Page 10 of Her Dirty Biker (Savage Kings MC #3)

Chapter ten

Willow

The morning sunlight is hazy when I blink awake. It filters through gauzy curtains, warming my bare legs tangled in Diesel’s sheets. The scent of sex still clings to the air. His arm is draped heavily across my waist, a possessive weight that makes me feel wanted.

I shift, careful not to disturb him, but it’s useless. Diesel stirs behind me with a low, rough groan, his hand flexes over my hip. When I glance back, his sleepy gaze meets mine.

“Where do you think you’re going, little fox?”

The nickname makes heat bloom low in my belly. “Nowhere,” I whisper. “Just stretching.”

He leans in, pressing a lazy kiss to the top of my spine. “Good. Stay right here for a minute.”

Wrapped in warmth, his chest against my back, the world beyond this room fades. My brain, though, won’t stop spinning. I should be thinking about last night and how Diesel made me feel things I didn’t know were possible.

Instead, I’m thinking about Guardrail and the words I overheard. Shipment. Clubhouse. Savage Kings will pay.

I haven’t even told Diesel everything. Not really. I told him what I thought mattered, the broad strokes, but the specifics? I kept those locked up tight. Part of me still wonders if I misheard, if I misunderstood.

“You’re quiet,” Diesel murmurs against my neck. His expression softens, but there’s something cautious in the way he watches me.

I lift a hand and trace the edge of the scar on his cheek, then let my fingers wander to the ink that wraps his collarbone. “You’re really here.”

“Yeah,” he says roughly. “So are you.”

I’ve never been one for fairy tales. Didn’t grow up dreaming about knights or castles. My reality was a lot closer to survival. To men who smiled with their mouths but not their eyes. To women who made themselves smaller to keep the peace. I promised myself I’d never need someone to save me.

Diesel brushes a strand of hair off my face. “You okay?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “It’s a lot.”

jaw ticks. “Yeah, it is.”

We lie there in silence. Not uncomfortable, exactly, but charged. I think we’re both afraid to say the next thing. Whatever it is.

Eventually, I sit up, tugging the sheet to my chest. “I should shower and get dressed.”

“Stay a little longer.”

His voice is low, intimate.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I say. “Just the bathroom.”

He grunts like he doesn’t quite believe me, but lets me go. I walk across the room, bare feet on wood floors, and pause at the door. When I glance back, Diesel is propped on one elbow, watching me like he’s trying to memorize every inch.

The shower is small but clean. I let the hot water roll over me, scrubbing away last night’s sweat and sex. When I shut off the water, I wrap myself in a towel and stare at my reflection in the mirror.

My lips are swollen. My neck has a faint red mark from his mouth. My skin glows like I’ve been kissed by the sun.

I finish getting ready, finding a clean shirt Diesel left folded on a chair. It’s too big, but I kind of like the way it hangs off one shoulder. When I step back into the bedroom, he’s dressed too. God, he looks good, dangerous, and off-limits.

He hands me a protein bar and a bottle of water.

“You taking care of me now?” I tease.

“Someone has to,” he says.

We eat in companionable silence, sitting at a small table near the window. Outside, the sky is turning blue, birds chirping like they don’t know the world’s gone to hell.

I swallow hard. “What happens next?”

Diesel stands, stretches. “That depends on what you tell me.”

“I already told you what I heard.”

“Yeah,” he says. “But I don’t think you told me everything. We’ve let ourselves be distracted.”

The heat between us shifts—less romantic, more tense. I can feel him withdrawing, putting armor back on.

“I’m not trying to push,” he adds. “But if something happens to you because I didn’t ask the right questions, I won’t fucking forgive myself.”

I fold my arms. “You think I’m lying?”

“No. I think you’re scared.”

I can’t argue with that.

He grabs his phone, typing out a message. “Stay inside. Don’t open the door unless it’s me or one of the Kings.”

I arch a brow. “And how will I know it’s you?”

He strides over, grips my hips, and pulls me flush against him. “I’ll be the one you want to kiss.”

My breath catches. Just like that, the tension coils back into something hotter. Wilder.

I tilt my face up to his, heart pounding. “Is that right?”

“Yeah.” His voice is a promise. “You’ll feel it. Right here.”

He presses two fingers between my breasts, over my pounding heart.

“Stay safe, little fox.” Then he walks out, the door clicking shut behind him.

The hours crawl by. I do what I can to pass the time, watch TV, pace the small living room, and check the locks. I peer through the curtains every few minutes. There’s nothing, still, unease scrapes at me. Something about the quiet feels wrong.

I’m just about to make a cup of tea when my phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number.

You can’t hide forever, sweetheart.

My heart stutters. I don’t reply. I can’t breathe. Another message appears.

Nice place. Cozy. It would be a shame if something happened to it.

I drop the phone, and I quickly lean down to pick it up. My fingers shake as I dial Diesel’s number. It rings once, then goes to voicemail. Panic surges, and I race to the window, peering out. Nothing in sight, but that doesn’t mean I’m alone.

“Diesel,” I whisper, gripping the phone. “Please. Come back.”