Page 44 of Diesel
Just like we used to when we were running from foster placements or being shifted around different group homes. I never had things until we stopped running and put down roots. But all this stuff is meaningless without him.
I head into the bedroom, ignoring the shake in my hands and pack with military precision. Bare essentials he said and that’s all I take. I grab the folder with our important documents in, stuffing those in the bottom of my rucksack, before I pack some things for him too.
I find him in the kitchen, a row of knives and sheaths lining the table.
Weapons of war.
I’ve seen him handle blades since we were teenagers, but lined up like this, knowing what’s coming—it hits different this time.
My stomach dips as he glances up from what he’s doing. His shoulders are bunched around his ears, as if he can’t loosen them. I wish this was over already, that we were settled back into whatever life comes after. I’d give anything to be standing here complaining about dirtysocks on the floor and not waiting to wave him off into a war he might lose.
Zane stands and packs up each knife with precision. When he’s done, he tucks two into sheaths on his body, the others are placed inside one of the bags. “Ready?”
I nod. A lie, but I give it anyway. I feel like we’re standing on the edge of a cliff looking down at the jagged rocks below. One wrong move and we get torn to pieces, shredded on the sharp edges.
My mouth is suddenly dry, but when he takes my hand, I feel the weight on my chest lift just enough that I can breathe. He clutches both bags in one big fist and leads us out of the apartment.
He keeps close to my back while I lock the door behind us, then he takes my hand again, his grip like an iron band around me. I know whatever happens he won’t let go of me, but I interlace my fingers with his anyway, just in case.
The walk to the car is torture. I feel eyes everywhere, even though we’re alone. Every noise feels like a detonation. Every breath loud in my ears.
Between my shoulders itch as he guides me across the car park, moving at a clipped pace. There’s a phantom pain in the back of my head, as if I’m waiting for a bullet to strike, but Zane keeps me pressed into his side, protecting as much of my body as he can, and that kills me. Because no one is protecting him, and he thinks I’m supposed to just be okay with that.
A car backfires in the distance and I flinch hard enough to bite my tongue. He holds me tighter, crushing me into his side, moving a little faster.
There’s only relief when he opens the car door and helps me slide into the passenger seat. His eyes areeverywhere, checking for danger as he pulls the belt around my body, clipping it in like I’m a little girl and not his wife.
Our eyes meet for just a second, just long enough to convey a multitude of emotions before he steps back and shuts the door. I hold my breath as he tosses our bags in the backseat and then slides into the driver’s side. I inhale a lungful of air until he starts the engine and pulls out of the space.
His knuckles are tight around the steering wheel as we drive into the city. I hate this. I hate that he’s afraid, and not for himself, but for me. But it’s always been that way. When we were younger, trapped in a system designed to destroy kids like us, he never cared about himself getting hurt. He would take beating after beating, all the verbal abuse, his shit getting stolen, his life being upended, and he only ever really lost his temper when that stuff touched me.
I’ll never forget the first time one of my foster parents backhanded me hard enough to split my lip. The look on his face when I turned up to school the next day was enough to scare me. He made sure that fucker never touched me again. He always did.
“You’re quiet.” He lifts my hand as he says it, brushing his mouth over my cold skin.
“Just thinking.”
He hums low in his throat. “Dangerous.”
“You don’t even know what I’m thinking about to say whether it’s dangerous or not.” I keep my voice teasing, knowing that we both need this levity.
“No. But I know you and that’s enough.”
My smile is tight, but I give it anyway. I don’t want to ask what happens if his club changes their mind andbetrays him. He’s already carrying enough on his shoulders without me adding my own concerns and fears.
So, I put my trust in him, in these men I don’t know, and I hope like hell that everything is going to work out.
And the only thought I have is that if they’re going to kill us, at least we’ll be together when it happens.
FIFTEEN
MAKENNA
The house Zanepulls up outside looks… normal.
I don’t know what I was expecting when he said we were going to a safe house, but I thought it would be more like a prison, a compound maybe, but this could be any house on any estate, in any part of the UK.
It’s hidden at the end of an unadopted road, the dirt packed with stones that needed to be replaced years ago. The car jolts and wobbles as he guides it slowly over the potholes, careful not to jostle us too much.
