Page 40 of Diesel
My nape is clammy when I pull my bike into a space in front of the café. It’s off the beaten track, nestled deep within an industrial estate, bustling with truck drivers and factory workers.
Nic’s bike is already out front, the chrome catching the late afternoon sunlight. My stomach tightens, knotting painfully as I pull in beside him, facing outwards in case I have to make a quick escape. I take my helmet off and allow myself a moment to just breathe. Just one.
Then I head inside.
He’s sitting at the back of the room, spine to the wall, eyes alert. They lock on me the moment I walk inside and his shoulders square just a fraction. He’s nervous too, and I’m not sure what to make of that.
I pull my mask into place and leave Zane behind to become Diesel.
I pause in front of the table, letting the tension sit heavy between us. “Take a seat,” Nic says, nodding to the chair opposite him.
It puts me at a distinct disadvantage. My back to the room, to the door, but I understand this play. He wants to see if I trust him enough to sit.
So I drag the chair out, the legs scraping over the tiles, and sink into it as if my shoulders aren’t itching. As if my brain isn’t doing circuits while I try to calm my adrenaline.
There’s a milkshake and a plate of fries already on the table. Nic glances down at them before he moves both infront of me. He slides a sachet of sriracha sauce next to the plate.
It’s a peace offering, and acknowledgment of friendship, loyalty.
Fuck. Is this an olive branch or a ploy to get me to drop my defences?
No, Nicky isn’t deceptive. He’ll stab you in the front, not the back. If he wanted me gone, I’d already be choking on my own blood.
This is an olive branch, and I take it. I pick up the sachet, ripping it open and strategically drizzle the sauce over the fries.
“You bring me here to eat?”
His lips curve. “Figured you’d be hungry after hiding out all this time.”
“Wasn’t hiding,” I say, popping a fry in my mouth.
“No?”
The hot spices hit my tongue like an assault on my senses. My body relaxes just a fraction. “If I was hiding you wouldn’t have found me.”
He leans back in his seat. Everything about his body says relaxed but I see the way his shoulders are pulled taut like the string of a bow.
“You reckon?”
“I know.” I take a sip of the milkshake. It’s cold, thick enough to use as mortar on bricks. “You want to tell me what happened?”
“With what?”
“Grub. Riot said he’s dead.”
There’s no flicker of emotion on his face, no hint of anything, but he drums two fingers on the table before he stills. “Yeah.”
“What happened?”
“Riot didn’t tell you?”
“I want you to tell me.”
His gaze slides to the window, breaking from me for a moment. “He deserved to die.”
I won’t argue with that. I never liked that slimy prick but killing a VP… that’s not something to walk away from. I want to know what happened and why. I want to know what side I’m fighting on.
“You tossed a match on an already burning fire.” It’s not accusatory. Just a statement of fact.
