4. Diesel
Diesel
The ride to her apartment is a test of will. At every red light, I lay out the plan—stakeout, identify, intimidate. The words are simple, but my concentration is broken by the constant, warm pressure of her arms around my waist.
Each shift of her body against mine is a fresh distraction, a spark trying to catch tinder. I’m already thinking of excuses to get her back on the bike in the near future, and that’s the first warning bell. I’m craving the contact I’m supposed to be avoiding.
While I’m the one facing mental battles, she’s determined to see this through. She’s focused in ways that I need to be.
For the next few days, she’ll pretend everything is alright, and I’ll keep an eye out. Once I catch whoever’s making her uncomfortable, I’ll take care of him. Simple. Clean.
“Thank you, Diesel.” Even against the rumble of my bike, I don’t miss the softness in her voice. Or the way she presses closer, her cheek resting against my shoulder blade for a second. The contact feels like a shock to my heart, making it beat that much faster.
Unsure of what kind of sound might escape if I open my mouth, a grunt is the only safe response. It’s a wall I put up, brick by brick.
Ruby lives in Ridgeway Court, and I’m hardly surprised by the lack of real cameras.
The place has a defeated feel. Parking, I follow her off the bike, my hand hovering near the small of her back without actually touching it.
I tell myself it’s just to guide her, but the lie is thin.
I don’t pull back until she’s digging for her keys, and my eyes catch on a cat charm dangling from the ring—its ears sharp enough to puncture skin.
Oddly, it makes me feel a little better.
Has she ever used it? The thought of Ruby fighting someone off sends a cold slice of anger through my gut.
“You’re not just going to sit outside the whole time, are you?” When I shrug, her nose scrunches in a way that’s annoyingly adorable. “You can come in if you need to warm up. I’d hate for you to get sick. I’ve got… I don’t know. Tea. Coffee. Um, hot cocoa.”
Yeah, that’s what I need, the introduction of an addiction to something sweet.
Something sharp twists deep inside me, urging me to agree. To join her at every small gust of wind, or each chill that crawls up my spine.
She gives me a smile that lingers a second too long, a ghost of something that haunts me before she turns to the door.
Then, without another word, she freezes up.
Right before the key hits the lock, her whole body goes rigid.
Her lips part, and I see the faintest wobble before she grimaces, her eyes finding mine.
They’re wide, like a doe’s right before the final blow.
My gaze drops to the doorknob. Fresh, deep gouges scar the metal. The sight doesn’t just piss me off; it flips a switch deep in my hindbrain.
I brush past her, my arm sliding against hers. The worry of keeping distance is now a secondary note beneath the roaring in my ears. The door is unlocked. The son of a bitch was here. He violated her space.
The simple plan is nothing but. What replaces it is something more demanding and absolute.
Mine. The thought is immediate, a whisper of possessiveness that has always been there since the moment I laid my eyes on her.
There must be something wrong with me. It’s not just the protective instinct from growing up in a rough life with my sister. This is different. Seeing Ruby scared, truly scared, does something to me. It unravels a thread I keep tightly wound.
It makes me want to put myself between her and every bad thing in the world, and it feels like I have no say in the matter.
Is this it? Have I found another weakness in my life?
Reaching behind me, my fingers find the familiar hilt of my knife. The cold steel is a reality check. Judge’s words. Follow the rules. But the rules feel paper-thin next to the tremor in Ruby’s silence.
Ready to step inside, I pause. I’m not alone. Ruby is behind me, all soft edges and shaky breaths. I can smell her perfume, something like vanilla, and it’s all wrong for this moment.
“Stay close.” The command is a low growl, ripped from a part of me I keep caged. The knife is in my hand before I’ve even decided to draw it, the cold steel a familiar comfort. “I’ll keep you safe.”
Her sharp intake of breath slices through me, and I know in that moment that Judge’s rules, my own fucking rules, mean nothing.
The only rule that matters is the one I’m making right now. Nothing touches her. The promise is a vow, sealed in the silent, violated air of her apartment.
Biting her lip, she nods and steps so close I can feel the heat radiating from her body, can hear each time her breathing stutters as more fear of the unknown comes in waves. She doesn’t peep a word, placing her trust in me completely. The weight of it is heavier than any weapon.
Carefully, cautiously, I make my way inside a place she once considered safe.
The apartment is empty. No creeper, no confrontation. Just the violated silence of her space.
“I didn’t forget to lock the door,” she argues, her voice fraying at the edges before I can even speak about our lack of findings. “Someone was in here… I can feel it in my gut. You have to believe me.”
Fuck. She’s trembling. Something claws at my chest, sharp and urgent. As I tuck the knife away, I have to fist my hand to stop the impulse to reach for her.
“The cops… they think I’m forgetful, but I’m not Diesel. I’m not.” Bottom lip wobbling, she forces out the words like they’re planted deep inside her chest.
The crack in her voice, the sheen of tears she’s fighting—it ignites a cold, precise fury. They got in her head because no one stood up for her. The thought of anyone making her feel this small, this helpless, makes me want to break things.
To get my fingers wrapped around the bastard’s throat who made her feel unsafe in the first place.
The hotter, more immediate danger is the impulse to pull her into my arms and absorb the tremor right out of her body.
Giving in to the rage that’s brewing is only going to add to her list of things to fear. Somehow, I find the willpower to calm down before I face her.
“Hey. Hey.” I reach out, my hands engulfing her hunched shoulders.
I have to duck my head to catch her downcast eyes.
My thumbs move almost on their own, rubbing small, soothing circles into the tight knots of her muscles.
“I know you’re not, Ruby. Someone was here.
That feeling in your gut? I know it well. This place isn’t safe.”
Well, fuck. So much for the plan. The thought of her staying here alone, of those tears finally falling…
shit. I can’t take her to the clubhouse.
My brothers are hyenas around a woman like her.
And I’m no better. That’s the problem. I haven’t been able to keep my eyes off her since she walked into the shop, a splash of color in a grayscale world.
I think that’s why I’ve been building these walls in the first place.
“Pack some clothes for a day or two, alright? If you have to work, grab a uniform.” Pinching the bridge of my nose, I realize the walls are already crumbling.
I’m stepping over a line I drew for myself.
“You’re staying with me. I agreed I’d keep you safe one way or another, and that’s what’s going to happen. ”
Color fills her cheeks as she stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. “You’ll find him?”
“I will.” I’m not just saying the words. The promise is in my voice, and I can feel the need to keep my word.
No matter how long it takes, I’ll make sure it happens.
* * *
As much as I hate the thought of asking for help, I shoot a message to Kansas and Killer. It’s a necessary evil. I’m only one person, and right now, every part of my attention needs to be on the woman beside me, a silent, warm presence on the back of my bike.
The ride is far too short.
When we make it back to Crossroads Ink, the shop is a dark, silent monolith. Ruby hangs back as I unlock the door, her confusion obvious.
“You’re not going to let me crash here, are you?” she asks, her voice small in the vast darkness of the lobby. The posters on the walls look haunting at this hour. “I mean, it’s not that I’m not appreciative or anything, but—”
“I live above the shop.” I cut her off before her nerves can start to spiral. The words feel like a confession, unlocking a part of my life I keep sealed. Without thinking, I flatten my hand against the small of her back to guide her inside.
The contact is becoming a dangerous habit, a jolt of warmth that seeps through her jacket and into my palm. Each touch only makes the next one harder to resist, like a craving I’m no longer trying to deny. It’s a fucking problem.
Her breath hitches, just slightly, at the touch. She doesn’t pull away.
“I don’t let people up here,” I add, the statement hanging in the air. “Not often, anyway.”
Ruby doesn’t speak right away. In the profound quiet, I hear her soft, muttered thanks. It’s filled with something more than gratitude—a shared understanding of the significance of this. We reach the unmarked door that leads to the stairs, a barrier between my public life and my private sanctuary.
I reach past her, my arm brushing against her shoulder as I flick on the light for the stairwell. The sudden glow catches her off guard, and I get an eyeful of the blush spreading across her cheeks. It’s not just embarrassment; it’s a mirror of the same awareness that’s buzzing under my own skin.
The air between us is so thick I can barely breathe.
“Thank you,” she whispers again, her voice trembling not with fear, but with an emotion that threatens to undo me completely. “For believing me. For… all of this.”
She looks up at me, her brown eyes wide and sincere, glistening in the dim light. In them, I see trust, vulnerability, and a flicker of the same desperate need that’s clawing at my insides. The last of my resolve snaps.
I raise my hand, my calloused fingers rough against the incredible softness of her cheek. I can feel the fine tremor running through her, or maybe it’s me.
“I told you I would,” I murmur, my thumb stroking just beneath her eye. “I’ll keep you safe, Ruby. I promise.”
The promise hangs in the air, coming off as final. It’s no longer about the club or the rules. It’s mine. She is mine to protect.
And I can’t do it anymore. I can’t stand here and pretend this is just about keeping my word. The line is gone. The control is gone. There is only her, the trust in her eyes, and the overwhelming need to claim it.
I bend my head, my gaze dropping to her lips. I hear her breath catch, but she doesn’t pull away. She leans into the touch on her cheek.
That’s all the permission I need to satisfy this demanding need to feed into this.