Page 92 of Diesel
I snap my gaze back to him. He’s older than I thought he’d be. Too old for a girl as young as Chloe. He’s built like the rest of the men around him, but somehow, he seems smaller. Shrunken. He doesn’t ooze power, like Ravage. He doesn’t move with confidence like Nic.
On his knees, surrounded by Sons, with fear dancing in his eyes. And he looks weak.
I expect a smart mouthed quip from Dayna, but she stays uncharacteristically quiet, watching. Waiting to see what happens. Her eyes never leave Dash, who is now standing in front of the man he once called president.
Dash crouches in front of him, his arm resting on one knee. The look he gives Crank would strip paint off the walls.
“Is this what it’s come to?” Crank spits. “You betraying the patch? Betraying me?”
Fury snorts. Terror shifts on his feet like he’s debating putting his boot through Crank’s face.
But Dash… He doesn’t flinch. “You know what I’m most angry about?” His voice drops low and deadly. Gone is the man who sits with us at breakfast, his hand splayed over Dayna’s bump. “How badly you failed us, Crank. You did nothing while brothers bled. You watched as our enemies chipped away at our territory piece at a time. And then you slaughtered the men who refused to follow you. Men who were loyal to the patch. You sold us out for your own gain, and then you killed brothers to save your own neck.”
He spits in Crank’s face. He flinches but doesn’t lift his hand to wipe it away. Vicious anger blooms in his eyes, replacing the fear just for a second.
“You think you’re better than me? You think you could’ve run this chapter better than I did?”
“I think the fucking prospect could’ve run this chapter better than you did,” Dash says.
He straightens from his crouch slowly, like he has all the time in the world. Dayna’s fingers find mine and I curl my hand around hers.
I don’t look away. It’s like watching a train crash in real time. None of us have moved from under the table. I’ve stopped trying to pull air into my lungs.
Dash pulls back his fist and smashes it into Crank’s face. Dayna gasps, her grip squeezing mine so tight my bones grind.
Crank falls back, sprawling like somebody cut his strings. I swallow the bile in my throat. Am I about to see someone die in front of me? Where the hell is Zane?
“You’re not worthy to wear the Sons name on your back.”
Fury and Terror pull him back up onto his knees. There’s blood trailing from his mouth, adding to the smear down the side of his face. But still, Crank glares defiantly.
“I did what I had to do. I kept the chapter alive.”
“And got my wife killed.” We all turn as another brother walks slowly toward Crank.
He looks like violence and vengeance wrapped in denim and leather. The back of his kutte says Manchester, but I’m not sure who he is.
“You can’t blame me for that. It was the pioneers?—”
“Who you should have taken care of.”
CRACK.
His fist slams into Crank’s jaw like a block of concrete. Once again, he goes sprawling. This time, he doesn’t try to get up, but he laughs. It sounds maniacal, like a man teetering on the edge of sanity. Blood bubbles on his lips. “Blame me all you want, but I didn’t kill Mara.”
The guy boots him in the side hard enough that I flinch. “You don’t say her name. You don’t ever say her fucking name.”
The doors open again, and my stomach drops. I brace for whatever hit is coming next.
But this time… This time it’s him.
Zane.
His eyes are wild in a way I’ve never seen. There’s no control, no composure. He walks in like a fucking war god and the second he sees me, he stops.
I climb out from under the table, shaking. He crosses the room like a hurricane. He doesn’t look at Crank, at his brothers, at anything but me.
And as soon as he’s in front of me, his arms go around me, and I’m pulled into his chest. He’s warm, solid, and mine.
