Page 29 of Diesel
Peace spreads through me, even if it’s uneasy. For now, she’s still mine, and I’ll do everything I can to keep her, even if it means fighting against the men I once called brothers.
TEN
DIESEL
With Makenna pressed against me,my eyes finally drift closed, and I relax for the first time in days.
She’s here.
She’s safe.
She’s mine.
For now.
I trail my fingers over her spine, the tension bleeding out of me with every stroke. She knows everything now. All the dirty shit happening in the club, how badly I fucked up and put us in this position, and she’s still here.
A noise catches my attention. Distance but annoying for a moment, then it morphs into the unmistakable, familiar rumble of pipes.
My pulse skitters.
No one is meant to know we’re out here.
Fuck.
I slide out from under Kenna’s body, careful not to wake her. She makes a sleepy grunt, but her eyes stay shut.
I creep to the window and tug the drapes back as a bike glides to a stop in front of the house.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I can’t breathe as a familiar figure kicks the stand down on his bike.
Riot.
The two parts of my life that I have been desperately trying to keep apart are suddenly colliding in the worst way imaginable. This is not how I planned this.
My spine snaps straight, every inch of me bracing to protect my wife from a man I’ve called brother for years.
I shove my feet into my boots, not bothering to lace them as I slip down the stairs like a fucking assassin.
Maybe I can get him out of here before he sees her.
When I slip out of the front door, he’s got his helmet off and his kutte is tight over his shoulders. Mine’s draped over the end of the bed upstairs and I feel fucking naked standing in front of him without it.
His eyes lock to mine. I expect some irritation—I did disappear without a word—but not the outright hostility I get.
“Been trying to get in touch with you for the last five fuckin’ days,” he snaps the words out.
My shoulders square, loose but ready. The shift in him, the tone—all of it. I read it for what it is. The intention behind it. This isn’t a friendly visit. I can feel the suspicion rolling off him.
The muscle in his cheek twitches as he stares at me. Yeah, he doesn’t trust me. I can see it in the way his fingers linger near his hip and the bulge beneath—his weapon.
The air is thick like treacle between us, and then his eyes lift to the house behind me.
It feels like I’ve been doused in ice. Makenna, my wife, is inside and if he moves an inch toward the door, I’ll leave him bleeding in the dirt. I don’t care if he wears a patch, if he’s loyal to the club, I’ll drop him.
“What are you doing here?”
