Page 62 of Diesel
Something’s wrong.
He looks like he’s seen into the pits of hell and is hauling that memory behind him.
I swallow the lump in my throat that won’t move.
There’s no blood on him, no marks or bruises, but his body is vibrating with violence he’s barely containing. I’ve only ever seen him like this when he was facing our monsters, our demons. And even then he came back to me quickly. He’s still trapped in whatever he saw or did.
I don’t mean to move, but I close the space between uswithout thought. One foot then the other. I need to touch him, to do… something.
He watches every step I take, like he’s counting the distance, but when I’m in front of him, I falter, like I’m afraid to reach for him. Like whatever happened has rewired something inside him.
His eyes don’t leave mine, like he’s trying to chase away the horror. Then he lets out a shaky breath, and crushes me into his chest, like he’s trying to hug the dread out of his bones. He doesn’t say a word, but he holds me like I’m the only thing keeping his broken seams from splitting.
I rest my cheek over his heart, feeling it pulse too fast, too erratic.
What the fuck happened?
“Zane… Are you okay?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
I need him to give me something. Anything.
He doesn’t answer right away. Just buries his face against my neck, his breath hot against my skin, like he’s trying not to fold into a heap. Then he says in barely more than a whisper, “I am now.”
I try to pull back, but he doesn’t let me move. His arms are bands of steel around me. “Stay.”
I do, because he’s trembling and I don’t know what to do with that. I glance over his head, still pressed into the dip of my shoulder, to the other men. Mace’s mouth is tight, his eyes haunted. Even Riot, who has spent every moment since I met him mouthing off, is subdued. The only sound is the baby fussing.
“We’re moving to the clubhouse,” Nic says, breaking the fragile silence. The girls exchange a glance, and I don’tneed words to understand it. Old ladies don’t go to the clubhouse. Not this one. “Five minutes.” It comes out clipped and he doesn’t wait for anyone to object before he steps out of the room with Terror without looking back.
Still, no one speaks. The silence is oppressive. Zane hasn’t moved, but his arms tighten around me.
“What’s going on?” Maylie asks. Mace lifts their son off her chest, and she sits up, her eyes darting between him and Riot. “You never let us go to the clubhouse.”
Riot is sitting next to Ivy and Seren, stroking the little girl’s curls slowly, rhythmically, like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.
“It’s the safest place for everyone,” Riot murmurs.
Dash glances between his club brothers, like he’s trying to drag what happened out of them psychically.
I cling to Zane, like he’s now my anchor.
Mace kisses their son’s head. “Ivy, can you and Toby help get the baby’s stuff together?”
She nods. “Yeah. Of course.” Riot takes Seren from her, careful not to jostle the sleeping baby.
I ignore them, focusing everything on Zane. His fingers are flexing against my back, the way they do when he’s struggling to regulate his emotions. “Zane?” His name whispers past my lips, but he lifts his head. His hand lifts to trail over my face, and I see it. Blood. It’s only a tiny amount, but it stains the side of his finger.
He freezes just long enough for my pulse to flutter wildly. It’s the smallest hesitation, the kind only I would catch, but he knows I’ve seen it.
His eyes flick to mine, like he’s expecting me to pull away, but I don’t flinch. I swallow the bile pooling in my throat and nod.
I don’t need the details. I don’t ask whose blood it is. Whatever he’s done, whatever he’s carrying, I’ll shoulder that weight too.
An hour later, we’re on the road. I’m sitting in the back of a van with Zane’s arm wrapped around my shoulders like a shield.
My veins are pulsing with adrenaline and fear, my stomach in knots. I interlace my fingers with his, rubbing my thumb over the back of his hand like it can fix the terror screaming inside me.
It’s the quiet that scares me the most. The guys are deflated, lost in whatever atrocity they’re reliving.
