Devin
They were taking a break, so Devin hopped off his bike and walked over to the side of the ravine to light a cigarette. The sun was setting, and there was an orange-red glow on the horizon, which made the desert sand around them shine to a brilliant, glittering gold. Devin took in a deep breath, a mouthful of smoke from the cigarette, and thought about how he wished Camille could see the beautiful desert terrain.
He could feel his shoulders ache. They had been riding for at least four hours non-stop now, and there were so many more miles to go. Mr. Janson was a good customer, loyal. He always hired Devin and his club to create a convoy for him when he was making road trips across states. Mr. Janson was loyal to Devin because he never asked any questions. He never wanted to know why Mr. Janson, the multi-millionaire owner of some of the best Las Vegas casinos, never traveled by air. Devin didn’t ask what he was providing Mr. Janson security against. He only gathered his best-trained men and they rode in silence around Mr. Janson’s car across states and then back again, prepared to fend off any attack that he might face. Nothing had happened yet.
“Hey, Devin. Mr. Janson says we have to get back on track in a few minutes,” he heard Mario’s voice behind him. He breathed in another mouthful of smoke, the cigarette end burnt to a bright orange, and then he dropped it to the dusty ground.
“Sure,” Devin replied without turning to look at his friend.
“Five minutes, yeah?” Mario said and then Devin heard his retreating footsteps.
Devin crushed the cigarette with his heavy duty riding boots and dug his hands into his pockets.
He couldn’t stop thinking of Camille. It had been three days since he last saw her when she was sleeping in his bed, when she had drawn a sketch of him, and when he had made her breakfast. All he could do was think about when he might see her next. There was no going back now; he had promised to see her again when he went back. It was too late to back out, even for her own good.
His cellphone in his pocket vibrated, and Devin reached for it. It was an unknown caller, and he answered the call gruffly.
“Hello, Devin,” he heard the dry deep voice of an older man at the other end of the line. He instantly recognized the voice. It was Jimmy Figueroa, the leader of The Choppers.
“Hello, Jimmy,” Devin replied, whipping around to make sure that nobody from his club was close enough to listen to the conversation. He didn’t want anybody else to hear because he didn’t want anybody else to react.
“I hear you’ve been well, Devin,” Jimmy said, but there was laughter in his voice, and Devin gritted his teeth.
“What do you want, Jimmy?” Devin asked, clenching his fists and trying to keep his emotions under control.
“I just want to talk Devin.” Jimmy gave a loud laugh. “Why are you getting so worked up?”
Devin unclenched his fists and looked out towards the darkening horizon to steady his breathing.
“You’ve been following me. Threatening my friends. I don’t have any reason to talk to you. Now fuck off before I find you and crush you and make sure you never walk again. Stay away from me,” Devin growled into the phone and then hung up before Jimmy Figueroa had a chance to respond.
He muttered under his breath and waved at Mario who was waving at him to come join their convoy again.
Devin gritted his teeth as he walked towards them. He couldn’t believe that Jimmy Figueroa had actually had the nerve to call him.
His thoughts drifted immediately to Camille. Now that she was a part of his life, all this wasn’t just about him, it was also about another person. His life, this life, had always been a dangerous one. But Devin had never worried about the consequences before because he didn’t particularly care about his own safety. But now there was Camille.
The Choppers had already visited Camille at the store, so they knew her whereabouts. They knew she was connected to him; which would make her a liability.
Devin clenched his fists again, enjoying the sharp piercing pain of his fingernails digging into his tough skin. He wanted to draw blood. He wanted to punch something, kick someone.
“You alright there, Devin?” Mario asked when he came into earshot of the club.
Devin tried to force a grin on his face and nodded. “Let’s go,” he said, swinging his legs over his Harley and fixing his helmet on. At least he was going to be able to ride away - ride away from his thoughts. Maybe this time out from Camille would be a good thing, he thought as he started up his bike. Perhaps this was what she needed; maybe she would even change her mind. If she decided that he brought too much baggage with him for her to be in a relationship with him… he wouldn’t struggle against her decision.
But one thing he was sure of was that he wasn’t strong enough to push her away. Even though the best decision, for her own safety, would be to do just that. But he needed her too much - he craved for her touch, missed watching her laugh, and wanted to feel her soft bare skin under his fingertips… Camille Griffin was too perfect, too innocent, and too beautiful for him to just give up. But what would be the right thing to do? Wasn’t he just putting her in more danger now? Wasn’t she just asking for trouble?