Page 46 of Devil's Queen
My fingers grip the receiver tightly, my knuckles turning white. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself before responding. “Mr. Diaz, I’m afraid there’s been a complication with your order,” I manage to say, my voice coming out steadier than I feel.
There’s a drawn-out pause on the other end of the line, and I know that Mr. Diaz is waiting for an explanation. Sweat beads on my forehead as I search for the right words, my mind racing to find a solution that will appease him.
“Unfortunately,” I continue, “I am.”
“That doesn’t sound promising.”
“It’s not.” I sigh. “I was made aware that your delivery was hijacked only hours after leaving our shop.” The lie slips too easily from my lips.
“Hijacked? That would explain why the GPS tracker on the truck went dead days ago.”
Shit. Has he known something was wrong all along? Has he been waiting for me to call him and report the problem?
Mr. Diaz lets out a deep, guttural laugh that sends shivers down my spine. The sound is filled with menace, a predator reveling in its prey’s misfortune. My grip on the receiver tightens as I brace myself for his inevitable fury. “Well, well, Ms. Laveau,” he sneers. “You certainly know how to make things interesting, don’t you? Can I safely assume you have known about this issue since it happened?”
“Yes,” I reluctantly admit. “We’ve been working with the local authorities to figure out what happened, sir. I didn’t want to bring this to you until we had all the information.”
There is a pause on the other end of the line, and I hold my breath, hoping against all odds that my words will appease him. Finally, he speaks again, his tone softer but no less dangerous.
“What do you plan to do about it? That bike was worth half a million dollars. Hard-to-find parts as well. Not to mention the sum of money I will need to pay out to cover Rick’s funeral expenses and recompense for his family.”
“We’ll, of course, refund the full payment you made, and I have my team trying to track down the parts again. It may take some time, but we will rebuild your bike at our cost.”
The thought of how much money we’re losing and how much we stand to lose further makes my stomach coil in knots.
But Mr. Diaz doesn’t seem interested in my promises of reimbursement or the effort to rebuild his bike. His voice grows colder, more sinister. “Ms. Laveau, money means nothing to me. I have plenty of it. More than I can spend in my lifetime,” he says, his words dripping with malice. “What matters is that someone killed one of my employees and dared to steal from me. It was my understanding that like your late father, you, too, are associated with a motorcycle club. Is that correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
My heart skips a beat at his ominous declaration. I’ve heard rumors about Mr. Diaz’s ruthless nature, but experiencing it firsthand sends a shiver down my spine.
“Can I safely assume that your club is looking into this matter?”
“We are, Mr. Diaz.”
“Good. While I appreciate the offer to refund me and rebuild the bike, my main concern is that whoever perpetrated this act is brought to justice. If you can do that, you can keep the payment. Do we have an understanding?”
I pause for a moment, taking in Mr. Diaz’s unexpected proposition. The weight of his words hangs heavy in the air, and I can sense the danger lurking beneath his calm demeanor. It becomes clear to me that this is not a mere business transaction anymore—it’s a calculated game with high stakes.
“Yes, Mr. Diaz,” I reply cautiously, my voice steady but tinged with caution. “I understand.”
My stomach seizes at his request. He may not say it outright, but his meaning is clear. He wants us to kill the men responsible for this. We’ve killed before, and that part isn’t the problem. It’s the consequences if we don’t find them.
There is a brief silence on the other end of the line as Mr. Diaz mulls over my response. I can almost hear the gears turning in his mind as he contemplates the situation. The tension in my body remains coiled, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice.
“Very well,” he finally says, his voice devoid of any warmth. “But let me be clear, Ms. Laveau. If you fail me in this endeavor, there will be consequences.”
I realize that my personal reputation and the survival of our motorcycle club hang in the balance. Failure is not an option.
“I understand the gravity of the situation,” I reply firmly, determination rising within me. “Rest assured, we will find those responsible and bring them to justice.”
A mirthless chuckle escapes from Mr. Diaz’s lips before he ends the call without another word. As I hang up the phone, a sense of trepidation intertwines with the adrenaline coursing through my veins.
“Everything okay?” I peer up to see Rex darkening my doorstep. “You could cut the tension in here with a fucking knife.”
“Just more bullshit,” I answer. I want to tell him everything. That I found the bike, that the owner of said bike is blackmailing me into murdering whoever is responsible like a killer for hire, but I can’t. Not with the incriminating piece of cut that is currently burning a hole in my jeans pocket from the dump site where we found the bike. Not until I’m sure.
Rex steps into the room, his large frame filling up far more space than it should. The last time he was in here, I’d let him get too close. I won’t be making that mistake again today.