Page 19 of Diesel
“I’d rather you stay willingly, but I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you. Lie down.”
My heart thumps an unsteady beat. He’s fucking serious. “This is unhinged, even by your standards.”
There’s a beat of silence as I settle back on the bed, my body stiff as a board.
“Yeah,” he says softly, “but sometimes you have to be a little crazy to keep the things you love.”
SIX
DIESEL
I lie in the dark,the hours crawling by like the night doesn’t want to give way to the dawn. It takes a while, but eventually Makenna’s breath evens out and softens until she’s finally asleep.
I stare at the curve of her back like it’s a locked door and I no longer have the key to open it. I’m shut out and worse, I deserve to be. Now, she might never let me back in. The cuff around her wrist shimmers as it catches the moonlight slicing through the gap in the curtains. What was I thinking?
That she was slipping through my fingers, and this was the only way to keep her.
Fuck. Makenna was right when she said I can’t force her to stay, but I panicked. I already let her walk once. I couldn’t sleep knowing she might not be next to me when the sun rose.
I close my eyes, my breath hitching for half a second before I get it under control. I didn’t know I was capable offeeling this much pain without bleeding out or that I could feel so alone with her lying next to me.
My fingers twitch, but before I reach for her, I fist them into the sheets beneath me. I can’t make this better with touch or with sex. This is deeper than tactile love. She’s hurt—I’ve hurt her.
The ache behind my ribs is constant and raw as I replay every word between us in the last few months. The loaded meanings I missed. The times she told me she was lonely, and I didn’t understand what she needed from me. Every misstep, every brush off—it slams through our marriage like a wrecking ball.
I force my breath to slow and my mind to calm, finding that comforting stillness inside me. She’s here, she’s safe, and she’s still a secret.
That’s all that matters.
No one can know about her existence. Not until the club is clean. Not until I can trust my brothers with her.
You should have told her all of this.
Maybe, but I wanted her life to be easy and stress-free. I never wanted the darkness of my world to touch her, and by trying to protect her I may lose her anyway.
My phone vibrates on the bedside table. I don’t need to look at the screen to know who it is. Riot has been calling me for the last few days. Mace and Nic too. I should care. I should answer, but I don’t.
I silence my phone, ignoring the multiple notifications on the screen, and pull the blankets higher around her shoulders so she doesn’t get chilled. There will be punishment for ignoring my club brothers and for going AWOL, but I can’t bring myself to care right now.
The club is a shit show. I don’t know who I’m meant to trust, and everything it stands for isn’t what I signed up for. I wanted a safe place to build a life and a family in. I wanted men who bleed loyalty without questioning if they’ll put a knife in my back.
That’s not what we have in Birmingham.
Every word, every action feels loaded, like the whole chapter is balancing on a knife’s edge. It makes me nervous, and it’s why I’ve kept Kenna hidden. Old ladies have died because of this club and I’m not losing my wife the same way.
My exhale is ragged and I’m tired down to my bones. I stare up at the ceiling like it has all the answers, like it might offer an absolution. It doesn’t, so I let my mind drift. My eyes are gritty, heavy and the days I spent hunting down my missing wife have taken a toll. I haven’t slept properly since I found her gone and the only reason I sleep at all is knowing she can’t run again.
There are no good dreams when I drift off, just nightmares that feel real when my mind finally jolts awake. For a moment, I’m disoriented until I feel her stir beside me. The change in her breathing tells me she’s awake.
She sits slowly, like she’s got iron wrapped around her limbs, her right arm extended up toward the headboard, the metal cuff clinking softly.
“I need to pee.” Her voice is brittle when she speaks, like it’ll break if she pushes too hard.
I clear my throat, which is suddenly tight, and climb off the bed, fishing the key out of my pocket. I scan every inch of her face even though she’s not looking at me. I pause before I take her wrist, scared she might recoil. When myfingers wrap around her skin her breath catches just a fraction, like her nerves weren’t ready.
I keep my touch whisper soft as I release her from the cuff. She traces where the metal braceleted her wrist, as if she’s expecting to see wounds there, but the skin is untouched.
“You feel better?” I ask, my grip lingering on her. I don’t want to let go, and she doesn’t pull away either.
