Page 180 of Remiss

Suddenly, Skye wasn’t looking at himhowevershe had been before. She had the exact look in her eyes that Jaleena did when she realized CJ was indeed a rich boy.

Diesel was exhausted.

He’d gotten back to Hortensia early that morning, hoping Aunt Meggie had returned. When he found Uncle Christopher sitting at the table like a zombie, he knew the truth. She was still in LA.

The boys were gone, so Diesel figured someone had taken them to school. Not that Uncle Christopher seemed aware. He almost went to Ridge Moore and checked Axel out, so they could go to a rage room or the art gallery with an oddity museum andshop. Or, maybe, he could bring Axel to the office with him.

He yawned, weary and bone tired. Axel would take one look at him and demand answers. The last thing he wanted was to talk about Skylar Rivers. He wanted to forget his meeting with that motherfucker, hating himself and his father. Wishing he’d left well enough alone.

So he pushed back from the table and stood. Uncle Christopher said nothing, but Diesel felt the heat of his gaze as he escaped and went to the sanctity of his room, craving coke, alcohol, and sex.

Reaching his door, he halted and looked down the hallway. The house felt empty and lonely. Although Rebel would’ve been at school at this hour, she would’ve brightened his morning with steady chatter as they ate breakfast. Their other family members, since she was so upset with him. He would’ve still heard her and knew she’d return in a few hours.

He fished his key out of his pocket and unlocked his bedroom door, then flipped on the light. Overwhelming silence met him. Beautiful furniture, expensive décor, lemon scented. His personal space with a private bathroom and a huge closet. The place he’d spent countless hours hating a woman who probably didn’t even remember him.

He bowed his head. The idea to find her, or what had happened to her, crossed his mind. Heaving in a breath, he straightened and scrubbed a hand over his face. He didn’t know where to start searching. He’d killed that fuckhead without getting more information.

“Stupid motherfucker,” he snarled, the anger directed at himself. If she was dead, he could’ve given her a proper burial, memorialized her. If she was still alive, he’d do the same for her that he intended to do for Jana. Use his connections and money to help her. He might never get the chance to do either now.

He stumbled to the bathroom, turned on the light, and walked to his wall-to-wall mirror above his stone and wood floating sink and cabinet. His eyes were haunted and red-rimmed from lack of sleep and turmoil until the reflection turned into his fifteen-year-old self. It was him before his mother left. He wasn’t particularly happy. They struggled a lot.Shestruggled. Somehow, Skylar always convinced Diesel that things were fine. Whatever was wrong was her fault.

He said it to Diesel when it was just the two of them. He’d said it just as often in front of Theresa. Diesel grew up hearing it. How could he have believed anything else? The truth had been all around him, though. Shouldn’t he have seen it?

He blinked, and that fifteen-year-old kid in the mirror disappeared, leaving him a broken shell.

Knowing he’d never be able to sleep, Diesel took a quick shower, chose a dark suit to match his dark mood.

He didn’t bother shaving, grabbed his keys and his wallet and headed out. Instead of taking the main staircase, he went to the back one. It was an excuse to pass by Rebel’s room. As he neared, he slowed his stride. If Axel were home, he’d ask him to call her. No, he’d pay him to call her. Or tell him his legal services were free for a month or two.

For the first time in hours, Diesel smiled as he thought about Axel. Continuing on, Diesel reached the first floor. When he reached the breezeway, he saw Kaia on the other side with a mop and bucket.

Diesel didn’t bother greeting him or tormenting him. As much as he hated him, he was the better choice for Rebel once she turned eighteen.

As he passed the den, he paused. Hozier’sThe Work Songfloated to him, the volume just loud enough for anyone in the immediate vicinity.

He stuck his head in and Uncle Christopher lifted his from where he was resting on the sofa. He looked but didn’t speak. Raised a brow but didn’t question Diesel. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to know, so Diesel nodded and left, the sadness pressing in on him.

Not wanting to run into Kaia again, he took the long route to the side door in the West Hallway that led to the treehouse, where he’d installed Jana to keep her out of everyone’s sight.

The moment he walked in the scent of bacon hit his nostrils and Jana singing toThe Fight Songby Rachel Platten off-key filled the air.

Unbuttoning his suit coat, Diesel walked to the kitchen. She stood at the stove in a T-shirt and panties.

“Good morning,” he said.

Releasing a frightened cry, she turned, took one look at him, and turned off the burners.

“Diesel?” she said, rushing to him. “Are you okay?”

“I—”

He’d killed. Now, he wanted to cry. Not for Skylar. Never for that motherfucker.

“Whatever it is, it’s okay,” Jana said, and hugged him tightly, offering him comfort when she didn’t know the source of his turmoil.

It didn’t matter.

He hugged her back, even if hers wasn’t the arms he wanted. The thought disgusted him and almost sent him to his dealer. Who’d care if he overdosed? Uncle Christopher said not to use drugs. He never said not to OD. He couldn’t hand out a punishment if Diesel beat him to the draw.