Page 24 of Chaplain

After locking up, Gabe and I follow behind the pair in my car until we're ushered through the clubhouse gate and directly to the front door.

Gabe is hustled inside, where club medics start patching him up. I pace anxiously as they relay updates from the raid back and forth between them, and I listen for any tidbits about Diesel.

There are none.

Tap, the club tattoo artist and medic has Gabe's gashes cleaned, stitched, and settled into a clean shirt and pair of sweatpants I'm sure he stole from someone's closet. Maybe even Diesel's, by how they hang off Gabe's hips.

When Tap finishes, he offers me a drink, and I down the shot in one gulp, letting the burn dull my ache for Diesel. It only lasts a second.

The waiting is endless torment. I trusted Diesel with my brother's life, with my heart. Now, his fate and the rest of the club's hang in the balance. I did this. The thought loops in my head like a video on repeat.

Finally, the sound I've been straining for fills the lounge. Rumbling engines, approaching fast, knock out the deafening silence. I rush out the front door as the bikes skid to a stop in front of the clubhouse.

My breath catches when I see the men dismounting, geared for battle and spattered in blood. Frantically, I search for the one face I long to see most. Where is he? Did he make it back to me?

Ronnie's gaze catches mine, and for a second, I'm too afraid to even think. Then Diesel strides into view, all broad shoulders and crooked smile. He's covered in an inch of road grime and more blood than I've ever seen in one place before, but he's alive.

The tornado of relief that crashes over me is nearly enough to knock me off my feet. Tears prick my eyes as I call out his name, and he grins at the sight of me. He strides through the crowd, pulling me into his arms and crushing me against his chest.

"You're safe," he murmurs against my hair, and it's all I need to hear. I cling to him, my heart finally slowing its breakneck pace.

"So are you," I whisper, letting my body sag into his. "Fuck you, you're gonna wish you weren't when I finish yelling at you, but you're alive."

Diesel laughs into my hair before his arm drops from my side, and the weight of his exhausted body leans into mine. I reach for him, but he's too much for me to stabilize. He's on his knees, his head hanging low.

"What's wrong with him?" I yell, desperate to gain the attention of anyone passing by.

Ronnie is at my side, taking Diesel's heavy arm off my shoulders, while another brother I've heard called Cyrus takes the opposite side.

"Get him in to see Tap. Now," Ronnie orders.

My heart seizes as the men haul Diesel inside, his head lolling. I chase after them to the makeshift med bay, panic rising.

Tap peels back Diesel's kutte, and we all suck in a breath. A stab wound an inch wide oozes dark blood halfway down his right rib cage.

"Why the hell didn't you say anything?" Ronnie bellows.

Diesel grimaces. "Had to complete the mission first."

My chest clenches at his selflessness even as Tap shakes his head. "This is gonna hurt like a bitch."

Diesel nods and locks eyes with me. I grab his hand, anchoring him as Tap digs into his medical bag and pulls out a bottle of sterile water.

"Liquor," Tap orders. No one moves, so I rush to the bar on the other side of the room and pull the first bottle off the back shelf.

Tap takes the bottle and reads the label before declaring it will do. He pours some into a glass and holds it for Diesel, who downs over two shots worth in a single gulp.

Christ. My stomach flips when Diesel doesn't react to the burn.

Tap pours the sterile water over the gash, and Diesel roars in pain but doesn't break gaze with me. I put all my strength into that connection, willing him to make it through this.

Watching the needle slide in and out of Diesel's skin is torture, but I don't look away for a second. I did this to him. I need to be there every step of the way to claim my responsibility. Finally, it's over. Tap dresses the wound while Diesel lays back, shattered. I smooth his hair away from his sweaty brow.

"You're okay now," I soothe. "Just rest."

Diesel clutches my hand to his heart, still not looking away. In his eyes, I see a promise - we'll talk later. For now, I just need him alive.

A few hours later,I sit at Diesel's bedside in the bunk room as he rouses. Relief floods me when his eyes slowly open, and his lips curl into a sheepish smile.

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