Page 41

Diesel

Searing pain rips through my abdomen as I lie on the rough asphalt and see Jake's taillights disappear into the night with Samantha. My Samantha . At least, I thought she was mine. My heart constricts, an ache more agonizing than the bullet lodged in my flesh. She betrayed me. After everything that’s happened between us, she left with her brother and I’m left bleeding into the dirt.

The betrayal slices through me as shocking and brutal as the gunshot. I trusted her. Let myself believe that what we had was real, that she felt the same intense connection and the undeniable magnetism drawing us together. But it was all a lie; a petty illusion shattered by the crack of a gun.

Gritting my teeth, I push my trembling hands against the ground, fighting to sit up. I have to go after them. It can’t end this way. But the movement sends a lightning bolt of pain ripping through my body and I collapse, my vision blurring at the edges. Warm stickiness coats my side and soaks my shirt. I'm losing too much blood.

The world tilts and spins as I struggle to remain conscious.

Have to get to my bike. Have to find her. Find out why. Or find somewhere better to die than this abandoned hellhole .

But darkness closes in with every breath, with every beat of my heart that pumps blood out of the hole in my body. I can't fight it any longer.

The blackness pulls at me, tries to swallow me whole as I grasp frantically at the edges of consciousness. My fingers scrabble weakly against the rough asphalt, nails tear and leave bloody trails. I have to get up. I can't let it end this way, bleeding out in the dark with the bitter taste of betrayal thick on my tongue.

But my body won't obey. My muscles go slack as the void rises to claim me; the agony in my gut pulses, hot and vicious, and I slip away.

Then a voice cuts through the descending fog. It is achingly familiar.

"Don't worry, brother, I got you."

My heart stutters, skips, races. I force my eyes open, blinking hard against the black spots that crowd my vision. A figure looms over me, his face obscured by shadows, but I'd know that silhouette anywhere.

“Tank?" I rasp, not quite believing it. Not daring to hope. “Is that really you?”

He crouches down beside me, one hand closing over the bloody mess of my abdomen.

"The one and only."

I stare up at him, shock and relief warring inside my battered body. It has to be real — there’s no way I’d imagine him in my dying moments. He sure as fuck isn’t my type. "Where the fuck have you been all this time?"

Tank's expression is unreadable in the darkness, but I hear the faint smile in his voice as he answers calmly, "Watching you all."

I cough, spit up some blood. I don’t feel nearly as handsome as usual right now.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean, you paranoid motherfucker?”

Tank presses harder on my wound to staunch the bleeding. "When things went sideways with you and Hunter getting nabbed by Moretti, and then when Emily showed up at the meet with the kid talking about an armed abduction, I knew I had to stash them somewhere safe. After I got them settled, I figured I better scope out the scene from a distance and do some recon before making a move."

“Why not just go to the MC?”

He shakes his head. "Walking into some biker gang's clubhouse and announcing I'm the friend of the two dudes who just got snatched by a meth kingpin isn’t exactly a real icebreaker, ya know?"

I let out a weak chuckle that turns into a groan as pain lances through me. "So you've been, what, spying on us this whole goddamn time?" I grit out between clenched teeth. “You fucking pervert.”

"Yes, I’ve been keeping tabs," he corrects mildly. "Gathering intel. Waiting for my moment."

I snort. "And you picked now? When I'm fucking bleeding out?"

Tank's shadowed face softens. "Nah, brother. I'm here now because you need me. We're gonna get you patched up, and then we're going after your girl."

His words send a surge of desperate hope through me that fights back the cold dread trying to take hold. "Sounds like a fucking dream. You know, I could almost kiss you right now.”

“I’d let you. You’re a handsome man, Diesel. Even if some of your tattoos fall far short of being quality art.”

I spit up more blood. “Watch it when you talk about my ink. I’m down, but not out, and those are fucking fighting words.”

“I don’t think you’d like the outcome of that fight, brother.”

"Fair point," I rasp out. "So, how much did you see?"

Tank's expression turns serious. His grip on my wound tightens slightly. "Saw your lady get into the car with the man who shot you. But that isn't important right now. What I see is a friend in need. How about we get you to the clubhouse? I think it's about time I introduced myself to your friends."

His words send a fresh pang of sorrow lancing through me — Samantha isn’t important right now. Every instinct is screaming at me to go after her, to demand answers, to get revenge on that piece of shit she calls a brother.

But as much as it kills me to admit it, I know Tank is right. I'm in no shape to chase anyone right now. I need help, and I need it fucking yesterday.

"How about we do that," I say, my voice coming out strained and thready.

Tank nods, then slides an arm around my waist and hauls me upright with a grunt of effort. The movement sends bolts of agony shooting through my battered body and I can't stifle a hoarse cry.

"Easy, brother," Tank says, taking more of my weight as he half-drags me along.

“Tank, that’s where you’re wrong: ain’t none of this is fucking easy. And when we get back to the clubhouse, it’s going to get even harder, because if I’m not dead, then we need to be ready for war.”