Page 11

Diesel

"What the fuck?" I gasp.

And Samantha keeps coming, a low, angry scream coming from deep in her throat.

With fire in her eyes, she swings a heavy punch right at my head.

I block it this time — she telegraphs her punches like a total amateur, but all that aside, I'm impressed by the force behind it. She's not holding back.

I grab her wrists, easily overpowering her, but she doesn't stop fighting; she twists and writhes like a wild animal.

With a quick move, I spin her around and pin her against the car. She struggles, her body writhing against mine as she tries to break free — every soft curve, every luscious part of her grinds against me in her exquisite struggle. I bite my lip to fight back a moan.

“Are you done?” I say. “There’s not a chance in hell you’re getting away from me, Samantha.”

Tears well in her eyes, and it hits me harder than any of her sloppy punches.

“It’s not that I just want to get away from you, Diesel. It’s more than that. I hate you. I hate everything about all of this. I want these last few days to have never happened; I want to forget about all of this cruelty and suffering; I want my brother to get his life together; I want to not be feel like a freaking possession to a bunch of different powerful and violent men. Is that too much to ask?”

A goddamn lump forms in my throat as I look into Samantha's tear-filled eyes; for a cursed moment, my resolve wavers — I want to tell her everything will be okay, that I'll protect her, that we'll get through this together. But I can't. I have to stay cruel, for both our sakes.

"Life isn't fair, sweetheart," I say, my voice gruff to hide the emotion threatening to break through. "Sometimes we don't get what we want. Sometimes we have to deal with the hand we're dealt."

She stops struggling, her body going limp against mine. I can feel her trembling, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to pull her into my arms and comfort her.

"Why are you doing this?" she whispers, her voice breaking. "Why are you being so evil?"

“Because that's who I am, Samantha. I'm not a good man. The sooner you understand that, the better off you'll be."

She looks up at me, her eyes searching mine. For a moment, I think she sees through my facade, sees the conflict raging inside me, but then her gaze hardens, and she pushes against my chest.

"Let me go," she says, her voice cold. “I won’t fight you, but I don’t want you touching me.”

Those words hit me like a thunderbolt, and I release her and take a step back.

Sniffling, she straightens her clothes and wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. The sight of her struggling to pull herself together makes my heart clench. Letting her go after holding her so close is the hardest thing I’ve done.

“This is how it has to be. The sooner you stop fighting, the sooner you listen to what the fuck I’m saying, the easier it’ll be for you.”

“Whatever. This has been the day from hell, anyway, but at least I don’t have to be close to you any longer. I think that was the worst thing of all — to think that I once thought you were a decent person. And now, to top off all this crap, I’m so hungry that I feel literally sick and we don’t have a thing to eat.”

Samantha disappears into the motel room, her shoulders slumped in defeat.

Hunter pokes his head out of the door. "You coming, brother? We need to get some rest. We can’t stay here long."

I wave him off. "In a minute."

As the door closes, I run a hand through my hair, tugging at the roots in frustration. Fuck. This isn't how it was supposed to go. I'm supposed to be cold, detached. But Samantha... she gets under my skin in a way no one ever has before.

An idea strikes me. — it’s small, probably stupid, but at least it's something.

I head to the lobby, my eyes scanning for a vending machine. There, in the corner, I spot one. I feed in some bills and punch the buttons for a large Snickers bar. It's not much, but maybe it'll help.

Back in the room, Samantha's curled up on one bed, her back to the door, her head and shoulders slumped. Hunter raises an eyebrow at me, but I ignore him and sit down beside Samantha.

"Hey," I say softly, holding out the candy bar. "Thought you might be hungry."

She turns, her eyes red-rimmed with tears. “What’s this?”

I let a moment pass. She can clearly see what it is, so why is she asking?

“It’s a candy bar. And a peace offering.”

She rolls her glassy eyes and sighs. “No, thank you.”

“Are you not hungry?” Frustration shakes my voice. I’m fucking trying here. What more does she fucking want? Is she going to demand I get down on my knees and beg for her forgiveness? She’s in so far over her fucking head, she has no idea about what’s at stake, because, if she did, she’d be thanking me for all that I’m doing for her.

“I hate Snickers. The chocolate they use is crap, and the filling tastes like old, overly-salty nuts, cardboard paste, and the poorest excuse for caramel I’ve ever seen in my life. I would rather die than eat your candy bar, Diesel.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a big grin on Hunter’s face. Son of a bitch is just eating this shit up. As if he could do any better with this ungrateful, whiny woman who should be so thankful that we pulled her ass out of the fire at Club Sin.

“What would you rather have?” I say through gritted teeth.

“If you really want to do something nice for me and make me feel a little less like crap, get me some papaya, some mango, or some pineapple.”

“Are you fucking serious? Do you know where we are? This entire neighborhood is this motel, a couple of gas stations, maybe that thing on the corner that might be a pharmacy, and a whole fucking lot of drug dens and rundown houses where they’re going to have no fucking clue where you can get a goddamn papaya.”

“I am serious, and I don’t give a crap about practicality. You are the asshole who asked me what I wanted, so I answered your freaking question honestly. Do you want me to lie and just say ‘nothing’ so it’s easier for you? Is getting a papaya or a pineapple too difficult for you? Wow, big strong kidnapper you are that you get freaking undone by a piece of fruit.”

Hunter cackles. Quietly. Or maybe it’s just drowned out by the anger thundering in my ears.

I pull out the gun and check the clip. We’ll need to get more ammo, soon, but there’s enough to last me unless I get in some serious shit, in which case, if I die, at least I won’t have to deal with Samantha and her teary eyes and candy-hating attitude. The sight of the gun makes Samantha’s eyes flare and her mouth snap shut.

“What are you going to do with that?” She says. There’s a tremor that treads the line between fear and confusion in her voice.

I head to the door, only pausing to answer over my shoulder. “To hunt some fucking pineapple.”

“You don’t hunt pineapple. It’s a fruit, genius.”

My eyes flare. I fucking know that — pineapple’s an inanimate fucking object, a goddamn fruit, but you can still fucking shoot it, and, right now, it’s the best fucking stand-in I can think of for what, no, who , I really want to shoot.

“Samantha, something’s getting shot tonight, and unless you want to volunteer, I suggest you keep your mouth shut. Now, behave like a good girl while I get you that goddamn fruit.”

Her eyes flicker and I catch the ghost of a smile on her lips before I slam the door behind me. Yet still, through the closed door, three simple words touch my ear and bring a smile to my face.

“Thank you, Diesel.”