Page 45 of Diesel
I’m grateful, because I feel sick to my stomach. I hate walking into the unknown, and I hate that this feels more like our past rather than the life we were building. The illusion of safety is gone, just the never-ending churn of fear.
My hand presses to my stomach, fisting over my lower abdomen like the pressure can stop the nausea.
It doesn’t. Of course it doesn’t.
We’ve been in bad situations before, but this feels so much worse than anything we’ve faced before. I swallowdown my fear. I need to be strong and keep my wits about me to keep him safe too.
I focus. I scan. I watch. So I can be ready to act if I have to.
When we reach the end of the lane, there’s a long house. The walls were once white, I’d guess, but now they’re a grey colour, like they haven’t seen any care in years.
There are two other cars pulled up in front of the building and Zane parks behind one of them before he cuts the engine.
My mouth feels like I’ve swallowed handfuls of sand.
He doesn’t move and neither do I. “This goes south, you get out of here and you run. You don’t look back.”
I stare at him. “I’m not leaving you.”
His jaw flexes. “Yeah, firefly, you are. I’ll find you.”
“And how exactly are you going to find me if you’re dead?” I snap, then shake my head. “I’m not leaving you and don’t ask me to. You wouldn’t leave me.”
His lips pull into a tight line. I cup his face, feeling his stubble under my fingers. Slowly, I kiss his cheek, the corner of his mouth, and then I claim his mouth. When I’m done, I press my forehead to his, just, breathing. “Don’t ask me to do what you wouldn’t.”
“Stubborn…” he mutters.
“That’s why you love me.”
He doesn’t deny it, but he doesn’t confirm it either. He lifts his kutte, checking the gun holstered underneath.
“Ready?”
No.
I nod.
He opens his door, and I do the same. My body isvibrating with anxiety as I get out of the car. I should’ve waited for him to come around to my side, but I don’t want him focused on me. I want his head in this, ready to do whatever is needed.
“Stay close,” he warns, and then hand in hand, we walk to the front door.
Before we reach it, it swings open and a guy is standing in the entrance, wearing the same leather vest as Zane.
He’s tall. Really tall. And built like a fucking tank. I feel tiny between them both, even though I’m not that small.
His gaze scans Zane before landing on me, his eyes hard as stone. I feel like he examines every part of me in that split second glance before his attention goes back to Zane.
“Come on. Everyone’s here.”
I watch as in front of my eyes he switches from Zane into Diesel, like they’re two different people. The man holding my hand is not my husband. This man is harder, darker, and closed down in a way I hate.
Then his hand tightens around mine, just a little reminder he’s still Zane. That he’s not completely wearing the costume he’s expected to.
I keep close to his back as we step into a darkened hallway that smells of musty damp.
I scan, seeking danger, looking for shadows, for anything that might pose a threat, but everything is calm. Normal even.
The decor is dated, the furniture old, but the space is warm, chasing away the cold that has already settled in my bones.
