Page 86 of Diesel
She shrugs. “After what happened… I just… I don’t want Mace to go out there again and not know what his son is called.”
“Understandable,” I say. “So, what did you choose?”
“Theo.”
Everything inside me softens. “It’s beautiful,” I say, and I mean it.
I stare at the baby, my chest full and heavy. Each of the girls has carved something good despite this war—family. Love. Home.
I want that with Zane. All of it.
The sleepless nights with our baby. The home he comes back to every night. Lazy weekends tangled in bed together.
I want what he promised.
Family.
And when I look around at these women, tired, scarred, but still standing, I start to believe we can have that.
Just not while Crank’s still breathing.
TWENTY-EIGHT
DIESEL
Another van,another chance for this to be over. I hate leaving Makenna behind, but if we can end this today…
I glance across at Riot, who is sitting with Blade. I don’t think he’s slept. There are dark smudges under his eyes, and his brow is drawn tight. I can see the grief under Riot’s skin. None of us have said it out loud, but Chloe’s death cracked something open between us.
Every bone in my body vibrates with the need to put Crank in the ground. To finish this. I can’t keep leaving Kenna with a loaded gun, like she’s a soldier fighting in a war she didn’t sign up for. She’s not collateral. She’s my wife, and she deserves better than this.
I tap my forefinger against my knee, needing the motion to soothe the static fuzz in my head. Every second I’m not with her feels like a gamble, one I’m not willing to take for much longer. I want her safe, and I’ll do whatever it takes to ensure that.
“Such a shame what happened,” Blade says. I slide mygaze toward him. So does Riot. “She was so young. What a waste of potential.”
His tone sounds right, but I read the insincerity. There’s excitement in his eyes, even though he’s trying to look grief stricken.
I stop tapping and curl my fingers into my palms.
“She was driven to it.” Riot’s voice is hollow. Flat. Like a man with no idea what he’s still fighting for. “Should never have happened.”
“It shouldn’t have,” Blade agrees, “but you just never know what’s going on inside a troubled mind. And Chloe was a troubled young lady. She had to be to let that creep touch her.”
There’s a slight twitch of Blade’s lips. It’s so subtle, so quick, I nearly miss it. Every part of my body is alert. He doesn’t give a shit about Chloe, and I don’t know why he’s pretending he did.
“You never cared about the girl,” I say, flat.
He lifts his gaze to me. His eyes narrow a fraction.
“I cared about as much as you did. Didn’t see you dragging her out of the clubhouse.”
The words land like a punch. He’s not wrong. I didn’t do shit to help her. We all let her drown in a place that should have been safe for her.
“No one could’ve done anything,” Nic says from the driver’s seat, his gaze locked on the road. “She didn’t want to be helped. I tried. Her death–” He breaks off, like the words stick in his throat like knives. Hearing the hurt in his voice is new. And fucking dangerous. I’ve seen him cut throats and burn bodies, but I’ve never heard him so raw. “It’s not on us.”
That part he says softly, like it costs him.
Because he’s wrong. It is on us. We should’ve done more. Could have done more.
