore.
On the counter, next to the money he'd laid out, was the Maker's 46 that Maxim had taken from the cabinet. Diego gave it a long look and then slid his fingers across the hardwood, nudging the bottle off the bar. The glass shattered as it hit the floor.
The biker walked out to the patio and put his hands up to shield his eyes from the glare. He would need to buy another pair of sunglasses. Jumping off the stone porch into the sand, Diego welcomed the heat of the sun and walked up to his Triumph, the lone bike outside Sycamore Lodge.
This was true freedom, outside, on the road.
As he was putting his riding gloves back on, Diego heard a Harley engine rev up from behind the bar. He turned his head and saw Melody slowly pulling up beside him.
He chuckled. Guess she didn't make it back to the clubhouse yet.
She didn't ride with a helmet or other gear, but then again, she didn't need the protection. Her magenta hair whipped her face as the wind picked up. Diego looked down her body and traced over her shapely legs straddling the large bike. It was a heavy hog with scratches and dirt and replacement parts—a far cry from her meticulous wardrobe.
Melody stopped her bike right next to him. "Have you ever considered that what you're looking for doesn't exist?"
The woods were thick here and there were no other buildings in sight. Even the winding road disappeared into them. One direction headed back into town, and the other into the wild, some degree closer to his answers.
"Is it true what Deborah said, that she's gone?"
Melody returned a smirk. "Mom can seem scary at times but she's a sweetie. And Gaston, don't you worry about that dummy. Angie knew how to handle him."
Angie? His sister hated that nickname. Angelica was much prettier. Why wouldn't she want to use her full name?
"She knew you'd come for her, you
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