Page 15 of Falling for the Biker
All I want to do is take away the problem completely. I don’t want Ruby to feel this fear ever again, to worry about this bastard growing brave the next time she’s caught alone.
I don’t want to risk losing something that’s now important to me.
Pain stings my hands and wrists as he claws for air. I’m surprised he doesn’t try to take his pathetic knife back to slit mywrists, but that’s only because the fear of dying is that intense. It makes even common sense impossible.
Feeling his pulse flutter beneath my fingers, I don’t let go. Even after his limbs go limp and his face reddens a crimson shade, I squeeze hard enough to leave marks against his throat before letting his body crumple to the ground.
Even after his death, I don’t cool down. I’m still angry at both him and myself.
I wish the bastard were alive so I could kill him again.
My phone buzzes against the ground, and I don’t have to look over to know someone is trying to get back in contact with me.
If Ghost is still watching, which I know he is, Judge will be the first to know what I’ve done. He’s going to be pissed. It could be him calling. Or our hacker, or even the Vice President. Who knows at this point?
Fuck. My fingernails dig into my palms just thinking about it. Even if I had the excuse to hurt him, killing a man is never good. Hard to cover up, and that’s exactly what they’ll try to do. I’m willing to bet Grim is already on his way here, already thinking up the different ways to trick the cops.
Will Ghost destroy the footage? Will he keep the heat away from the beauty who has a talent for pulling in bastards?
Ruby.
I expect her to be gone. Hell, she’s just watched me take a man’s life. She has all the reasons to run and find a cop if they haven’t completely ruined her trust in them.
She’s not gone.
She’s right here, her features pale, but her form is here. She won’t look at him, but the look on her face says it all. There’s no denying she knows.
I look over her quickly, searching for any injuries. If something happened to her while she was under my care, I don’t know what I’d do with myself.
There are no cuts, no foreign blood on her, but the forming bruise on her arm—a lurid, purple shadow in the shape of a grip—stares back at me like an accusation. A permanent mark of my failure.
“My fault,” I rasp, the apology torn from a place of raw shame. I’m numb, hollowed out by my own rage, until her palms find my cheeks. Her warmth sears through the cold shell I’ve become.
“Finn.” My real name. A title I let no one use but two people, because behind it carries the weight of the past I left behind. Using it against me, she whispers it again, her voice pulling my hazy focus back to her. “This is bad.Reallybad. He’s dead, isn’t he?”
I force a nod, my throat tight. I cradle her hands, those gentle hands now stained by my world, and give them a desperate squeeze before letting go. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
“You can leave.” The words are forced, each one cutting me on the way out. I have to step back, creating a physical chasm before I crumble and pull her into me forever. “Steelwood can clean this up. They can make you disappear from this, Ruby. You can go home. You’re safe now.”
I have to say it. I have to offer her the escape I’m not strong enough to deny her. It’s the only way to prove I’m not a monster all of the time. There’s still a little good left in me. The good I save for those I care about.
What I don’t expect is the way her face fractures. Her bottom lip trembles, and the sheen in her eyes isn’t from the rain. It’s a heartbreak I caused.
“You don’t want me?” The four words are a whisper, but they hit me with the force of a balled fist. “You want me to leave you here alone?”
Fuck. This is the poison of hope. This is why I build walls.
“I want you, Ruby.” The confession is ripped from the deepest, most selfish part of me. It feels like dragging sandpaper through my throat. “I want you as bad as that bastard did. The difference is, if you stay… like him, I won’t ever be able to let you go.”
The truth hangs in the air, ugly and final. This is me. This is the real Diesel. The possessive, the obsessive. Now she sees it. Now she’ll run.
Except she doesn’t.
She doesn’t just close the space between us; she leaves nothing behind. Her hands fly up, but this time there’s no gentleness. She grabs my face, her fingers pressing into my jaw, and yanks me down to her level. There’s no hesitation, no fear in her eyes—only a fierce, blazing certainty.
Then she kisses me.
It’s not a soft kiss. It’s a collision. An answer I desperately need. It’s her saying, without a single word, that she’s not afraid of the monster. That she’s choosing the terrifying route.
