Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 33713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 169(@200wpm)___ 135(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 169(@200wpm)___ 135(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
PITA
Stop defiling my bestie. I need to talk to you.
I roll my eyes at her drama. When we finally caved and told her about us, she barely batted an eyelash. My little sister had been rooting for us this whole damn time. Hell, if I’d known she’d be this chill, I might’ve made Serenity mine sooner.
Me
I’m busy. What do you need?
PITA
I’m coming to town this weekend.
Me
Come on.
PITA
See you soon
Me
Thanks for the warning.
She sends a middle finger emoji, and I have to laugh.
Another text comes through, and it’s from Serenity.
Sweets
Do you want anything from The Cozy Bean?
Me
I just want you back safe and sound
Sweets
You’re so freaking sweet. I’ll be there in a few.
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding, my shoulders dropping an inch. I respond with a quick Hurry back and try to actually listen to what Jax is telling me about the inventory order. But out of nowhere, unease cuts through me. It sits in my gut like a lead weight, a cold, sharp sensation that tells me the world is shifting under my feet.
A few minutes later, the phone buzzes again. I grab it before the first vibration finishes. It’s not a Leaving now text. It’s a string of gibberish, followed by a single word that makes the blood turn to ice in my veins.
Sweets
HELP. In bathroom.
I don't say a word to Jax. I don't grab my jacket. I'm through the garage doors and in the SUV before the screen of my phone even goes dark. I dial Savage as I peel out of the lot, the tires screaming against the asphalt. “Where the fuck is Dillon?” I growl the second he picks up.
“What happened?” That gets his fucking attention.
“Something happened. I got a frantic message from Serenity,” I growl, my heart thudding against my ribs with a violence that makes it hard to breathe. I don't care about traffic lights. I don't care about the sirens that start up behind me three blocks later. The only thing that exists is the half-mile stretch between me and my girl.
“I’m checking.” He clicks off the line. I drive like a man possessed, weaving through the morning traffic on the Strip with a precision born of pure, unadulterated terror. My mind is a chaotic loop of every worst-case scenario I’ve ever seen in this life. If he touches her—if that pathetic, delusional coward lays a single finger on her—I will tear him limb from limb. It’s not just an empty threat. It’s a promise written in the marrow of my bones.
I screech to a halt in front of the coffee shop and don’t even grab my phone. Savage can deal. I’m out of the door before the engine stops humming. The shop is quiet, a few tourists tucked into corners with laptops, the smell of roasted beans sickeningly normal. I scan the room, my eyes wild, searching for the blonde hair that has haunted my dreams for years.
I see a “restroom” sign and head straight over. I’m down that hallway in three strides. The door to the women's room is closed. I don't knock. I push straight into the cramped room.
Inside, the world narrows to a single point. Serenity is backed into the corner by the sinks, her eyes wide and wet with terror, her hands trembling as she holds her phone like a shield. And standing over her, his hand reaching out to grab her arm, is Kirk Voss. He looks smaller than he did in the photos Savage sent—pale, sweating, with a frantic, twitching energy that makes him look like a cornered rat.
"Diesel!" Serenity sobs, the sound of my name breaking the paralysis of the room.
A cold, white rage washes over me, the kind of stillness that comes right before a storm breaks. I step into the room, my shadow falling over Voss, and the air seems to flee the space.
Kirk spins around, his face draining of what little color it had. He tries to puff out his chest, tries to maintain the delusion of power he’s been feeding on for months, but his knees are literally knocking together. "You… you can't be here. This is a private conversation. Serenity and I, we have a connection. She just needs to listen—"
I don't let him finish. I reach out, my hand wrapping around his throat with the speed of a striking snake. I lift him off the floor until his toes are barely skimming the tiles, his face turning a mottled purple as he fumbles at my wrist with weak, useless fingers. I slam him back against the tiled wall, the sound of his skull hitting the ceramic a dull, satisfying thud.
"Diesel, stop!" Serenity cries out, but she doesn't move toward me. She’s watching with a mixture of horror and dark, primal relief that tells me she was seconds away from a nightmare.