Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
DIESEL
The morning air in the Mojave hits me right in the fucking face.
I stand on the edge of the scenic overlook, the gravel crunching beneath my boots with a sound that reminds me of teeth grinding together.
Behind me, the black SUV idles, a low growl mimicking the vibration in my own chest. The sun is a pale, angry eye on the horizon, and in front of me, Kirk Voss looks exactly like what he is: a mistake that needs correcting.
He's sitting on the dirt, his knees pulled to his chest, wedged between Savage and Dillon, who are currently doing a very good impression of stone monuments.
They don't need to touch him. Their shadows are heavy enough to keep him pinned to the desert floor. Kirk’s face is a map of sweat and terror, his UCLA sweatshirt stained with Nevada dust and the consequences of his own delusions.
"Vegas is a small town, Kirk," I say, my voice sounding like it’s been dragged through a rock crusher.
I don't move toward him. I don't have to.
The distance between us is filled with the cold, hard reality of the Steel Sinners, and he's finally starting to read the room.
"It’s the kind of place where things disappear.
Phones. Cars. Assholes who think they can scare my fucking woman. "
"I just wanted to talk to her," he whimpers, his voice cracking like dry timber. "She didn't give me a chance. We were supposed to be together."
I feel a muscle jump in my jaw. It’s a physical effort not to bridge that gap and end this permanently.
Every time I close my eyes, I see him trapping Serenity in that stall at The Cozy Bean, her hands shaking as she typed out the text that probably saved his life as much as it saved her peace.
If I had been ten seconds later, he’d be buried in a shallow grave right now.
Instead, he’s getting a tour of the state line.
"Here is how this works," I say, leaning down just enough so he can see the chrome skull on my cut, the red serpent winding through it like a promise. "These two gentlemen are going to drive you back to LA. And believe me, you won’t enjoy the ride. First off, you made Savage look like a fool by sneaking out of your apartment under his watch. Then you hit Dillon over the head with a crowbar.” I make a tsking sound before continuing.
“It sucks to be you.” I shrug. “Consider this your final warning.
If you ever step foot in Nevada or anywhere near Serenity or my sister, or if you so much as type their name into a search bar, you won't be talking your way out of the next conversation. Do you understand me?"
Kirk nods so fast I think his head might roll off his shoulders.
He looks at the two giant men, then back at me, his eyes wide and vacant, stripped of the entitlement he’d been wearing like armor back in LA.
He’s a coward who thought he could be an asshole because he found a woman who was too polite to tell him to fuck off. Well, the politeness is over.
"Get him out of my sight," I tell the other men.
I don't watch them hoist him up. I don't listen to his frantic apologies as they shove him into the very small trunk of Savage’s Beemer.
I just look out at the red rocks, the scent of dust and sagebrush filling my lungs, until the pressure in my ribs finally starts to ease.
The drive back to my house feels way longer than it should. My mind is a frantic loop of future plans. When I pull into the driveway, I look around, realizing that Serenity finally turned my house into a home.
I find her in the kitchen, sitting at the marble island with a laptop open and a mug of coffee.
She looks up when the door closes, her eyes searching mine for the verdict.
She’s wearing one of my old T-shirts, the hem reaching mid-thigh, her blonde hair messy in a way that makes my throat tighten.
She looks right at home. Like the missing piece of a puzzle I didn't know I was putting together.
"It’s done," I say, crossing the room and bracing my hands on the counter. "He’s gone. He won't be coming back."
She lets out a breath, a long, shaky exhale that seems to deflate the tension she’s been carrying since LA. She closes the laptop slowly. "Gone how?"
"Gone as in he’s on a one-way trip across the state line with a very clear set of instructions on why he should stay there," I tell her. I reach out, my thumb tracing the line of her jaw. Her skin is soft, a jarring contrast to the grit still under my fingernails. "You're safe, Ren. I promise."
She leans into my touch, her eyes fluttering shut for a second.
"I don't want to go back, Diesel. Not to that apartment.
Not to that school where he could be around any corner.
I keep thinking about my textbooks, my room, and it all just feels like a place where I was waiting for something bad to happen. "
This is the moment. The one where I stop being the protector and start being the man who’s terrified of a silent house.
My heart is doing a slow, heavy thud against my ribs, a rhythm of pure, unadulterated need.
I’ve spent my whole life being the one people leaned on, the one who fixed the bikes and held the club together, but standing here with her, I realize I’m the one who’s been falling apart.
"Then don't," I say, the words coming out more urgent than I intended. "Stay here with me. Permanently."
Serenity blinks, her head tilting slightly. "What about school?"
"Transfer," I interrupt, moving around the counter until I’m standing between her knees, my hands gripping the edge of her stool.
"UCLA has an online program for accounting.
I checked. You can do the same work from here.
You can sit at this counter or in the office upstairs.
You can help me with the books at the garage if you get bored. Just… stay with me. Please."
The silence stretches between us, thick with the weight of my request. I’m asking her to upend her life for me. I’m asking her to trust that the safety I provide isn't just a cage. I’m asking because the thought of living without her is a physical ache I can't breathe through.
"You want me to move into your house?" she whispers, her hands coming up to rest on my forearms, her fingers tracing the ink of my tattoos. "Just like that?"
"Not just like that," I say, leaning in until our foreheads touch.
"I want you to live here because this house is empty when you're not in it. I want to see your shoes by the door and your coffee mug in the sink. I want to know that when I come home from the garage, you're the one waiting for me. I’m doing this to protect you, sweetness, and because I can’t fucking live without you. "
She searches my face, her gaze moving over my eyes, my mouth, looking for the catch.
When she finds nothing but the raw, bleeding truth, her expression softens into something so beautiful it hurts to look at.
She smiles, a small, sassy tilt of her lips that tells me the fire hasn't gone out—it’s just found a place to burn safely.
"I’m going to be a nightmare to live with," she warns, her voice regaining that sharp, playful edge I love. "I’m a neat freak, I take up way more than half the bed, and I will absolutely keep you on your toes."
"I like things neat," I promise, a laugh huffing out of me, the first real one in days. "You can have eighty percent of the bed. And I wouldn’t expect any less than that. In fact, I’d be bored out of my skin if you didn’t keep me on my toes."
"Then I guess you’re stuck with me," she says, and then she’s pulling my head down, her mouth meeting mine in a kiss that tastes like relief and a thousand future mornings.
"What are you doing?" I ask, watching her fingers fly across the keys.
"Enrolling in the online classes," she says, not looking up, though the flush on her cheeks is bright.
I watch her for a long time, the sight of her working at my counter filling me with a sense of peace that feels almost foreign.
For the first time in my life, the future isn't a series of problems to be solved or threats to be managed. It’s a quiet afternoon in a house that’s finally a home.
I feel like I can finally breathe, the air no longer thick with the scent of a fight, but with the quiet, domestic reality of a woman who chose me.