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)
"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."