Page 51 of Diesel
“You getting knocked up was the most interesting thing that’s happened lately.”
“Exactly. I’ve been the headline for months. I’m bored of me.” Dayna turns back to me, her eyes sparkling. “There’s no judgment here. I met Rhys at a birthday party in a strip club, fucked him in a corridor with a room full of people next door, got pregnant, almost died in a shootout, and the rest is history.”
I blink slowly. “You… what?”
She waves a dismissive hand. “Babe, we’ve all got stories. Ivy fell in love with her brother-in-law’s foster brother. They were having clandestine fuck sessions while her sister and his brother slept down the hallway.”
I cut my eyes to Ivy who has covered Seren’s little ears. Toby’s muttering under his breath as he shoves his earphones in and fiddles with his phone.
“That’s not what happened,” Ivy hisses at her. “You make it sound sordid.”
“No, I make it sound romantic.” She sighs dreamily. “You and Riot are the ultimate forbidden love. It’s beautiful.”
“Let me guess,” I say to Maylie. “Mace fell off his white horse coming to rescue you?”
She laughs, jiggling the baby. “Not exactly. His club took over the strip bar I was working at—not as a dancer,” she clarifies. “Though I wouldn’t mind considering the tips they make.”
Dayna snorts. “I want to be there if you ever do that, just to watch that big vein in his head pulse.”
I glance between them. Maybe I shouldn’t trust them. I don’t know them, but for some reason, I find myself talking. “Zane and I have known each other since we were young. I was seven years old the first time I met him.” I breathe in, once, twice, then keep talking. “We were in the same foster home together for a year. We got moved around a lot after that, but we’re always managed to keep in touch.” My throat tightens. “To protect each other. We got married a few years back and I thought he was ashamed of me. He’d never take me to the clubhouse or to meet his friends.”
“He was protecting you,” Maylie says quietly.
“Yeah.” I fiddle with the sleeve of his hoodie. The one he put on me back at the house earlier. It feels like a lifetime ago. “I didn’t know that at the time. I spent years thinking I didn’t belong, that he didn’t want me in his world.”
I stare into my lap. I don’t know how I’m meant to feel anymore. It was one thing learning I was kept away for my safety, but it’s a whole other realising I wasn’t the only one.
“Let me guess, he never actually said that.” Dayna’s brow arches.
“Not until I left him.”
“Standard,” she says, deadpan.
“These men have the communication skills of a stone,” Ivy mutters. “Would it kill them to say what they actually mean once in a while?”
“Oh, it definitely would. The world would clearly end if they actually opened their mouths and talked like normal human beings.” Dayna shrugs. “Anyway, fuck them. We’ve got each other and tequila. You know, once I’m no longer pregnant and Maylie’s not breastfeeding.”
“What do we have until then?” Maylie asks.
“Sass, May. We have sass and sarcasm. And coffee—as long as it’s under one cup a day.” She smirks at me. “Welcome to the only club that matters, babe.”
I laugh and fuck, it feels good to let it out. “Do we get membership cards?”
“I’ll even laminate them.”
SIXTEEN
DIESEL
I clockevery exit the moment I step into the room. There’s a sliding door on one side that leads into the garden, a second one that goes to the stairs and front door. Riot stands in front of one, then Blade joins us leaning against the wall near to the other.
My shoulders are drawn back like I’m preparing for impact as I sink into one of the chairs like I’m not fazed by this. Instead, I let my tongue touch the back of my teeth, tapping a rhythm that calms my nerves. Over and over. Tap, pause. Tap, pause. Tap, pause.
The room smells funny. The mix of old fabrics and patterned carpet is an assault on my senses. I hate everything about it, including the battered old dining table in the centre and the mismatched chairs pushed around it.
Mace and Riot drop into the chairs opposite me. Riot stares like he’s trying to decide where to stick his knife—in my chest or my throat.
I roll my neck, the tension cracking down my spine likelightning, and try to shake off the static buzzing in my brain. If he wants a fight, I’ll fucking give him one.
