Page 27

Diesel

Without the baseball cap, it’s easy to recognize the unconscious man on the floor of the gardening section. Hammer. His hat and unmarked leather jacket must’ve been his attempt at a disguise. Seeing it, and realizing that it fucking worked well enough that I didn’t recognize him until after I nearly took his head off with a garden hoe, I’m seized by jealousy; if he can get away with such a simple disguise, why the hell do I need to dress like such an asshole to remain incognito?

He stirs, and his eyes flutter open to allow dazed pupils to narrow their focus on me. He always was a tough son of a bitch.

“Ouch. God damn, Diesel. What the fuck was that for?” He sits up and holds his hand to the side of his head.

“Diesel, who is this man?” Samantha says, her voice shaking.

“It’s Hammer. He’s in the MC, too,” I say. Then I kneel next to my club brother and offer him a hand to help him stand. “What the fuck were you doing following us, Hammer? And what’s with the outfit?”

“Trying to keep a low profile since Moretti’s men might be around. And I wasn’t following you,” he grunts. “Not exactly. I was here to do some shopping, then I saw you — or thought I saw you — and had to see if it was really you.”

“You were shopping?”

“Yeah. Chains is busy. He asked me to pick up some stuff for Charlotte. She’s got some school project building models. I’m going to help.”

“You’re shopping here to get stuff for some girl’s school project?” Samantha says.

“Fuck yeah I am. She’s building a model of the Battle of Midway. We’re going to make tons of tiny boats, planes, tanks, and bunkers. It’ll be fucking awesome,” he says. “I’m going to pick up some firecrackers, too, so we can really make it pop.”

I clear my throat. “What do you mean you ‘thought you saw us?’”

Hammer looks at me, up and down, in a way I don’t like. “I was pretty sure it was you, but then I had to take a closer look, because I wasn’t sure.”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t look well, brother.”

“I don’t look well?”

“I mean how you’re dressed. Is everything OK?”

“What are you getting at, Hammer? I’ve had a fucking day and there are people that are trying to kill Samantha and I, which I’m sure you’ve fucking heard, so tell me what you mean by that question.”

“I mean, you look like the asshole who would own a timeshare in Orlando and think it’s an excellent investment because he’s ‘owning a vacation.’ Are you OK, brother? I mean, really, are you well ?”

A sigh leaves me, and before I know it, I say, “I’m not. Look at me, Hammer. I’m a fucking mess. Beat to shit and every time I see myself in any reflective surface, I want to stick my gun in my mouth.” My eyes drift to Samantha. “But I’m getting better.”

His eyes follow mine. “Who’s she?”

“Samantha Brooks,” she says.

“The one they rescued from Boise, right?” Hammer says.

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” he says.

Samantha raises an eyebrow. “Sorry? Sorry for what?”

Hammer shrugs. “That you had to spend so much time in Boise before you got out.”

She throws up her hands. “Why does everyone hate Boise so much?”

Hammer chuckles. "Ignorance really is bliss, huh?" He turns back to me. "So Diesel, what's the plan here? You guys just trying to lie low for a while? Because I gotta say, your disguise needs some work, brother."

“It needs a fucking shredder is what it needs.”

“Why is it you look like such shit in it, but she looks so good?” Hammer says. He must see something in my eye, because he holds up a calming hand. “I’m just speaking objectively. I’m still fucking wild for Kira. She’s changed my life, and my favorite time of the day is when she gets back from the bookstore, cuddles up next to me on the couch, and we read together, me with a beer in my free hand, her with a glass of wine, and we just chill for a fucking while before we… well, you know.” A pause. “Before we fuck like rabbits on ecstasy and Viagra.”

“It’s because Samantha would look good in anything,” I say. She blushes, and looks like she’s about to open her mouth to say something — probably to play it down — but I continue, because I like the embarrassed hue she’s got to her cheeks and I hate the idea of anyone, even Samantha herself, talking down about her. “It’s true. Anyone who’d deny it is just jealous or deluding themselves.”

“So, are you two…?” Hammer pauses and gives me a look that’s just as un-subtle as his question.

I nod. “Yeah. We’re lying low in the same apartment.”

“That isn’t what I meant,” he says.

“We are,” Samantha says. After a moment’s hesitation and a barely there wink at me, she adds, “Hiding in the same apartment.”

Hammer's phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out, reads the message, and his brow furrows. "Shit. Rabid just texted. We've got a club meeting in a few hours. I need to finish getting the stuff for Charlotte's project and head back."

Samantha smiles. "It's really sweet of you to help her with her school project like that."

Hammer rolls his eyes. "Of course, I'm excited to build miniature battleships and put small explosives in them. Who wouldn't be stoked about that?" He grins. "Anyway, I better get going. You two watch your backs out there, alright?"

"We will," I say. "Thanks, brother. Stay safe."

Hammer nods, then turns and strides off. I glance over at Samantha. "Anything else we need to get while we're here?”

"Wine. Otherwise, I think we're good."

“If only they sold that in hardware stores. We’ll get some on the way back,” I say. “Let’s get out of here.”

As fucked up as this situation is, there's something oddly domestic about shopping together like this. Like life isn’t so bad. If it weren't for my shitty disguise and the people wanting to torture and murder us, things would feel almost normal. Almost the way it was before everything went to hell with Brandy’s murder.

I shake my head and those thoughts off. My phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s Rabid, with the same reminder he sent Hammer. I push the cart towards the front of the store, Samantha walking beside me. There’s a smile on her face and, it feels like, there’s one on mine, too. Despite the fucked up circumstances that brought us together, I can't help but feel a sense of contentment having her by my side like this. It's domestic as hell, but there's something soothing about it. Parts of me that haven’t been at peace in so long can finally breathe.

With Samantha, the constant weight of my past, of what happened with Brandy, feels a lot lighter. Like maybe there's a chance I can finally move on, to leave that trauma in the rearview where it belongs instead of reliving it every damn day.

I'm so caught up in my thoughts that it takes me a minute to realize Samantha is no longer beside me. I stop and turn around, scanning the aisles until I spot her. She's standing by a display case near the registers, gazing at something.

I abandon the cart and go to her. "What's up?"

She points to the case, which contains a few cheap, pre-paid cell phones. "I want one of those."

I frown. "What for?"

"To call my brother. I need to warn him, Diesel. He could be in danger, too." Her voice is urgent, almost pleading.

Anger flashes through me, hot, bright, sharp; anger at her for wanting to put us at risk, anger at her brother for all his fuckups that’ve endangered the woman I care about, anger at losing this moment of something close to happiness.

"No. Absolutely not. It's too risky. We can’t risk any information getting to Moretti, and we can’t be sure that Jake won’t just pass it on to buy himself out of trouble."

She turns to me, her eyes wide. "He’s my brother, Diesel. My family. I owe him a warning, at least. Maybe I can get to him in time. Tell him to leave town before Moretti can get him.”

“No.”

Her eyes flare. “I saved your life. Without me, you and Hunter would still be trapped in the back room of Moretti’s strip club. Or you’d be dead.” She then turns away from me and goes to the display case, grabbing some cheap flip phone and clutching it tight in her grip. “I’m buying this, and I am calling my brother. You owe me, and I owe him. This isn’t up for debate, Diesel.”

I rip the phone from her hand and toss it away. It clatters, and several people turn to stare at us. Anger rises in my chest and sits in my throat, choking me, turning my words into a low growl. I lean forward, my face inches from hers, and she flinches. It kills me to do this, but it’s better to upset her than have her killed, which is what will happen if she gives any information at all to her druggie brother.

“What isn’t up for debate, Samantha, is that I fucking care about you, and I’ll die before I let anything happen to you. That includes letting you take the risk of telling your brother anything about what’s happening to us, because the risk that he’ll tell Moretti anything, the risk that you will get hurt because of it, is more than I can stand.”

Something in my words quiets the fire inside her. She blinks, looks at me with wide eyes that probe to the deepest reaches of my soul.

“You care about me? How? Tell me exactly what you mean.”

I hesitate. These are words I didn’t think I’d say. Not now, not so soon. Even if there’s a deep part of me that thinks they’re true.

She presses. Probes. Leans in. “Diesel, either tell me or give me the phone.”

I swallow. Look into those eyes, feel every objection I have melted beneath the heat in her gaze. “You know.”

“Tell me.”

There’s a part of me that wants to tell her, to just come out and say it, and there’s a part of me that knows that, the second I do, I’m just setting myself up all over again to feel the pain I felt when Brandy died; I want Samantha in my life, want this feeling every day for the rest of my life, but saying it out loud is just something I can’t do. Not yet. It’s too dangerous.

I grab her wrist so firmly it’s beyond argument, and I pull her along. “It’s time to go.”

She doesn’t fight, and when I glance at her over my shoulder as we approach the checkout line, there’s a knowing look in her eyes. As if she could read every letter of the word I couldn’t say like it was written right on my face.

But there’s something else, too.

Something that sends a chill current through the heat that flows between us.

When we reach the parking lot, she brings her lips to my ear and whispers.

“This isn’t over.”