Chapter Twenty-Five –Diesel
For a second day in a row, Diesel arrived home after a night of club business, walked into his room and sat on the edge of his bed.
Yesterday, he’d been disappointed that they hadn’t caught their targets. Mama Grevenberg was dead, but her fuckhead son and husband were still breathing.
Diesel expected the search for the Grevenbergs and Wally, Jr., to continue, while everyone went about their normal activities. The last thing he ever expected was receiving news of Gypsy’s death. Seeing her laid out on the counter. A corpse, not the living, breathing woman he’d known half his life.
Diesel didn’t think much about Derby. For that matter, Gypsy was barely a blip on his radar.
He’d fucked her two or three times—he couldn’t remember.
After Diesel and Gypsy’s initial hook-up, she opened her fucking mouth to Derby.
That clued Diesel in that she was playing a fucking game: Who to fuck and have Derby react.
She was a good fuck and loved to suck cock.
She’d preferred to have her ass tapped, rather than her pussy.
Not that it mattered to Diesel. He emptied his nuts either way.
She hinted she’d like him to keep her, which he ignored.
He’d enjoyed her company. She loved to crack jokes when she wasn’t crying about Derby.
That had been her main fucking problem. She would’ve used anyone to get Derby’s attention. She hadn’t wanted to be rescued or cherished. Fuck, she hadn’t even wanted to be kept. She wanted Derby. Diesel refused to allow her to use him.
After Gypsy “let it slip” that Diesel fucked her, motherfucking Derby had the fucking nerve to confront Diesel. He turned down Derby’s offer to buy pussy from Gypsy, and fucked her a couple more times, then had enough of her.
Despite her flaws, she shouldn’t have died by Wally Jr’s hand. Unfortunately, it was because of those flaws that she had. She’d ignored Mortician’s orders. Initially, Diesel wondered if she’d been working with Wally, Jr.
Why the fuck else would she not only not call Aunt Meggie as she’d been instructed twice, but not get the fuck out like Symphony had?
But, no. She’d just been fucking hardheaded. And why not? Gypsy had been Derby’s miserable old lady for decades.
With Wally’s death, they had one down and two motherfuckers to go.
When they arrived back at the club, Uncle Christopher called and let Johnnie know that Wally, Jr. was in the meatshack. An unfortunate circumstance. Hearing what that motherfucker wanted to do to Rebel left Diesel anxious to chop him into little fucking pieces.
He had to let it go, though. Wally had attacked Johnnie’s daughter, so he deserved to get his body.
Wanting to see Rebel but knowing he couldn’t–shouldn’t–Diesel glanced at his watch.
Just after eight. After showering, he’d get ready for work.
Tomorrow, he was due in court to request a dismissal against a burglary suspect.
The motherfucker swore he was innocent. Evidence suggested otherwise.
Unfortunately, it was the fucking son of one of their smaller support clubs.
His father wanted his son exonerated. If it was up to Diesel, he’d cut that motherfucker’s hands off, but Uncle Christopher told him to get him off and if he committed another burglary then cut his arms off.
Diesel had said hands. He shrugged. Semantics.
Like Uncle Christopher said, hands were attached to arms, so it was all the same at the end of the day.
It was cheaper to obtain robotic hands than entire fucking arms. They’d end that motherfucker’s crime spree one way or the other.
All in all, it meant he had to go to the office today.
Standing, Diesel peeled off his clothes. He hung his cut on the back of his desk chair but threw everything else in the corner on top of the small pile of dirty clothes. He’d drop them off in the laundry room before he left.
In his bathroom, Diesel glanced around, wondering why he felt watched, though he saw nothing out of the ordinary, despite how his skin crawled.
“Ax?”
No answer.
Axel swore he didn’t have a listening device in the bedrooms or bathrooms, but he was determined to protect Aunt Meggie at any cost. Diesel wouldn’t put it past his little brother to have something in every fucking room he could think of, partially because he was a nosy little motherfucker.
Mostly because he was a scared kid, coping as best he could while stuck on one thing. Keeping Aunt Meggie happy.
Remembering his behavior yesterday, Diesel winced.
Guilty regret surged into him. Both Aunt Meggie and Axel had every right to confront him.
What the fuck was wrong with him to have acted like such a raging prick after he’d worried she wouldn’t come back and swore never to repeat the behavior that sent her away?
Now that she was, he was back to being a motherfucker.
He owed her an apology, but suppose Axel was right? How much was too much for her before she left again?
Fuck, that was just a fucking excuse. He’d apologize to her and promise to do better. No need for Axel to give him a gift to open that would…?
Diesel didn’t know. Unless it was a fucking homemade bomb in a box, he couldn’t imagine a present harming him.
Laughing at Axel’s na?veté, Diesel opened the shower door and turned on the water. He’d school his little brother and tell him warnings diluted the punishments.
Stepping onto the black marble and closing the door behind him, he slid, somehow managing not to fall. Standing still, he ignored the water sluicing over his head and down his body and glanced around, squinting at how shiny the shower base looked.
He backed from under the spray, and teetered, flailing his arms to save himself from a nasty fall.
“Motherfucker!” he snarled, bracing his hands against one of the glass panels.
What the fuck was going on?
Breathing heavily, he considered his question, seeking an answer. Maybe someone cleaned it and hadn’t washed away all the soap.
Wondering if his nose was stopped up, he sniffed.
No pungent chlorine, ammonia, or vinegar assaulted his nostrils.
What the fuck had he slid in? Afraid to move from the spot he stood in and fall on his ass, he grabbed his shampoo.
After washing his hair, he poured conditioner on then took his soap and rubbed it over his body.
He tipped forward and slid again. “FUCK!” he roared.
Too fucking annoyed to remember the shit in his hair, it leaked into his eyes, burning them like a motherfucker. He squeezed his eyes shut.
“I hate this fucking day!”
Furious, he tipped his head back to rinse his eyes and take away the sting.
Unfortunately, his closed eyes disoriented him and he slid forward again.
This time, he couldn’t find purchase and slapped the marble, ass first, jolting him.
Gearing up for another battle, he allowed the shower to wash away the last of the soap and conditioner before he reengaged with his invisible foe.
If he had to crawl out of the shower, he’d keep that shit to himself forever. However, he had to get the fuck out of this motherfucker some kind of way. Determined to do so with a little dignity, he lifted himself to his knees, gripped the safety bar, and stood.
“Yes!” he said, laughing in victory and letting go, sliding again.
He latched on quickly and walked out very gingerly. Once his life was no longer in fucking danger, he’d figure out how to turn the shower off.
Little by little, he crept forward. An eternity later, he opened the shower door, laughing again, so fucking happy that his ordeal was almost over.
Proud of himself, he stepped onto…not his fucking mat.
Thankfully, instead of slipping on his ass and cracking his fucking head, he skidded in a trail of…
something. He wasn’t sure what the fuck it was, but it brought him right the fuck to the door.
Grabbing that lifeline, he slipped, slapped, and slid, determined to reach his bedroom and figure out what the fuck was on his fucking floor. And then he’d fucking kill Ax.
Without a doubt, this was that little motherfucker’s gift to Diesel.
Winning the battle to reach his bedroom turned into a short-lived victory, resembling a fucking slapstick comedian in his effort not to fall. That was a big fat fucking failure. Losing the fucking battle, he landed flat on his fucking belly in a fucking pool of oil.
Fuck this. He’d get his phone on the bed and call Bishop to bring hot water and bleach.
On his hands and knees, Diesel started to crawl, still slipping and sliding, but not as vulnerable to a serious injury.
WHOOSH!
Before Diesel turned and identified the source of that sound, a belt cracked across his wet, oily ass.
He howled.
“Don’t fuck with Mom, Diesel,” Axel snarled from behind him, hitting him again. And again. And again.
Screaming, Diesel tried to lift himself up to run, but he kept falling on his ass because of that fucking oil. He was so fucking shocked and panicked, he couldn’t even manage to pull himself to his hands and knees. He fucking belly-flopped to the door, screaming the entire fucking way.
By the time he reached the hallway and could stand because that miserable little fuckhead hadn’t oiled it, Rebel, Ransom, CJ, and Ryder were there.
His nudity didn’t register until Rebel gasped and CJ clapped his hand over her eyes.
“Surrender, motherfucker!” Axel yelled and wielded that fucking belt again, hitting Diesel’s chest.
“Omigod!” Aunt Meggie cried as Diesel snatched Axel and the belt. “What happened?”
Diesel lifted Axel up by his arms.
“Axel, what the fuck you did Diesel?” Uncle Christopher demanded.
Normally, Diesel’s silent promise of murder was enough to frighten most motherfuckers. Axel glowered.
Scowling, Diesel sat Axel on his boot-clad feet.
“Behave—” Axel started.
BOOM!
An explosion from Diesel’s room interrupted him.
“You planted a fucking bomb in Diesel’s room?” Rebel cried, her own hands covering her eyes.
Gasping, Axel turned and ran. “Come on, men.”
“Axel, get back here!” Aunt Meggie growled.
“Gotta go, Mom,” Axel screamed over his shoulder. “Love you!”
Ryder and Ransom were hot on Axel’s heels.
“Get back here!” Aunt Meggie snarled, running behind them.
Uncle Christopher rushed forward, but Diesel shook his head, his entire fucking body stinging from the fucking belt and his battle with the floor.
“My room’s full of oil,” he said, an acrid scent tingling his nostrils.
“I got slip-resistant boots on, boy,” Uncle Christopher said, sighing. He was only in the room a couple of minutes before he walked out and handed Diesel a pair of sweats. “Cover your cock.”
Diesel promptly obeyed.
Resignation and anger blanketed Uncle Christopher’s face. “Sprinklers did their fuckin’ job this time. Otherwise, Axel’s bomb would’ve burned this motherfucker down.”