Page 3 of Falling for the Biker
Stubbing out what little is left of his cigarette against the building, he flicks the butt in a nearby trash can.
“Talk to the cops.” His answer comes too fast, like it’s that simple. He turns away as if he’s already done with this conversation. He’s heard enough.
My body moves without thinking. Desperation overrides survival instinct. I reach out, and my fingers make contact with the sun-warmed skin of his forearm, tracing the raised edge of a tattoo. The second I touch him, his entire body goes rigid, like a statue.
I expect him to shove me away, but he doesn’t. He just… freezes. My own breath catches. His skin is surprisingly smooth over the hard cord of muscle. The frown on his lips softens from anger to something else—surprise, maybe? Annoyance? I can’t tell, but the fact that he hasn’t thrown my hand off feels like a tiny, significant victory.
Somewhere in this darkness consuming my life, there’s a light, and it’s got to be Diesel.
“They said they can’t do anything until something happens.” I shiver at the reminder and blink a few times when my eyes start feeling wet. “One of them told me to come here.”
Seconds pass by before he looks down at me. Those eyes of his look pitch black, and for a few passing seconds, I realize just how deep they are. So endless, I risk falling too deep if I’m not careful.
Is he trying to see if my problem is worth his time?
“I’ll pay you for your time, obviously.” The words tumble out of me, and I realize I’m still touching him. Pulling back, heat trickles up my neck. “I don’t have much, but I’ll give you everything I have. None of it will matter if… "
If my stalker decides to stop haunting me from a distance and attacks me, I can only imagine the outcome being fatal.
“Please, Diesel.” I’m not above begging. “Willowbrook Ridge is my home, and I don’t want to be forced to leave.Please.”
He lets out a long, weary sigh that seems to drain the aggression right out of him. He pinches the bridge of his nose, and for the first time, I see the fatigue behind the intensity.
“This isn’t something I can just say yes to. There’s a process.” The word isn’t a rejection. It’s a possibility. Hope, warm and dizzying, floods my chest. It’s so potent it makes me lightheaded. “Are you safe to return home for now, until I can wrap things up here? The shop doesn’t close for a few hours, and I’ve got a couple more appointments.”
Thinking about finding my window open, stopped only by the piece of wood I shoved in each one, I’m quick to shake my head, and he curses under his breath.
“Go somewhere public then. Somewhere with lots of people. Willow Perk is right down the street.” He jerks his chin. “Get a coffee and one of their muffins. Relax. If you want my help, then you have to do everything I say.”
I straighten at his words, and my smile is back. Suddenly, the crossroads I dreaded earlier seem less shaded and more like sunlight creeping through puffy clouds.
“I’ll buy you one. That should be a good start to this, right? What flavor do you like?” The words keep flooding out, and I already know I’m a chatter when I get nervous.
Diesel doesn’t tell me; instead, he orders me to start walking. Promises he’ll find me when he’s done.
I don’t know what this process is that he’s talking about, but I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make this problem of mine go away. If they just roughen up my stalker, scare him away, that’s enough.
So, under his command, I go. I can feel the weight of his gaze on my back with every step, a physical pressure between my shoulder blades. But instead of feeling hunted, it feels… protective. A strange, fierce sense of security wraps around me, a shield woven from his promise and that heavy, unwavering stare.
It’s only when I turn the corner and the connection is broken that the shield vanishes. The coffee shop is in sight, but the safety is gone. I’m alone again, and for the first time, the solitude feels heavier than before. I’m not just hoping he’ll save me from my stalker; I’m already anticipating the moment his presence fills the space around me again.
2
Diesel
I know trouble like the back of my hand. Don’t even know her last name, but Ruby is trouble carved into a form so soft it’s fucking dangerous.
The image of her—those wide brown eyes and a bottom lip that trembled like she was fighting back a sob—is burned behind my eyelids. It’s going to cling to me, a persistent itch under my skin, until I either send her away or get my hands dirty for her. Both options feel like a trap.
It makes me wonder if someone sent her my way just to test my loyalty.
Just thinking about the hazy future makes it hard to concentrate on my work. I can’t afford not to appreciate the time I can give to my shop throughout the week when I’m distracted like this.
“Everything alright?” Cherry doesn’t shy away from her curiosity, but she’s smart enough to wait until no regularcivilians are nearby whenever it feels like something that could involve the club.
We don’t want to risk scaring away all of our customers who recognize the design on my back. While I wear my cut proudly, some still fear it from the old days.
Working on closing up shop, the best thing I can give her is a non-committed grunt.
