Chapter 7 Diesel
Chapter seven
Diesel
The garage smells like grease and hot metal when I roll in. Beckett’s under the hood of an old Chevelle, humming off-key. He glances up when I kill the engine.
“About damn time,” he says.
“You miss me that bad?”
“Nah. Just wanted to see if you were still alive.”
I grunt, ignoring the smile tugging at my mouth.
“She’s safe?”
“She’s fine,” I say. “Spooked but solid. Smarter than most.”
Beckett wipes his hands on a rag and leans back against the workbench. “You sure she doesn’t know more than she’s letting on?”
I meet his eyes. “She didn’t even know what she overheard meant.”
He whistles low. “She’s green.”
“She’s real,” I snap. “Not like the girls who hang around the bar looking for ink and trouble.”
“You saying she’s different?”
I don’t answer.
After checking in with Rock, I don’t go back to the safehouse right away.
Instead, I drive, wishing I were on my bike and not in my truck. I need to breathe. To stop picturing Willow in my bed, looking up at me like I’m important.
I end up at the overlook outside town. I pull off the highway, kill the engine, and climb out to sit on the hood.
The town sprawls below, all its sins hidden away.
I lace my fingers together and stare out at it, trying to force my thoughts into a straight line.
All I can see is her. The way she touched my arm like it anchored her. She said my name like a prayer, and now I can’t get the sound out of my head.
She’s too soft for this life. Too untouched. Too good for a man like me. That doesn’t stop me from wanting her again and keeping her until no one—not Langford, not Guardrail, not the goddamn Devil—could take her from me.