Page 8

Samantha

My heart pounds as I try to keep my hands steady while balancing a tray of drinks. The pulsing music and flashing lights of Club Sin suddenly feel suffocating, like they’re closing in around me. I can't stop thinking about Diesel, chained up in that back room. His piercing brown eyes haunt me, the way he looked at me with such intensity before ordering me to leave. I know I could’ve done it if I’d just had a little more time. Why did he send me away?

I bite my lip, fighting the urge to run back there. Every fiber of my being wants to save him, to feel his muscular arms wrap around me. Maybe he could help me with my problems with Grub. He seems like the type of person who could deal with the criminals trying to ruin my life.

I'm so lost in my thoughts that I don't notice the man in front of me until it's too late. My tray tilts and a glass of whiskey topples, splashing his expensive-looking shirt.

"Watch it," he snarls, jumping back. “You bitch, this is a fucking tailored suit. Do you know how much it costs?”

"I'm so sorry," I stammer, fumbling for napkins.

His anger morphs into a leering grin as his eyes rove over my body. "Well, with tits like that, I guess I can forgive you. How about a little squeeze as compensation?"

"Go to hell," I snap before I can stop myself.

"Fucking whore," he spits, his face twisting with rage.

"I'll get you a fresh drink," I mutter, hurrying toward the bar. A quick look over my shoulder reveals he’s following me. Not good. “Just go back to your seat. I’ll be right there in a second.”

That's when I hear it—the unmistakable sounds of a fight erupting from the back hallway. My stomach drops as I realize what's happening: Diesel and Hunter are making their move.

Suddenly, two burly men with guns storm out of Grub’s office and shove their way through the crowd, heading for the commotion. My heart races — if they get back there with those guns, Diesel and Hunter won’t have a chance. I have to do something, anything, to help them. But what?

Without thinking, I stick out my foot as the first guard rushes past. He stumbles, crashing into a table and sending glasses flying. I spin away, pretending to be wrapped up in getting drinks. A look over my shoulder at the man reveals he’s limp and unconscious, face-down in a pile of broken glass. A small trickle of blood pools around his head.

Just as the other armed man reaches the back hallway, the door flies open, and Diesel and Hunter both emerge, battered, bloody, eyes burning and terrifying. There’s a smile on Diesel’s face — a smirk of confidence and terrifying glee. Before the armed guard can react, Diesel leaps on him like a predator, screaming and laughing.

“Fuck, this feels fucking great,” he howls just as he hits the shocked guard with a heavy punch that makes the man’s head spin.

Customers shout and scream as the room erupts in violence, and those screams get louder when the guard’s gun goes off and bullets crack into the ceiling.

Panicked patrons rush for the exits as plaster rains down from the bullet holes. The music cuts out, leaving only the sounds of fighting and shrieking. In the chaos, I lose sight of Diesel and Hunter. My heart pounds wildly as I scan the room, desperate to catch a glimpse of them. There’s another shot and I duck behind the bar for cover.

Then I hear Diesel's wild laughter, and it reminds me of the Wicked Witch of the West from the Wizard of Oz. Peeking out, I see him grappling with the guard, blood streaming down his grinning face. There's a primal, savage joy in his eyes as he wrenches the gun from the man's hands and cracks it across his skull. Blood erupts in an arcing spray from the man’s shattered face.

Elsewhere, Hunter is a blur of motion, taking down another guard with brutal efficiency. His movements are precise, controlled, deadly. He and Diesel fight like demons unleashed from hell.

I'm about to make a break for the exit when a rough hand clamps down on my shoulder and rips me backward. I yelp in pain and shock, and find myself face to face with the man whose drink I spilled. His eyes blaze with fury, fingers digging into my skin.

"I’m not done with you, you fucking slut!" he roars over the pandemonium. “I am going to make you pay.”

"No, I swear, I didn't…" My protests turn into a scream as he backhands me across the face. Pain explodes through my head and I taste blood.

Suddenly, the man is ripped away from me and lands on the ground in a heap. I blink through watery, pain-blind eyes to see Diesel standing over him, chest heaving and fists clenched. He rains down violence upon the man in a torrent of punches.

"Don't you fucking dare, you fucking prick," Diesel snarls, finishing with a brutal kick to the man’s head. The man howls in agony, curling in on himself into the fetal position. “Don’t think crying is going to make me go any easier on you. You earned this, you piece of shit.” Diesel delivers a few more ruthless kicks to the man's stomach and head before turning to me, his expression instantly softening. "Are you alright?" he says, reaching out to cup my face, inspecting the angry red mark left by the man's blow.

I nod, still reeling from the shock and adrenaline."I think so. Thank you." My voice trembles, and on the floor, the man moans and shivers and sobs.

Suddenly, a piercing shout makes Diesel whip his head around, and I follow his gaze to see Grub coming through the door from the back office, a gun in his hand, his eyes darting wildly through the crowd, trying to take in the madness as he swings his gun around, as if just aching for a target, someone, anyone to shoot to calm the tempestuous fury burning inside him that someone would dare raise a riot in his lecherous kingdom of filth.

“Is that the asshole who’s threatening to kill you and your brother?” Diesel says, his voice low. If anyone else were to speak as low as him in this throbbing, pulsing chaos, it’d be inaudible, but there’s something about him, his voice, that I cannot help but focus on.

“It is. But you need to get away from me. He can’t see me talking to you. He already suspects enough. If he saw…”

“Follow my lead,” Diesel says. Then, before I can respond, he pulls me tight to his chest, whirling me around and sliding an arm around my throat. With his other hand, he presses the barrel of his gun right to the side of my head. “Now, scream for me.”

I do. Loud.

Even without him prompting me to, I’d scream; because he’s covered in blood, just beat several men into brutal unconsciousness, and he’s holding a loaded weapon to my head.

My screams draw Grub’s attention right to us.

“Make one fucking move and I’ll blow this bitch’s head open,” Diesel yells.

Still, Grub moves closer, raising his weapon.

Diesel's heart pounds against my back, his grip on me tightening as Grub takes another menacing step forward. The cold metal of the gun barrel digs into my temple, and I squeeze my eyes shut, certain that these are my last moments on earth.

"You don't have the balls to shoot that cunt," Grub sneers, his finger twitching on the trigger. "Let her go and maybe I'll make your death quick."

Diesel lets out a harsh bark of laughter. "You think I give a fuck about this whore? She's just a means to an end. And that end is me walking out of here. Hunter, let’s go."

Diesel drags me backwards, keeping me positioned between him and Grub like a human shield. I stumble over debris, my breath coming in panicked gasps. All around us, people are still screaming and running for cover.

We reach the door and Diesel kicks it open, pulling me out into the parking lot. The night air hits my face, cold and sharp.

"Please," I whimper, daring to open my eyes and look up at Diesel. "Don't do this. I helped you..."

For a moment, his gaze meets mine, and I see a flicker of conflict in those brown depths. But then his jaw clenches and he shakes his head.

"Don’t think those tears will work on me," he says. “We have to do this. There’s no other way.”

“We need to go. Now,” Hunter says. “Let’s move.”

Diesel nods at him. “You’re fucking right, brother, but I don’t have it in me to run. Feel like I’m about to keel over after all the shit we just pulled.”

“Let me go. You’re free now, so you can just let me go and I won’t tell anyone. Please,” I say, though neither man even looks in my direction. Inside, the commotion grows, and Grub’s shouted commands cut through the screams.

Hunter shrugs. “Doesn’t fucking matter, Diesel. We have to book it — we don’t have any other choice.”

“We have a choice, and I choose her,” Diesel says. With the gun, he gestures to the parking lot. “Take us to your car, Samantha. The three of us are going for a ride.”