Page 96 of Diesel
I raise a brow and sip my tea. At least someone in the clubhouse is being civilised. Most of the kids have been mainlining sugar since they got here.
“This club breeds insane boys,” Ivy mutters beside me. She leans back in her chair, her lips curved into a smile.
And she’s not wrong.
I don’t know if it’s having access to so much testosterone or if they just come out fully-formed maniacs, but there’s not a single boy born into our circle that isn’t wild.
She watches her nephew as he leaps onto Zeke’s back and the pair of them collapse in a heap, their high-pitched laughs pulling a smile from me.
“Is it any wonder?” I ask, scanning the sea of kuttes and kids, my chest full. “Just look at the men who created them.”
She snorts but she doesn’t deny it either. How can she when Riot is standing at the bar with his brother, Mace, the left side of his face a patchwork of purple and black bruises? He looks like he lost a fight with a paintball gun.
“What happened to Riot?” I ask, picking at the cake I was desperate to get my hands on, but now it’s making my stomach churn. Of course it is. Perish the thought I might actually get to enjoy something without wanting to puke.
Ivy turns in his direction and blows out a breath. “A guy tried to grab my boob the other night.”
“Did he leave him breathing?”
“Yeah, but only because Seren was there.”
I glance over at the buffet table where their daughter is standing with Maylie, calmly pointing at what she’d like her to put on her plate. She flinches as Theo roars. Actually roars. But keeps her attention on her niece until Mace intervenes, grabbing Theo as he passes one-armed and sitting him on the counter behind him.
“He’s been a lot calmer since Lila was born,” Ivy says.
Or lies. We both know that’s not true.
“Has he?” I let the scepticism bleed into my words. “Only last week I caught him and Riley sparring in the car park.”
Having two daughters has made Riot more defensive than ever.
Ivy waves that off. “That doesn’t count. The guys fight each other all the time. They’re worse than the kids.”
I hum low in my throat as she carries on talking, but I’m no longer listening. Because he’s here.
Zane.
My husband.
My world.
He walks into the room like even the air knows not to get between us. Everything about him screams confidence, power. Mine.
My breath catches in my throat. Even after all these years, he still makes my heart flutter like we’re teenagers and not the parent of a smart-mouthed three-year-old with an addiction to sparkles.
My eyes soften at Mia sitting on his shoulders. She’s wearing a princess dress under a tiny leather biker jacket. Looped over the top are a pair of fairy wings that are definitely new and are definitely going to shed glitter dust all over our house like she’s Tinker Bell.
Zane and I have talked about glitter before.
It’s banned in our house after she poured an entire tube of it into the washing machine and all his shirts were twinkling like stars for weeks after.
But Zane can’t deny her anything. He’s never been able to.
As if he knows I’m watching him, thinking about him,his gaze finds mine and our eyes lock across the room. I could find him in a crowd without even trying. It’s like the world rotates around me and him.
His steps falter for a beat and then his body relaxes, like seeing me loosened the bands wrapped around his chest and shoulders.
Like I’m the blood in his veins as much as he is mine.
