Page 68 of Diesel
As if it’s as simple as that.
“Okay I’m living for this bromance,” Dayna says.
Both Dash and Zane look at her like she’s speakinganother language. I pull Zane’s hand, guiding him into the chair next to me. “You eat too.”
His fingers tap on the table once, twice, then he reaches for one of the takeout bags. I watch as he pulls out a bacon sandwich and opens it up. The sauce goes on before he reassembles it and takes a bite.
Dash stiffens as a young woman comes over. She’s maybe twenty, maybe younger. It’s hard to tell beneath the patchwork of bruises staining her face. I swallow my gasp. I’ve lived in violence most of my life, but it hits me differently. She’s wearing a hoodie that’s clearly not hers. It hangs off her small frame like armour.
He says nothing. Zane doesn’t either. Dayna meets my gaze with a slight shrug that says she doesn’t know who she is.
“Are you joining us?” Dayna asks.
The girl looks uncertain, but Dash gives her a nod and that’s all she needs. She sits like the chair is made of barbs, but she doesn’t reach for any food or drink. With the damage to her face, I’m not sure she can without pain.
My jaw clenches as I stare at the marks covering her skin, anger burning under my skin like acid. “I hope whoever did that to you is wearing worse bruises,” I murmur.
Her eyes slide to me, swollen, but the spark of an ember ripples in them. “Not yet.”
It hangs between us like a threat wrapped in violence. Dayna breaks the awkwardness growing around the table.
“I’m Dayna,” she introduces herself when no one else does.
“Chloe.”
“You get in a fight with a bear?” She gestures to her face.
Chloe’s shoulders inch higher, tighter, and Zane sits straighter. Dayna doesn’t notice the tension around the table, or if she does, she doesn’t care. I get the feeling Dayna does and says whatever she wants to, but I notice Dash’s fingers flex just a little over her belly. A light warning, maybe.
Chloe presses a light touch to her swollen cheek before she says in a small voice, “With a few.”
Silence stretches for a moment, then Dayna says, “Well, no bears here. Just buttery pastries and coffee that tastes like shit.”
“It’s not that bad,” Dash says, sniffing his cup, as if he hasn’t already drunk half of it.
“It’s barely caffeine. I’m only allowed one cup a day and I waste it on that.” She groans.
“Maybe we can ask Nic for a better coffee fund now that he’s president.” Dayna glances hopefully at Dash, but the air becomes thick, tense.
Chloe focuses on the table, like it might collapse if she looks away. Zane taps his fingers on his thigh, and Dash watches Chloe like he’s waiting for something to happen.
“Heisa better president,” Chloe says finally. “A dog would be better than that—” She breaks off, the words catching in her throat.
“Give Nic names,” Dash says. “Tell him who did that to you. He’ll make sure they’re punished.”
Chloe laughs, a dark, vicious sound. “No one will bleed for this, Dash. I’m nothing to this club. The daughter no one wants to claim. The whore no one wants to love. My mum was right. This club’s poison.”
I don’t know what any of that means, but Zane and Dash do. They’re both watching her like she’s a live grenade. “Club tried to take care of you, Chloe,” Zane says. “You wouldn’t let us.”
Her brows knit. “He made me believe he loved me. I thought—It doesn’t matter what I thought. It was all a lie. Crank didn’t love me. The moment I stopped being useful, he did this.” She gestures at her face. “Him and the rest of those animals.”
Her voice doesn’t crack. There’s no tremble, no apology, just cold, numb fact. Zane shifts beside me, and I hear the slow, seething inhale he takes.
It moves around the table like a wave of anger. Maylie holds her son closer, like she can protect him from the horror, the rot, the festering disease that runs through the club.
Dayna leans back in her chair, her hand still resting over Dash’s, her expression cool, casual, but steel.
“A melon baller works.”
