Page 69 of Diesel
Everyone glances at her, but Chloe’s the one who asks, “For what?”
“Castrating bad men.” Dash mutters something under his breath that might be a fuck me. “Or a spoon.”
“Shears,” Maylie adds.
Chloe’s lips twitch just a fraction. “Too messy.”
Zane rubs his temple like he’s massaging away the need to kill something.
“What’s wrong with a knife?” I ask, tearing a piece of croissant off and popping it into my mouth like we’re not discussing bodily harm while eating breakfast.
“Too pedestrian,” Dayna says, covering Dash’s hand on her stomach. “Go big or go home, right?”
Chloe’s smile fades. “I don’t think I have a home anymore. My mother probably hates me, and I can’t exactly stay at the club anymore.”
I want to tell her she’s wrong, that mum’s are programmed to love their children through every storm, but my throat doesn’t open up around the words. I lived too long in the spaces where love was supposed to flourish and didn’t.
“Your mum fought for you.” She lifts her gaze to look at Dash as he continues, “She came here so many times to fight for you. She’d take you back in a heartbeat.” His voice is rough with guilt, like he blames himself for not doing more, for not intervening sooner. He clears his throat. “You’re club. Chlo. That doesn’t change because of this.”
Her eyes fill with hope. “Maybe I’ll call her then.”
“Good idea.”
Dayna picks up a teaspoon off the table and wiggles her brows. “And when you want to ride out and make those little bitches cry, you let us know.”
“You’re pregnant,” Dash reminds her.
“Good. The hormones will help with the rage.”
TWENTY-TWO
DIESEL
It’s too quiet,like the moment the shelling stops on a battlefield while everyone reloads. Silence, stillness—it’s something I usually need, but as I peel my eyes open, it feels wrong.
Makenna’s tucked against me like a barnacle, clinging as if she’s scared I might roll away from her in the night. I won’t. I’m never fucking leaving her again.
I keep my arms locked around her, just existing while the seconds pass, heavy with the weight of what’s coming.
More blood will be spilt.
More bodies will fall.
But after…
If we survive…
Something new, something better, will rise. And I want her to be a part of it.
Makenna’s breaths are soft and warm against my chest, and her hair tickles my skin. I wish there was no war looming ahead of us, no dead, no blood on the clubhouse floor.
Just me and her in this bed.
She shifts slightly, and her lashes flutter. When her eyes find mine, she lifts her chin to kiss the edge of my jaw.
“Morning.” Her voice is thick with the last edges of sleepiness, but warm. She’s always warm. “Did you sleep okay?”
“I had you in my arms,” I say.
