Diablo Disciples MC

Reno – Exclusive First Chapter

Only three biker sleeps to go.


The soft lips on his.

The hand around his stiff cock.

It was earth-shattering.

His limbs were syrup inside.

The woman intoxicated Reno harder than top-shelf liquor did. She was a goddamn siren, luring his ready-for-action body into her web of desire until every breath felt as though it was pure steam chuffing out of his lips.

What started as a one-night-stand was now into the third night without an end in sight, and Reno was more than okay with that.

It was sex so good he even missed a meal last night, and pigs would fly before Reno forgot about food.

It was a toss-up who seduced who first.

Reno thought he’d been the one to approach her in the strip club, but now he didn’t know if she’d lured him across the room and brought him to heel because her seduction was blatant and sending him crazy.

“Get on with it,” he rasped, his eyebrows lowering over his eyes as he watched how she molded his cock in her smaller hand. Her nails were painted black at the curved tips and looked exquisite against the ruddy purple of his angry crown as it peeked through her palm, leaking his excitement as she tortured him.

Two orgasms today hadn’t been enough for either of them.

They were on day three of continuous fucking between bites to eat, showers, and a little sleep. Reno couldn’t even say what day it was; he was too wrapped up in the heavenly woman doing a number on his equilibrium. He knew his last breath was burning as he churned air through his lungs, pleasure swimming in his gray eyes.

“You need to have patience.” She chuckled, pushing him through her palm like his cock was a toy she loved playing with.

It was driving him insane, but he loved it.

“I need to come.”

Another chuckle.

Another hot squeeze hard enough to roll his eyes into the back of his skull.

If he hadn’t witnessed it, Reno would swear it couldn’t have happened the way it did. But the second a shrilled ping went off on a nearby phone, Kylie, his brown-skinned goddess lover, turned from seductress into a serious person who hadn’t enthralled him for days.

One ping and she let go of his body, rushed off his lap, and strode naked to the discarded phone tangled up in her clothes.

Whatever she saw on the screen put a grin on her face, and then she frowned, turning toward him. While she reached down for the yoga leggings, she told him, “you have to go.”

“Come again?”

“You have to leave.”


She turned an arched brow at him, and Reno’s stomach clenched.

She was a knock-out.

He’d thought so the second he saw her in The Den. Not even wondering why a woman as gorgeous and classy as she would be in a strip club. He’d made a beeline for her before any other asshole could, and after a few shared words and a lot of sizzling chemistry later, they’d left together. And been together ever since, fucking each other’s brains out.

Reno was far from sated.

“Because I said so, Reno. Please put your clothes on.”

Confused at the one-eighty flip, Reno rose to his feet. Finding the dark denim jeans, he pulled them up his legs, and his t-shirt followed, watching the woman with a curved smile as she typed out a slow message on the phone screen.

Who was she writing to?

A lover?


They hadn’t gotten into personal details, too intent on clawing each other to sexual pieces.

He tasted her in the back of his throat, felt her pleasure still drying on his stomach, and she smiled at her phone like Reno didn’t exist.

What a kick to his aching balls.

“Who was it?”

“No one.” She pointed to his long-worn harness boots lying on her living room floor, a reminder he was being tossed out the door. He grabbed the motorcycle footwear, leaning down to shove a foot in at a time.

“You got a husband, Kylie? A long-term man?”

Her head came up, her eyes meeting his. Her voice was passive when she answered, “would it matter?” What Reno knew was that the woman he’d had crying under him for hours on end was gone.

Holy fuck, she’d given him whiplash, and before his cock was all the way soft again.

“Nah, it wouldn’t matter, babe. Who you cheat on is your business.” There was a gnawing disappointment in his gut he didn’t understand, because this had never happened.

He got knocked back by women.

As much as he might like to think he was God’s gift, not every woman he had a fancy for wanted to climb between his sheets. But that never bothered Reno. There was always plenty of pussy to go around at the MC. Sweet bottoms were a dime a dozen these days, especially. Almost as though they were bussed in for a few nights of biker thrills.

Getting kicked out at a moment’s notice after spending decent hours pushing orgasms through a woman’s body. Yeah, that was new.

He sensed he would never see her again and wondered why it made him feel sick.

Yeah, that was new, too.

Only seconds ago, her eyes were glazed with lust, firing bullets of needy desire at him. And now they were sharp, clear, like she’d flipped a switch, and her sexual libido was put away.

Women would always confuse Reno; he probably wasn’t book-smart enough to figure them out entirely. But as he approached Kylie with slow steps, he watched her watching him, and flickers of that same desire ignited again.

Whatever sexual labels there were nowadays, Reno had always been attracted to all people but gravitated toward the softness of females. Part in because of Ruin, who wasn’t bi-sexual, so their double act already had a preference from the get-go.

The woman in front of him was all softness only minutes ago, and now she looked like she wanted to slam the door in his face.

He caught her around the neck and a moan filtered out. The same pleasured moan he’d listened to for hours because every whisper of noise from her lips captured his attention.

Leaning down, compensating for the difference between his six-foot-six stature and her smaller one, Reno pressed their lips together, tempted to drive his tongue inside and get her back in the zone. He was far from finished with her and wanted to prove that. But after only a lick of the kiss, she pushed him back.

“I had fun, babe.”

“Yeah, me too.”

She blinked at him as if expecting him to elaborate, but Reno knew when to hit the bricks, even if everything in his body said to stay and find out why she changed her mind. Turning on his heels, he grabbed the leather jacket slung over the arm of the couch, and headed for the exit, sending a wink at her as he pulled the door closed.

The sun was cresting as he walked down the quiet sidewalk. His latest hookup lived in a small suburban street, and when he glanced back at her house, he wondered if she was watching him go.

Probably not.

She couldn’t kick him out fast enough.

Air slipped through Reno’s lips in a half-laugh. He’d never live this shit down. Of course, that was if he told anyone about his phenomenal weekend.

Yawning, he climbed onto his Dyna, bringing the engine to life with a purr. The thrum underneath Reno always felt like home. He hadn’t been like other teenage boys in that. Once he could drive, he didn’t go for a scrappy beat-up car. Instead, he wanted a motorcycle immediately and worked his butt off doing any job he could to save enough money for the cheapest second-hand cycle.

There was nothing second-hand about the bike beneath him as it took corners like a dream, heading toward the Diablo Disciples’ secure compound on the west side of Laketon. It was brand-new only a year ago for his twenty-eighth birthday. And now, as it purred into the L-shaped compound where he spent most of his days and nights, Reno switched off the engine, pocketed the keys, and climbed down, leaving the bike in its usual parking space next to his twin brother’s Road King.

It was the high of sex, which meant Reno wasn’t fully spatially aware as he strolled into the clubhouse after punching the passcode in the newly changed security pad that unlocked the doors.

Tired, hungry, still horny as a pig in mating season, and more confused than ever why Kylie would kick him to the curb when she’d been on the same high with him, if not higher, from the way she’d clawed his skin up, making hot, delicious demands of his body.

He yawned hard, his jaw cracking as he decided to have food before boiling his worn body in a shower. Reno had to teach a lesson to the idiot prospects this morning, and to deal with that kind of stupidity, he required a full belly and hot coffee.

He’d earned his place at the Diablo’s church table as the Sergeant at Arms, and Reno took his duties seriously. Most of the time.

Today of all days, he wanted to sleep it away, except duty called, but first food.

Because his head was gathering wool, he didn’t see the bunched fist coming toward him until pain radiated out of his jaw. Then, a body as big as his grabbed him by the throat and took Reno down to the floor; a knee in his chest evaporated all the air he had as he looked up into similar gray eyes.

Ruin’s soulless eyes.

The pain from his punch made Reno see double as his brother got in his face.

“Where the fuck have you been? I thought you were dead. But you’re about to be.”
Copyright© V. Theia 2022.

Diablo Disciples MC

Chains – Exclusive First Chapter

Only three biker sleeps to go.

“Who’s the dead whore?”

“Not your next girlfriend unless you like ‘em cold and stiff.”

Chains heard a chuckle from the gathered crowd of his brethren, staring at the poor sack of meat that was once a known hooker in the area.

She’s now as dead as dead got.

Her slim, almost skeletal, drug-ruined body was twisted into an awkward, broken shape on the cold concrete. Her once dark hair was matted in blood from whatever caved her skull in; being hit repeatedly had half her head poured out onto the ground.

Fuck. He had a robust steel-like stomach that didn’t get grossed out by much, but this shit was for a True Crime show.

Poor bitch wasted what little of a tragic life she had.

And now she’d landed on their doorstep like a gift no one wanted.

Dropping to his haunches, the coppery tang of blood in his nose, Chains gloved hand gripped the woman’s chin and turned her head to the good side that wasn’t bashed in.

“Anyone recognizes her?”

“Nah, VP, never seen her face before.”

“Reno means he don’t recognize her snatch, boss.” Chortled one of the new probies who’d been with the club a couple of months. Chains rose to his feet and turned a dark stare on the young kid. “Have some fucking respect, shithead. It could be your sister lying on the ground.”

The kid turned red and lowered his head, “sorry, boss.”

“She’s not one of your girls?” Asked Reno, who’d followed behind when he got the call about a body in the alleyway behind his club.

“I hire strippers, not hookers.”

“No disrespect to the corpse, but how can you tell the difference?”

“She has track marks, rotten teeth, smells like she hasn’t bathed in weeks. I don’t let my girls do drugs. The meth look isn’t fucking attractive to paying customers, ya dig? Goddammit, this is the last thing we need now. Reno, call in the cleaner, tell them it’s an asap job. That asshole is gonna charge double. Mouse, go with him.” The probie lumbered after Reno, leaving Chains and a silent Ruin in the alleyway with the foul stench of the dumpster and a dead body. It was a fresh dump because Chains had parked in this alleyway a few hours back to call in for the monthly takings, and he’d have seen a dead hooker littering his alley.

“You fucked any hookers and pissed off her pimp this month?” he asked of his enforcer, standing casually with his foot against the brick wall while he scrolled on his phone. Ruin’s dark head rose, looking bored, and he grunted before looking back at his phone again. “Yeah, yeah, you silent dick, you don’t do hookers. You might as well head back to the club, brother. Nothing to do here until she’s moved.”

Ruin pushed himself off the wall and, without a word, strode down the shadowy side street and around the corner where his bike was parked. Chains had no time to think about the enforcer’s weird demeanor, not when he had a dead whore on his hands.

That made three kills dumped around Laketon, Utah, in the past few weeks.

Serial killer?

Or some perverted weirdo who took his sex games too seriously?

Chains wasn’t a cold-hearted biker.

He could feel sorry for the dead hooker outside of his business but still not give a fuck about her at the same time. But didn’t want this shit on his doorstep. Thanks to the club’s substantial payment to the cleaner, the problem would disappear with no DNA left behind if the cops came sniffing around.

The cleaner arrived shortly, and Chains waited inside nursing a glass of neat scotch, sitting at the bar while they did their thing.

The cleaner always gave him the willies.

She was a weird woman who made death disappear. With a banging body and a face made for fashion, Chains was betting the woman was dead inside if she trudged through blood, puke, and piss regularly and didn’t blink at the disturbing scenes.

The club was fortunate she worked for them, but Chains had never tried to fuck the cleaner; he reckoned it would be like climbing into bed with the grim reaper.

Once the text came through that the problem was gone, he wired the money over, and not a minute later, he laughed as he stepped down off the stool, seeing her recent text saying thanks, with a skull emoji.

“Sicko.” He muttered, amused.

Blowing hot air into his clasped-inked hands, Chains warded off the chilly night air as he lumbered out of his strip club, into the street, and around to where his Harley was parked. No wonder he felt tired, It was closing in on 3 a.m., lunatics didn’t have any manners when they were doing their murdering these days. The bastards could have waited until Chains caught some decent shut-eye.

The club was closer than his house. He’d usually head home, but his tired body wanted to get horizontal before falling over after being in Vegas for a long weekend. Had he known the mess he was coming back to, he might have extended his trip instead of riding all day.

About thirty years ago, the clubhouse was a brewery, until the former Prez scraped together the money to buy the dilapidated building for a song. It took Axel and Chains to make it into the club he saw as he rode through the gates, after two prospects opened them for him. They weren’t always so gate happy. Every vehicle once upon a time could come and go as they pleased, but the Mexican cartel firebombed the Prez’s house in the recent past. Luckily no one was hurt, but they’d put extra security measures in place ever since Axel’s grandkids came along.

The clubhouse stood on its own land, with no other buildings around them, and was about a block in size. Red bricks had long since been painted black, three floors high, the second floor mainly used for bedrooms, and the top floor was storage and extra flop space if they had out-of-towners to host.

Climbing down off his Harley Davidson Sport, Chains’ jaw cracked with a yawn, so fucking tired, he could sleep his ass down on the asphalt. So when he strode into the club doors after thumbing in his code, he was in no mood for the smart mouth of one of the night owls drinking at the bar.

“Look what the cat dragged home. No showgirl on your arm, VP?”

The loudmouth was still soaking wet behind the ears, young but had an old lady at home and two kids. But there was a sweet bottom sitting on his lap. Chains glared at Forger and kept on walking.

“You keep mouthing off, and I’m gonna fuck your mom and give her a kid she actually loves.”

The idiot prospect laughed at Chains’ joke, like he thought he wouldn’t go through with it.

Few knew that Chains always told the truth.

A threat or a promise, they called it his superpower.

Jon ‘Chains’ Shaye wasn’t born in the biker lifestyle; he didn’t have a dad who loved a hog and brought him in as a legacy; he’d had a whole other everyday life before he’d found his deliverance. He came to the MC in his late twenties, and now standing at six-foot-five and age thirty-nine, people would swear he’d always bled the ride or die way of living.

But as he closed the door to his room, glancing at the queen-size bed as he shucked off his pieces of denim and club cut, Chains wasn’t thinking about threats or promises.

He was going to sleep like a dead man.

Not even bothering to pull back the covers, he fell bare-assed onto the bed, buried his face in the pillow, and was out for the count before the first fat sheep jumped over the hedge.