Page 34 of Diesel

“The image isn’t bad, but I can’t see shit,” Dix grunts.

“It’s enough,” I say, pointing to the shadow of the flashing lights that caused Cassidy to pull over. Her face is as calm as any other person being pulled over by the cops. At first. But her dark brows dip into a frown as she glances out her side mirror. I see the moment she realizes that these aren’t police. “Good girl,” I whisper when she reaches for her gun, talking to herself to remain calm.

“Smart,” Dix says just as the door right beside me opens, and the asshole from the hospital says, “Hey.” Not a second later, a gunshot rings out, followed by a grunt.

Cassidy struggles when her door opens, cursing up a storm as she fights with someone out of the camera’s view.

“Bitch!”

I sit up straight and look at Dix. “Ghost. That voice belongs to that fucking blond-headed asshole.”

Dix nods. “Don’t know the other voice, but that whiny little bitch voice definitely belongs to Ghost.”

Which confirms it: Ghost has Cassidy. The Bloodthirsty Devils have her. “Fuck!”

“Come on, man, we need to head back.”

I nod, taking a minute to get my shit under control before I grab her backpack and some other things still in the cab. I’m actually surprised at how much is still in here.

I spend the entire drive back to Angel Harbor torturing myself, wondering what they’re doing to Cassidy, how she’s holding up, and most of all, if she’s figured out her current predicament is all my fucking fault.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Cassidy

The door opens, and I go completely still. The hood is gone, but the plastic ties around my wrists are so tight I can’t feel my fingers anymore.

The sun shines behind the guy who is much slimmer than Tiny, and when I look up, I see a shock of white-blond hair, obviously dyed based on his black brows. “Come on, sweetheart. It’s okay.”

I don’t let the gentle voice fool me because I’m not a fucking idiot, but also because this guy is such a bad guy that he can’t even pretend to be a good guy. Still, he’s offering me time out of the box, which is how I’ve started referring to the closet. I struggle to my feet and follow him out. Maybe this time, I’ll get a better chance to escape. If not, I’ll at least have the beginning of a plan.

“Who are you?” I ask though I know it’s Ghost from the sound of his voice.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” he says before droning on and on about something.

I’m not really sure what the fuck he’s talking about. I know I should be listening, but I’m exhausted. I sleep no more than twenty or thirty minutes at a time. I’m tired, and my mind is too foggy to think straight. A big fucking problem with a guy like Chatty Cathy over here.

“Okay, so what do you want?”

He leads me down a hall where I pass a bathroom and an empty room that might be a bedroom if it had any furniture. Straight ahead, there’s a door that leads outside. The main door is open, just a screen door between me and freedom.

“What I want is answers.” He opens the door and nods to a room to the right.

I step inside hesitantly, scanning the room to find we’re alone. “Answers to what?” I turn so my back is against the wall and face him.

“How long have you been working for Morgan International?”

“Is this a joke?” I laugh and shake my head. “Probably never, thanks to you and your buffoons. That was my first job working with them, and I didn’t get to deliver the load, so, yeah, thanks for that.”

“Don’t lie to me, sweetheart.” The threat is clear. “It won’t work out well for you.”

I nod to let him know that I understand, nibbling my lips because what the fuck is going on? My head is swimming, and his questions make no sense. Why the fuck does he care about a shipping company?

“I’m not lying.”

“What do you know about the Reckless Souls?”

My brows knit into a frown, and it takes me a minute to process his question. “The Reckless Souls? The motorcycle club?”

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