Page 29

Diesel

“Before we get church underway, I have one question: Diesel, why the fuck do you look like such an asshole?”

Not the words I expected to hear from the club’s president, but, when I look around the room in surprise and see every other member of the MC looking at me and nodding like they’re thinking the same thing — Hunter included, and I saved that bastard’s life — I look down at myself and realize I’m still in my golfing disguise.

“I forgot to change.”

“Is that what you wear when you’re alone? When you think no one’s watching?” Rabid says. I can’t tell if he’s teasing me or actually believes that I’d wear these clothes by choice, a fact which bothers me even more. “You need to tell us. Now.”

“Is it a fetish thing?” Mayhem says. “Does it get you off wearing those clothes?”

“It could be a kink,” Hunter says, knowing full well it fucking isn’t, but grinning like the asshole he is. “Maybe he’s into humiliation.”

I wish Tank was here, instead of gone in the fucking wind like the wary wildman he is. He doesn’t have the capacity to go along with this bullshit; he’d speak the truth in his gruff way and this pathetic attempt at teasing me for a perfectly legitimate disguise would die the death it deserves.

Mayhem nods, as if it’s the most logical thing in the world. “That makes sense to me. He seems like the type. Do you think he’s hard right now? Are you, Diesel?”

“I’m not hard—“ I start, but I don’t get any further.

Havoc, who’s sitting next to me to my left, raps his knuckles on the table. “Which means we should do our best to ignore it, otherwise we’ll just be feeding into his kink.” He cranes his neck and then looks down at my lap. “In fact, I really think we should. It looks like he’s hard right now.”

“Fucking stop it. I’m not hard,” I say. “I’m not.”

Hunter, who’s to my right, looks down at my crotch as well. “No, he’s definitely hard. And getting harder.”

“Yeah, I’m seeing a definite bulge,” Havoc adds. “Half-mast right now, but more blood is definitely flooding into his erect penis the more we talk about it.”

“I’m not hard. Don’t even have a semi. Stop staring at my crotch and stop saying ‘penis.’”

Mayhem stands up. “I don’t believe him. If you two checked and he looks hard, but he’s denying it, either that means Diesel is lying to us all, or he’s got an enormous flaccid penis.”

“Stop saying ‘penis.’ You keep my fucking dick out of your mouth.”

“There’s only one way to solve this argument,” Havoc says. “Get it out.”

I shift in my chair. “No.”

“It’s like Schrodinger's cock,” Mayhem says. “Until we get your pants off, it’s both equally likely that your cock could be erect or flaccid.”

“I swear to god I will flip this fucking table and rip your heads off if you don’t stop talking about Diesel’s cock,” Rabid says. I sigh in relief when I feel all the sets of eyes leave my crotch. “Diesel, as soon as church is finished, you’re changing clothes or you’re dead. Am I understood?”

“Sir, yes, sir,” I say.

“I’m not kidding. This is not an idle threat to murder you. I will slit your throat and let you bleed out on the floor and you can die looking like an asshole who loves golf.”

“I fucking promise I’ll change. Now, can we move on to things other than my clothes or my cock — which I swear is not fucking erect right now?”

“Liar,” Havoc whispers, earning a reproachful look from Rabid.

“We have news. Moretti is making a move into town, and he’s recruiting local allies. In the last twenty-four hours, three local drug dealers have turned up dead,” Rabid says.

“And this is bad how?” Chains asks. “Don’t we like it when drug dealers die?”

“Normally, we’d be throwing a fucking party for the city being a little cleaner. But there’s also been an increase in people turning up in the emergency room, and there are reports that some new drug is suddenly circulating. It’s hurting civilians, most of whom are just regular fucking people who have their own share of problems, but don’t deserve to fucking die. The stories match up to what I’ve seen when I did some intelligence gathering and had Chase make some calls into other cities where Moretti has territory. It’s what he does. He makes allies with local dealers, floods the community with his product, buys his way in, and uses that to consolidate his territory in new markets. The asshole is a fucking plague, and he’s targeting Ironwood Falls.”

“God damn,” I mutter. For a moment, I wish I was back in Club Sin, or even in that SUV with him when Hunter and I were first abducted, just to have a chance to rip his throat out and spare others the pain. It means I’d probably fucking die, but it’d be a small price to pay to rid the world of this creep.

“God damn indeed,” Goldie says. “This guy is seriously fucking un-chill.”

“So, who’s his local connection?” Bones says. “Who’s he got that’s sold out to peddle his dirty bullshit?”

“His name is Pitbull,” Goldie says.

“Oh, him? Fuck, that makes me sad,” Mayhem says. “Mr. Worldwide, how far you have fallen.”

“I loved his music. But I can’t anymore, after learning what that Miami motherfucker is doing to our town,” Havoc says. “Even if Timber is a fucking banger of a song.”

“Much of the banger-ness of that song is from Kesha, brother,” Mayhem adds.

“True.”

“It’s not the musician,” Goldie says. “You’re free to still love his music. We’re all free to love it, because it’s great stuff. Mr. Worldwide is still representing the 305 in the best way. This other guy, though, he calls himself Pitbull because he raises them and uses them for dogfighting.”

“A drug dealer and a dog fighter? Ya’ll need to tell me right now: when are we killing this guy?” Tractor says.

“Tomorrow,” Rabid says. “Chains, Mayhem, Bishop, and Bones will bring in Pitbull for questioning so we can find out what Moretti knows, what his plans are, every bit of operational information we can wring out of that worthless waste of a human being. Until then, until we know the how and why about Moretti’s designs on Ironwood Falls and how he’s moving so quickly, the club is on lockdown for safety reasons.”

I stand up. “I want in.”

Rabid turns his steely gaze to me, his expression unreadable. The room falls silent as everyone's attention shifts my way.

"Diesel, you're not ready for a raid or an interrogation," he says gruffly. "Unless you plan on beating information out of Pitbull with a nine iron."

A few snickers erupt around the table but quickly die down under Rabid's glare.

I clench my jaw, meeting his eyes unflinchingly. "This is personal for me. Moretti nearly killed me and Hunter. He’s a threat to others that I care about, too,” I say, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Hunter raise an eyebrow and a small smile come across his face. The bastard knows who I’m talking about, but at least I can trust he will not blurt it right out at church. I hope. Though, if he does or doesn’t, I know he’ll make me eat crow for it later. “I want payback."

"We all want payback," Rabid counters. "But this isn't about settling scores. It's about protecting our town and our people. I need my best men on this, focused and clear-headed."

"I am focused," I argue, my hands balling into fists. "And I'll be a hell of a lot more clear-headed once I've pounded that scumbag Pitbull into the dirt. Now, you can either have me go with the team that goes after Pitbull or I can go after him on my own. Your call."

Rabid regards me for a long moment, the tension crackling between us. Finally, he nods curtly. "Fine. But you follow Chains' lead, you hear me? No going rogue."

"Understood," I say, relief washing through me.

"Good. Now go change out of that fucking ridiculous outfit before I change my mind." Rabid's lips twitch, the barest hint of amusement. “Unless anyone has any objections, let’s call this meeting over and get about the business of protecting our own and preparing for war.”

I barely hear the rest of Rabid's closing remarks as my mind races with anticipation. Instead, I nod curtly at Rabid and the others, then spin on my heel and stalk out of the room. My heart is pounding with excitement and anticipation. Finally, a chance to strike back at that bastard Moretti for what he's done and the danger he poses to those I hold dear. Hunter, my brother in all but blood. Charlie, that sweet innocent kid who's already been through too much. And Samantha... I swallow hard. The thought of any harm coming to her fills me with a cold, deadly rage.

I head straight to my quarters at the clubhouse and strip off the ridiculous golf clothes, tossing them aside with disgust. Quickly, I change into my usual black jeans, t-shirt, and a well-worn leather cut. It’s not my usual, that one’s fucking lost to the fiery hell that is Boise, but even with this worn backup cut, I feel more like myself already.

Adrenaline still singing in my veins, I make my way to the bar. Samantha is there waiting for me, her brow creased with worry. I grab a whiskey and join her, downing half the glass in one swallow.

"What's wrong?" I ask, noticing how she twists her hands together anxiously.

"I heard some of the guys talking... and Molly, too… and Claire…. is it true there's going to be a lockdown?" Her eyes search mine, seeking reassurance. Safety. All of which I’m going to give to her, by making sure that Pitbull, that motherfucker who runs the strip club, Grub, and Moretti himself, all learn a lesson in lead not to fuck with the people I care about.

I nod. "Yes. Temporarily. Just while we deal with some of Moretti's scumbags sniffing around our turf. But don't worry, we already got a plan in place to prevent him from getting a foothold. When things are safer, you and I can get back to decorating that apartment.”

“I’d like that,” she says. Something like a smile replaces the fear on her face, and I reach out and put my hand on her shoulder, wanting more of her. Wanting to take away her fear, to let her know I will get her through this nightmare.

“Or maybe things get settled enough, maybe you could see my place. I moved in not that long ago. I could use some help getting it to look not so much like the kind of place a guy like me would live.”

Samantha's eyes widen slightly at my suggestion, a flicker of something I can't quite decipher crossing her face. Surprise? Curiosity? Interest? Maybe a mix of all three. She takes a sip of her drink, eyeing me over the rim of the glass.

"Your place, huh?" she says, setting the glass down. "I suppose I could lend my decorating expertise. Make it look a little less like a bachelor pad in the aftermath of a tornado and more like a real grown-up lives there."

The corners of her mouth curve up in a teasing smile and I can't help but grin back at her. The tension from the meeting bleeds out of my body as we fall into something almost normal.

"Hey now, I resent that implication," I retort. "I'll have you know my decorating skills are military grade. I have a bed, I keep that thing fucking neatly made and clean — thanks to years of training — and I have all the basic cooking utensils, functioning lights, and…”

“You’re so determined about it, I feel like I’m going to find a place that’s as welcoming as that room in the first Saw movie.” She pauses, eyes glittering at me over the edge of her glass.

“Maybe you’re right."

Samantha laughs, the sound warm and rich, and I feel something inside me relax further. This right here, this is what I need. Not just for her sake, to keep her safe and help her feel at ease despite the chaos swirling around us. But for my damn peace of mind, too.

"I guess it's a date then," she says, eyes sparkling with mirth. "Once this lockdown business is over and done with, you're going to give me the grand tour of your dank prison cell. And I'm going to turn that moldy hellhole of yours into a home.”

A date. The word echoes in my mind as I lean in closer to Samantha, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Her eyes dance with amusement, with a playful challenge that sends a thrill through me. I can't remember the last time I felt this way — this flicker of excitement, of possibility, of something that feels dangerously close to hope.

Not since Brandy. Not since the day my world shattered into a million jagged pieces, leaving me raw and bleeding, a walking wound that never seemed to heal. But now, with Samantha... it's like a tiny spark has ignited in the darkness. A fragile, tentative thing, but there nonetheless.

"A date it is," I murmur, my voice low and rough with emotion. "But fair warning, you might need a hazmat suit to brave the toxic waste dump that is my apartment."

Samantha laughs again, the sound warming me from the inside out. "I think I can handle it, tough guy. I'm not some delicate flower."

No, she certainly isn't. There's a strength in her, a resilience that shines through despite all she's been through. It's one of the things that draws me to her, that kindles this growing sense of connection between us.

Unable to resist any longer, I close the remaining distance and capture her lips with mine. Samantha responds instantly, her mouth soft and yielding beneath my own. The kiss deepens, grows heated as our tongues

I press closer, my hand sliding up to cup the back of Samantha's neck as the kiss turns intense, desperate. A low groan escapes me as I pour everything I'm feeling into this searing connection — the desire, the need, the aching hope that maybe, just maybe, I can find my way out of the suffocating darkness that's consumed me for so long. That with her, I can remember how to live again, how to feel something other than the gnawing emptiness and rage.

Samantha clings to me, her fingers digging into my shoulders as she matches my fervor. I can feel the rapid flutter of her pulse, the hitch in her breathing that mirrors my own ragged breaths. This is more than just physical attraction, more than simple lust. It's a soul-deep recognition, a desperate grasping for a lifeline amid the chaos and trauma that's battered us both.

Finally, reluctantly, I break the kiss, resting my forehead against hers as we both struggle to catch our breath. "We should get some rest," I murmur, my voice gravelly with pent-up emotion. "Tomorrow's going to be a big day."

Samantha nods, her eyes searching mine, a hint of apprehension still lurking in their depths.

"You're right. I just... promise me you'll be careful, okay? With whatever it is, you have to do."

I feel a surge of protectiveness at the concern in Samantha's voice. The need to keep her safe, to shield her from the dangers that lurk just beyond the walls of the clubhouse, is overwhelming. I brush a strand of hair back from her face, my touch lingering on the silky softness of her skin.

"I promise," I say, putting every ounce of conviction I can muster into the words. "I'm going to make sure nothing happens to you, Samantha. I won't let anyone hurt you ever again."

She leans into my touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment. "I know you will. I trust you, Diesel."

Those simple words send a jolt through me, straight to my battered heart. Trust. It's not something I'm used to, not something I ever thought I'd feel again after losing Brandy. But here, with Samantha warm and real in my arms, I can almost believe in it.

I press a kiss to her forehead before reluctantly pulling back. "Come on, let's get you to bed. We've got a big day tomorrow."

Samantha nods, slipping her hand into mine as we head towards the bedroom.

I can feel the weight of all that's to come pressing down on me—the mission to take out Pitbull, the looming threat of Moretti, the desperate need to keep those I care about safe. But for right now, with Samantha, there’s only one thing that really matters. Us.