Page 5 of Diesel (Iron Sentinels MC #5)

S ophie didn’t expect to see Brandon ever again. Her ex was leaning against the brick wall of her flower shop like he had every right to be there, like he hadn’t treated her life like something disposable.

She froze the second she spotted him, keys clutched tightly in her hand, her fingers stiff with tension. The morning sun hadn’t fully broken the horizon yet, casting long shadows across the sleepy street. Birds chirped from the wires overhead.

Somewhere, a delivery truck rumbled past. Normal sounds in a town that had become her home. Her heart gave a hard, unwelcome thud in her chest.

It wasn’t from fear, because Brandon wasn’t dangerous, but from dread.

Familiar and heavy dread, the same cloying sensation she used to feel whenever he started one of his little speeches about how she wasn’t living up to her “potential.” Which, according to him, usually meant she was being too emotional, too passionate, too independent.

He straightened when he saw her, brushing his hand through his expensively tousled hair like he was still the charming asshole she used to know. And he smiled. That grin. The one that had once made her feel seen, wanted, and safe. Now it only made her stomach knot with fury and disbelief.

“Hey, Soph,” he said, casual as anything, pushing off the wall like he belonged there.

Her voice came out tight and flat. “What are you doing here?”

Brandon gave her a slow once-over, like he was still entitled to look at her that way. Like he hadn’t disappeared on her when she finally told him she was tired of his shit.

“You look good,” he said.

She didn’t respond. Didn’t blink or move.

“Brandon,” she said after a moment, forcing patience into her voice. “Why are you here?”

He held up his hands with that smarmy, practiced little shrug. “All right, all right. I heard about what happened to your shop. Thought maybe you’d take the hint.”

Her brows drew together. “What hint?”

“That maybe it’s time to leave, Sophie. This town’s not exactly welcoming these days,” he said with a sympathetic shrug, not even remotely convincing. “Someone breaks a window, sends a message. That’s not random.”

It hit her then, like a slap: he knew. Maybe he overheard it from another local. Maybe he even thought she was exaggerating the whole thing. Typical Brandon. Always so quick to believe she was overreacting. Always so quick to dismiss what didn’t serve his version of the world.

Sophie stepped closer, her voice low and cold. “Are you serious right now? You show up out of nowhere and tell me to pack up like I’m not worth the space I’ve built for myself here?”

He blinked. “Sophie...” he began.

“No.” Her voice rose. “You don’t get to show up with your fake concern and that smug little grin and pretend you’re here to help.

You left. Remember? You walked away because I wanted something real.

Because I wouldn’t be your quiet little accessory while you played corporate golden boy in Ridgeway. ”

Brandon’s expression faltered, then twisted. “I didn’t leave because of you. I left because you wouldn’t stop clinging to this fantasy. A flower shop? Come on. You’re better than this. You always were.”

Her rage surged, white-hot.

“You never understood me,” she snapped. “Not once. You liked the idea of me, the quiet version, the one who smiled and agreed and fit into your picture-perfect future. But the second I wanted something for myself, something messy and real, you shut down. You acted like I was the problem.”

He stepped closer, his voice softening in that familiar manipulative way. “I’m trying to help you now. Come back to Ridgeway. We can start over. You’ve got nothing holding you here.”

She laughed, sharp and humorless. “You think I have nothing here? Brandon, I have everything here. A business I built with my own two hands. People who care about me. A town that’s—” She paused, suddenly remembering Diesel’s scowl, the way he’d looked at her like she mattered.

“A town that’s starting to feel like home. ”

Brandon’s mouth twisted. “You’ve always been too stubborn for your own good.”

“And you’ve always been too arrogant to listen when someone tells you no,” she shot back.

Then he stepped even closer. Close enough that she caught the faint scent of expensive cologne. The smell used to comfort her. Now it made her sick.

“Sophie, I’m serious. You’re caught in the middle of something weird. You don’t know what kind of trouble you’ve stepped in here. This shop, this town, it’s not worth it. You deserve more.”

Her pulse pounded in her throat. “No. What I deserve is a life I choose for myself. Not one dictated by someone who’s afraid of who I really am,” she said.

His jaw clenched. “I didn’t come here to fight.”

“No,” she said with venom. “You came here, thinking you could win me back.”

She didn’t see Diesel arrive, but she felt him. He was like a thunderhead rolling in just before a storm. The air changed, charged and heavy, the hairs on the back of her neck rising a split second before his voice cut through the tension like a blade.

“You need to step back, man. Now,” Diesel said, low and lethal.

Brandon turned, scoffing. “And who the hell are you?”

He didn’t get an answer. He didn’t need one. Diesel stepped forward, every line of his body coiled and simmering with control barely held in check.

His shoulders blocked out the rising sun, jaw clenched tight, fists flexing at his sides like he was restraining an instinct deeper than words. Sophie’s breath caught.

He was fury and protection wrapped in rough denim and leather, and he planted himself between her and Brandon like a goddamn shield.

Brandon rolled his eyes. “Let me guess. Club muscle? What, you think you’re her knight in shining leather?”

Diesel didn’t flinch, he simply moved. It was fast. Brutal. Beautiful.

Diesel landed one clean and punishing punch square on Brandon’s jaw. The crack of impact echoed down the quiet street. Her ex folded like a house of cards, groaning as he collapsed to the sidewalk in a stunned heap.

“Diesel!” Sophie gasped, darting forward.

Diesel, however, didn’t look at her. Diesel stood over Brandon, solid, immovable, and dangerous. His chest rose and fell with slow, deliberate breaths, the only sign that he hadn’t turned to stone. His eyes were steel, flat, cold, and unrelenting.

Every line of his body screamed restraint barely held in check. He didn’t just look ready to fight, he looked made for it. And despite everything, a sharp, treacherous part of Sophie, the part still trembling from adrenaline, liked it. Because Brandon deserved it.

God, she’d imagined punching that smug face more times than she could count.

All the nights he made her feel like she was asking for too much.

Like her dreams were childish. Like she was the problem.

He never hit her, no, but he knew exactly where to aim his words, his indifference, his careless superiority.

So yeah, a petty part of her cheered when he hit the ground. But the part that still believed in control, in decency, in not letting things spiral out of hand, that part of her knew this had to stop before it went further. Before Diesel crossed a line he couldn’t uncross.

She moved quickly, her fingers wrapping around Diesel’s forearm, which felt hot and hard beneath her touch, his skin buzzing like live wire.

“Stop. Please.” Her voice came softer than she meant, more plea than command.

That broke something. The tension in his shoulders eased a fraction, and he finally looked at her. The rage faded, but only just. What remained was something worse. Something more dangerous. Possession.

He didn’t say a word as Brandon staggered to his feet and stumbled off without another challenge. Just a groan and a hand to his jaw. Sophie turned back to Diesel, her pulse roaring in her ears.

“You didn’t have to hit him,” she told Diesel.

“I did,” he said, voice still edged in gravel.

“You could’ve scared him off without punching him,” she pointed out.

“He put his hands too damn close to you,” he said with a growl and that sound sent a shiver down her spine.

Her breath stilled. “You were watching?”

His jaw ticked. “I’m always watching,” he murmured, softer now. “That’s the damn problem.”

They stood inches apart, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him, smell the sweat and leather and the faint whiff of her own flowers clinging to his clothes.

“You’re not my bodyguard,” she whispered, though her voice lacked conviction.

“No.” His eyes dropped to her mouth, his voice a low growl. “But I wish I was.”

The ache in his tone hit her square in the chest. She stared up at him, heart hammering. Something wild flickered in his eyes, something that made her feel wanted in a way that had nothing to do with protection and everything to do with need.

Then she reached up and cupped his jaw with both hands, like she couldn’t bear another second of distance between them. Sophie kissed him. It wasn’t sweet. It was feral. A clash of tongues and teeth and longing, so fierce it stole the breath from her lungs.

Diesel groaned into her mouth, his hands flying to her waist and dragging her against him like he couldn’t help himself. Like this—she—was the only thing keeping him anchored.

She gasped when her back hit the door, but he was already there, one arm braced beside her head, the other gripping her hip with a desperation that set her aflame.

She clung to him, digging her fingers into the leather of his jacket, mouth moving against his like she was starving for him, and maybe she was. Starving for something real. For him.

For once, someone wanted her, not to fix her. Not to change her. But just to keep her. He kissed like a man who’d kept his desire locked in a cage too long, and the door had just been blown wide open.

But then, just when she leaned in, ready to fall, he ripped himself away like it hurt. Breathing ragged, Diesel stepped back, hands trembling at his sides.

“Sophie—fuck,” Diesel said.

She was dizzy, lips swollen, her body thrumming with the sudden absence of his touch.

“Why’d you stop?” she asked, her voice hoarse with confusion.

He shook his head like he was trying to rattle something loose. “Because I’m not the guy you want.”

Her brows furrowed. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m too old. Too broken.” He looked at her like she was the sun and he was already burning. “You think this ends well for someone like you?”

“You don’t get to decide that for me,” she snapped, her voice trembling, not with fear but frustration.

“You don’t know what I’ve done,” he rasped. “What I’ve failed to do. You don’t know what it costs to get close to me.”

“I don’t care about your past,” Sophie said recklessly.

“You should.”

His words were a wall, final and sharp, and still she could feel the kiss like it had branded her. Sophie wanted more. More of his kisses of those rough and callused hands on every single inch of her body.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she stated.

“I’m not worried about hurting you, Sophie.” He looked like it gutted him to admit it. “I’m worried about ruining you.”

The silence that fell between them was thick and loaded, like the moment before a downpour.

She opened her mouth to speak, but he turned and walked away. Anger swirled inside her. She kissed him first, sure, but he kissed her back, kissed her like she was the only woman who’d ever mattered. How dare he walk away from her?