Page 3 of Diesel (Iron Sentinels MC #5)

S ophie noticed the broken planter the second she stepped outside with the broom. The cracked ceramic lay in jagged halves near the front window, soil spilled across the walkway like a kicked-over grave.

Her heart sank. She knelt down, sighing as she began brushing the dirt into a pile. It must have happened last night. Again. It was another message. Another little jab from whoever had decided she didn’t deserve peace.

Her chest tightened. She hated that she was getting used to this, expecting something ruined every morning. Before she could gather the shards, a shadow fell over her.

“Don’t touch that.”

She looked up.

Diesel stood there, arms crossed, that dark-eyed, no-nonsense expression carved into his face like usual. But something in his voice made her pause. It wasn’t harsh. Just ... careful.

“I wasn’t going to cut myself,” she murmured, brushing her hair out of her face. “I’m not made of glass.”

He crouched beside her without a word, big hands moving with surprising gentleness. He picked up each piece of the planter like it was a puzzle, as if he were already working out how to put it back together.

“You’re stubborn,” he muttered.

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He reached for the last piece, turning it over in his calloused palm. “Most people would’ve taken a few days off after what happened. You’re back here like nothing’s wrong.”

Sophie straightened slowly. “If I wait around for someone else to fix things, I’ll be waiting forever.”

Diesel looked up at her then, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. The street was quiet, the morning sun warm against her back. His gaze lingered on her face, unreadable, as if he wanted to say something more but didn’t trust the words.

Finally, he stood. “I’ll take care of this.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know,” he said. “But I want to.”

Sophie swallowed. It was the first time he’d said anything like that to her, not out of obligation, not because Tom had asked him to keep watch. He wanted to. It wasn’t much, but it settled differently in her chest. Like warmth in a cold place.

She leaned the broom against the wall, brushing her palms on her jeans. “Do you always fix broken things?”

His mouth quirked slightly at the corner. “Only the ones that matter.”

Her heart did a funny, traitorous flutter.

Before she could come up with something to say, he turned and walked to his bike. From one of the saddlebags, he pulled out a small tool roll and a tube of strong adhesive.

Sophie watched, fascinated, as he returned and sat cross-legged on the pavement, laying out each tool with practiced precision. His movements were calm, careful. The same hands that could probably break someone’s jaw without flinching now held a cracked ceramic pot like it was something precious.

She knelt beside him again. “Didn’t peg you for a gardener.”

“I’m not,” he said without looking at her. “But I hate waste. Something breaks, you fix it.”

Sophie hesitated, then rested her chin on her hand as she studied his profile. He had a rough beauty—scarred knuckles, a bent nose that had clearly been broken once, maybe twice. But up close, his lashes were dark and thick, and his concentration made his expression go soft, almost peaceful.

“You’re not what I expected,” she said quietly.

“Most people say that.”

“I meant it as a compliment.”

He glanced at her. His gaze lingered again.

Dangerous , she thought. That’s what he was.

Not just physically, though that was obvious, but in how easily he snuck under her defenses.

She wasn’t sure when it had happened, but somewhere between coffee and muffins and quiet nights on the sidewalk, she’d stopped seeing Diesel as just her temporary bodyguard.

Now he was something else. Something closer.

“You should be careful,” he said suddenly, voice low.

Sophie blinked. “Of what?”

“Whoever’s doing this, they’re not just bored. They’re trying to send a message.”

Her stomach tightened. “To me?”

“To the club. To Tom. Maybe both.” He picked up the next ceramic shard and pressed it into place with calm precision. “But you’re caught in the middle, sweetheart. That’s what worries me.”

The way he said “sweetheart” hit her harder than she expected.

She wrapped her arms around herself. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”

“I know,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean it won’t get worse before it gets better.”

His voice was low, serious. Protective.

She looked at him. “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“This”—she gestured vaguely between them—“isn’t in your job description.”

Diesel didn’t answer right away. He finished pressing the final shard into place and ran a steady hand along the edge of the pot. Then he sat back on his heels and looked at her.

“I’ve failed before,” he said quietly. “Someone I should’ve protected. Someone who mattered.”

Sophie felt her breath catch.

He didn’t offer more. But the look in his eyes told her everything she needed to know. It had carved something deep in him, whatever had happened. Left a mark that hadn’t faded, maybe never would.

And now, here he was, guarding a small-town flower shop and fixing broken planters, like he could make up for whatever he’d lost.

“I’m not her,” Sophie said softly, though she wasn’t sure if she meant to say it out loud.

Diesel looked at her for a long moment. “I know.”

But the words didn’t ease the tightness in his jaw, or the shadows behind his eyes. They sat in silence after that, the sounds of the street returning around them—birds, distant traffic, the soft creak of the shop door swinging in the breeze.

Sophie reached out, brushing a bit of soil off his sleeve without thinking. He dropped his gaze to her hand.

She froze. “Sorry—”

But he didn’t move. Didn’t pull away. For a heartbeat, he stayed still, watching her like she was the most fragile and dangerous thing he’d ever seen.

Then he cleared his throat and stood. “I’ll grab some water for this.”

She nodded, her throat dry. “Right. Thanks.”

As he walked toward the spigot at the side of the building, Sophie pressed her palms to her cheeks. They were burning.

What was she doing? She barely knew this man. He was quiet, gruff, scarred by things he didn’t talk about. He wasn’t safe, not emotionally, anyway.

But he had shown up when no one else did.

He stayed. He noticed the broken things, and instead of discarding them, he tried to make them whole again.

That scared her more than anything. Because it made her want things—soft things, dangerous things.

Things she didn’t think she was allowed to want anymore.

When Diesel returned, he knelt and poured a small amount of water into the newly fixed pot, brushing soil into place with his fingers. She watched him work, her heart thudding like a drum in her chest.

“It’s not perfect,” he said finally.

“It doesn’t have to be,” she replied.

He looked up. And this time, he didn’t look away. For the first time since the break-in, she felt steady again. Not because the danger was gone, but because he was there.

Even if he wouldn’t say it aloud, even if he was too wrapped up in guilt and rules and old wounds, Sophie could see it in the way he fixed the planter. In the way he looked at her. In the way his hand hovered just close enough to hers without ever touching it.

He cared. Maybe too much. Maybe not enough, but it was there and so was she.

****

T he sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across Main Street. Diesel hadn’t moved from his post outside the flower shop, though his mind had been far from the sidewalk.

He could still feel the ghost of Sophie’s fingers brushing against his. Still see that curious glint in her eyes when she’d teased him about being gentle with the planter. And it shouldn’t have mattered. Not one damn bit. He was here to keep her safe, not get soft over her smile.

He leaned back in the old folding chair he’d dragged out earlier, boots planted wide on the pavement, arms crossed. But his jaw was tight, and his pulse hadn’t calmed since that brief touch. It was the same feeling he used to get before a fight.

He should’ve kept things curt, professional. However, when she’d looked at him like that, like she saw something good in him he hadn’t even realized was still there, he’d lost his grip for a second. One second too long.

Diesel scrubbed a hand over his face. He couldn’t afford a distraction. He remembered all too clearly what happened when he got close to someone who needed protecting.

He’d failed his sister because he’d been too damn caught up in chasing vengeance to realize she needed him. That mistake had cost her everything. Sophie wasn’t going to end up the same way.

He heard the bell above the shop door jingle again. He didn’t have to look up to know it was her. He’d already memorized the rhythm of her steps. She came outside holding two tall glasses of something pale and fizzy. Lemonade, from the looks of it.

Diesel narrowed his eyes. “You trying to give me a sugar crash?”

Sophie huffed a laugh. “Don’t flatter yourself. I made a pitcher. Figured I could share.”

She handed him a glass and took a seat on the little bench beside the broken planter he’d fixed.

This time, she didn’t try to fill the silence with chatter.

She just sat there, sipping her drink, eyes following the slow traffic rolling down the street.

It should’ve made it easier for him. But it didn’t.

He glanced over. Her hair was loose now, a few wisps curling around her neck in the heat. Her mouth was pink from the lemonade. Her lashes were too long, her shoulders too small for the world she lived in. He took a long drink and set his glass down beside his boot.

“You should be careful,” he said suddenly.

She looked at him. “About what?”

“This.” He gestured vaguely toward the shop. “The window. The vandalism. Someone’s trying to send a message. That means they’re not done yet.”

Sophie’s brows furrowed, but her voice stayed steady. “You think they’ll come back?”

“I think you’ve been marked. And I think whoever’s behind it doesn’t care if they scare you or worse,” he said.

She went quiet, but not in the way people did when they were afraid. She went quiet like she was thinking it through.

“I’m not leaving,” she said after a moment. “This shop is all I’ve got.”

Diesel looked at her then. Really looked.

Most people would’ve packed up and run by now.

Hell, some would’ve folded the moment a rock shattered their window.

But not Sophie. She was scared, he could see it in her eyes, but she was also stubborn.

Brave. Stupidly brave, and it made something tight and raw move in his chest.

“I’m not saying you should run,” he said finally. “Just don’t go making it easier for them, yeah?”

She gave a faint nod. “Thanks for fixing the planter.”

He grunted. “Didn’t do it for you.”

But he had. And they both knew it. They sat there for a while longer, the air thick with unsaid things. Then Sophie stood, brushing her palms on her jeans.

“I’ll let you get back to ... brooding,” she said with a tiny smile.

Diesel didn’t smile back. But he watched her until the door closed behind her. Watched like a man already in too deep.

Later, after sunset, Diesel was checking the perimeter again, flashlight in hand, when he heard Tom’s voice from behind.

“You got a minute?” Tom asked.

Diesel straightened, turning. “Yeah.”

Tom gestured toward the alley, and Diesel followed. He knew what this was about before a word was spoken.

Tom crossed his arms, leaning against the brick wall. “You and Sophie,” he said. “What’s going on there?”

“Nothing,” Diesel said flatly.

Tom snorted. “You sure? ‘Cause from where I’m standing, it looks like something.”

Diesel didn’t answer.

Tom tilted his head. “Look, I trust you. Beast trusts you. That’s why you’re here. But Sophie’s been through enough already.”

“I know,” Diesel said quietly.

“She’s not like the girls who hang around the clubhouse. She’s ... softer. Kinder. You get close, you hurt her, even by accident, you won’t be answering to Beast. You’ll be answering to me,” Tom said.

Diesel met Tom’s eyes. “I’m not gonna touch her.”

Tom studied him. “Good. Then we’re square.”

He left Diesel standing there in the alley, his own words echoing in his ears like a goddamn lie. Because he wasn’t going to touch Sophie, but hell if he didn’t already want to.