Page 4 of Diesel (Iron Sentinels MC #5)

D iesel wasn’t gone long. Ten minutes, tops. Just enough time to grab another thermos of coffee and check in with Beast over the phone, relaying everything he’d observed that day.

It was standard protocol: check-ins, updates, presence. His job wasn’t glamorous, but it was effective.

When he turned the corner back onto Main Street, coffee in hand, his boots hit the pavement harder than usual. There was a chill in the evening air, and his gut twisted with unease before he even saw her. Sophie was standing on the sidewalk in front of her shop, and she wasn’t alone.

A man towered over her. He was in his mid-thirties, stocky, wearing a leather jacket that didn’t belong to any club Diesel recognized. Not from around here. His stance was wrong. Aggressive.

He had one arm braced against the shop’s brick wall near Sophie’s head, boxing her in. He was talking low, too low for Diesel to hear. Sophie’s shoulders were drawn tight. Her arms were crossed, defensive. She wasn’t smiling.

Diesel’s vision tunneled. He was moving before he made the conscious decision to.

The thermos dropped from his hand and clattered to the ground, rolling toward the curb unnoticed.

All he could think was that this guy had no right to be near her.

Not like that. Not with that tone, that posture.

Not when Diesel had made it very fucking clear she was not to be bothered.

“Step away from her,” Diesel said coldly.

The man turned, startled, but didn’t move. Big mistake.

Diesel didn’t slow down. He crossed the distance in long, purposeful strides, and by the time the guy realized what was happening, Diesel had already grabbed him by the collar and yanked him backward, slamming him into the parking meter.

“You deaf, asshole? I said back the fuck off,” Diesel said with a hiss.

“Hey, man, relax. I was just talking—”

“She didn’t look like she wanted to talk.” Diesel’s face was inches from his now. He tightened his grip on the man’s collar. “You threatening her?”

“N-no,” the guy stammered, eyes darting to Sophie, then back to Diesel. “Just asking questions.”

Diesel’s lip curled. “You got any idea whose street you’re standing on?”

The man went pale.

Diesel shoved him back with a grunt. “Get lost.”

The guy didn’t argue. He stumbled away, muttering something under his breath and disappearing down the sidewalk fast. Diesel watched him go, chest heaving, jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

Only when the street was empty again did he turn back to Sophie.

She hadn’t moved. Her face was pale, and her hands were still crossed over her stomach like she was trying to hold herself together.

Her wide and startled eyes locked on his and for a split-second, Diesel wondered if she was afraid of him now too.

He took a step toward her and then stopped. His fists were still balled at his sides.

“You okay?”

She nodded, but it was too fast. Not convincing.

“He just walked up out of nowhere,” she said, voice thin. “Asked if I was the owner and asked what I thought about the recent vandalism. I told him it wasn’t his business and he got ... close.”

Diesel swore under his breath. “He touch you?”

“No.” A beat. “Not really.”

Not really wasn’t good enough. He raked a hand through his hair, trying to calm the pulse hammering at the base of his skull. Everything in him was on edge, burning with the need to protect, to eliminate any threat near her.

“You can’t be out here alone,” he muttered. “Not even for a minute.”

“I didn’t know he was—” Sophie began.

“I’m not blaming you.” He took another step, softer this time. “I just ... I should’ve been here.”

She looked up at him, brows drawn together. “You were gone ten minutes.”

“Too long,” he said, almost to himself. And it was. That’s what scared him most. How fast it could all go sideways.

Sophie hugged her arms tighter. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” he stated.

She blinked at him.

Diesel cursed again, this time more quietly. “Look, I’m not trying to scare you. But this guy doesn’t seem like some random jackass. He was testing the water. Seeing how close he could get.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re involved in something bigger than just a busted window now,” Diesel said. “Someone wants to shake you. Maybe they want to buy the building. Maybe they want to pressure Tom. Maybe it’s something else entirely. But whoever it is, they’re playing games, and I don’t like games.”

Sophie didn’t answer right away. Her eyes were shining just a little, but she didn’t let the tears fall. That made Diesel ache worse than if she’d cried.

He exhaled, voice rough. “You’re coming with me.”

She stiffened. “What?”

“For tonight. I’ll drive you home, make sure your place is secure. Then I’m staying nearby.”

Sophie hesitated, caught between wariness and trust. But in the end, she nodded.

Her place was a small upstairs apartment in an old Craftsman-style house tucked behind a diner. Quiet, charming, unassuming. Diesel checked every window, every lock, every shadow before he let her go inside.

She watched him do it, silent but not protesting. Once they were inside, he did another walk-through. Bathroom. Kitchen. Bedroom. Closet.

“Paranoid much?” she asked softly, arms wrapped around herself.

Diesel turned back to her. “Paranoid keeps you alive.”

She gave a tiny nod. “I guess I never thought I’d need someone like you looking out for me.”

He tilted his head. “Someone like me?”

“You know.” Her gaze flicked over him. “Big. Broody. Dangerous.”

Diesel’s mouth quirked. “You left out handsome.”

That earned a breathy laugh from her. It hit him like a punch to the sternum.

“I’ll stay out front,” he said, more gruffly than he intended. “Sleep in the truck. Call if you hear anything, even a whisper.”

“You really don’t have to—”

“I do.” His eyes met hers. “And I will.”

Sophie stared at him for a long moment. Then something in her shifted. Her shoulders relaxed just a little. She stepped closer.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

And before he could say anything else, she reached out and touched his hand, just for a second. Just a gentle press of her fingers against his, but it was enough to unravel him.

Diesel didn’t sleep much that night. He sat in his truck, windows cracked, arms folded across his chest, every instinct humming with alertness. His eyes never left her building. Not once.

The neighborhood was quiet, but that didn’t mean shit. Quiet could be the calm before a storm. Diesel had learned that lesson young, and too many damn times since.

The dashboard clock read 2:47 AM. A dog barked in the distance. A passing car hummed down the street. Still, Diesel didn’t budge. He’d promised to keep her safe, and that meant no rest until he was sure the threat was over. And it sure as hell wasn’t yet.

Around 3:04, there was a soft knock on his window. He went for the knife on his thigh before his brain even caught up. When he turned, his heart kicked once, not out of fear, but something sharper. Softer. Sophie.

Her hair was down, loose around her shoulders, her face barely lit by the porch light behind her. She wore an oversized sweatshirt that swallowed her frame, and her arms were crossed tight across her chest.

Diesel rolled down the window. “What are you doing out here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” Her voice was a whisper. “You haven’t moved all night.”

“I said I’d keep watch,” he told her.

“You also said you’re not invincible.” She glanced over her shoulder, then back at him. “Come inside. It’s freezing. You can crash on the couch. There’s no reason to stay out here all night.”

Diesel hesitated. Rules and instincts warred in his gut. Getting too close was dangerous. Still, she was standing there in the middle of the night, looking at him like he wasn’t a threat, like she trusted him. That part undid him.

“I’ll sleep light,” he said gruffly as he opened the truck door.

“I figured,” she said with a small smile, then turned and led the way inside.

Her apartment was warm and smelled faintly of cinnamon and something floral. It smelled like her, he realized. Diesel stepped inside.

Sophie pointed at the couch. “Blankets are in that basket. There’s an extra pillow too. Bathroom’s down the hall if you need it.”

“Thanks.” He watched her, the soft curve of her cheek, the way she fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve. She looked tired. Vulnerable. Still recovering from earlier.

“Good night, Diesel,” she said.

He nodded. “Good night, Sophie.”

She hesitated a second longer, then disappeared down the hall. Diesel stared at the couch, blanket in hand, but it took a long time for his muscles to unclench.

He didn’t sleep, not really. But he dozed, light and alert, trained ears tuned for any noise out of place. When morning finally bled into the room with soft light, he blinked awake to the distant clatter of pans.

He sat up fast, heart thudding. Diesel then smelled coffee and something else. Eggs? Toast? Diesel stood, stiff from the night, and followed the sound into the kitchen. Sophie stood at the stove in that same oversized sweatshirt, hair tied up this time, flipping something in a pan.

She glanced over her shoulder and smiled. “Morning. I didn’t want to wake you,” she said.

“You didn’t,” he assured her.

“I figured you’d be up early anyway.” She reached for a plate, sliding the eggs onto it. “Hope you’re hungry.”

Diesel didn’t answer right away. He wasn’t used to this. To waking up to warmth and breakfast and someone thinking about him in the morning. Hell, he barely knew what to do with it.

“You didn’t have to,” he said finally.

“I know.” She handed him the plate. “But I wanted to.”

He took it, fingers brushing hers. A spark shot up his arm. Sophie didn’t pull away, and for a moment, they just stood there.

The silence stretched.

Diesel cleared his throat and stepped back. “Smells good.”

She grinned. “Sit. Eat. I’m making coffee now.”

He obeyed. The couch creaked under him as he dug into the eggs. They were simple, but perfect. She moved around the kitchen, humming under her breath, and he found himself watching her more than eating.

She was soft in a way the world didn’t often allow. Gentle. But there was steel under it too. He’d seen it when she’d stood tall after the vandalism. When she’d faced down that asshole yesterday, even with fear in her eyes.

She also made him breakfast. Just because. He didn’t know what the hell to do with that. When she finally sat down across from him with her own coffee, she gave him a long look.

“What?” he asked.

“I was just wondering about your tattoos,” she said.

Diesel looked down. His arms were mostly covered by his black shirt, but the ink peeked from his collar, coiling over one side of his neck and creeping up toward his jaw.

“What about them?” he asked.

“They all seem ... deliberate.” Her eyes were curious, not judging. “Like they mean something.”

“They do,” he said, then hesitated. “Most of ’em, anyway.”

She sipped her coffee. “Can I ask about one?”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t shut her down. Instead, he reached for the collar of his shirt and tugged it down just a bit, revealing a stylized raven over his heart.

“This one’s for my sister.”

Sophie’s eyes softened. “Was she older or younger?”

“Younger. By two years.” His voice went rough, and he cleared his throat. “She was smart. Loud. Way too trusting.”

“She’s gone?”

Diesel nodded once.

“I’m sorry,” Sophie said, voice low. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

He stared down at his half-empty plate. “She got into trouble. I should’ve been there. I wasn’t. That’s all.”

Sophie didn’t push. She just reached across the table and gently touched the back of his hand. The contact seared through him. He looked at her, at the kindness and sadness in her eyes, and he felt something shift. Something dangerous. Sophie saw too much.

“I don’t do the whole talk-about-feelings thing,” he said, pulling his hand away a little more abruptly than he meant to.

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“I just need you to understand,” he said, standing now, needing space, air, anything. “I’m not the guy who makes pancakes and sticks around for coffee in the morning.”

Sophie blinked. “Okay.”

“I’m here to keep you safe. Nothing else,” he reminded her.

Her expression flickered. “I didn’t ask for anything else.”

However, unspoken things, unsaid wants hung there, heavy in the space between them. He could feel the thread pulling tighter. His chest burned with the effort of denying it.

“I should get back to the shop,” he muttered.

“Right.” She stood too, clearing her plate. “I’ll be there in an hour.”

He gave her a sharp nod, grabbed his jacket, and left.

Outside, the cool morning air hit him like a slap. Diesel leaned against the side of his truck, breathing hard, fists clenched.

He was in deep and every instinct screamed at him to get the hell out. Too bad all he could think about was the way she’d looked in the kitchen. The way her voice had wrapped around him like warmth. The way he hadn’t wanted to leave that couch, not really.

He was here to protect her, he reminded himself, but he already knew the truth. Diesel was falling hard for her.