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)
"Pack a bag," he says. His voice is a low rumble, the kind of sound you feel in your chest instead of hearing with your ears. It’s not a suggestion. It’s an order issued by a man who is used to being the final authority in any zip code he happens to be standing in.
"Hello to you too, Diesel," I say, crossing my arms over my chest to hide the fact that I’m still vibrating. "Nice of you to drop by. We were just discussing how much I love being told what to do by men who think they're in a mid-2000s action movie. Can I get you something to drink? Or maybe a list of reasons why I’m not leaving?"
Diesel doesn't blink. He steps further into the apartment, his presence making our IKEA furniture look like dollhouse miniatures. "You've got ten minutes to get your essentials. After that, I’m packing for you, and you won't like my aesthetic choices. Move, Serenity."
"Diesel, I just picked up full-time hours at my job for the summer. I need the money for next semester," I argue, even as my feet start to betray me by shifting toward the hallway. "I can't just vanish to Las Vegas because some creep is leaving notes on my windshield. The police said they'd patrol the area more often."
"The police are reactive," Diesel says, his voice dropping an octave, becoming something cold and dangerous. "I’m proactive. That piece of shit took a picture of you while you were sleeping. He was right outside your window. That’s a fucking threat. And I don't negotiate with threats." He takes a single step toward me, closing the distance until I have to crane my neck back to look him in the eye. "You’re coming to Vegas. You’re staying at my place. If you need money, you can work at my garage where I know you’ll be safe. It actually helps me out. My business partner’s wife runs the office, and she’s out on maternity leave. We’ve all been taking turns doing her job, and it sucks. I need help, you’re available, and it gets you away from this asshole. Win-win. End of story." Then he turns to his sister and growls, “You need to pack a bag and come with us.”
"Oh, hell no. I'm staying here," Alana returns, shaking her head. "My summer teaching assistant position for Professor Marks starts on Monday. Housing is part of the salary package, and I already talked to the school administration. They're letting me move into the dorms for the summer. It’s a locked-down building, D. I’ll be fine. But Ren… she’s the one he’s fixated on. She needs to be somewhere he can't find her."
Diesel cuts a look toward his sister, his expression softening by exactly one percent. "You're sure about the dorms?"
“I’m sure,” Alana says. “I’m actually looking forward to it. Dorm life, late nights, maybe a cute TA who needs a little mentorship.” She wiggles her eyebrows and lets the last word hang in the air with a slow, deliberate smile.
Diesel’s face goes through several distinct phases. He holds up one hand, turns toward the window, and says nothing for a full three seconds. “I swear to God, Alana. I don’t need a visual of that flashing through my mind.”
“Get over yourself.” Alana rolls her eyes. “I’ve already packed my stuff. I’ll head out when you guys leave." She turns to me, her eyes softening. "Go, Ren. I can't focus on my work if I’m wondering if you're being watched. Do it for me?"
I look at Alana, then back at Diesel. He’s standing there like an immovable object, his arms folded over that massive chest, waiting for me to yield. It’s infuriating. It’s arrogant. And it’s the only thing that’s made me feel secure in days. I hate that I want to lean into him. I hate that I’ve spent the last several years of my life fantasizing about him. He’s my best friend’s brother. He’s off-limits. He’s a line I’ve spent years making sure I didn't cross.
"Fine," I snap, throwing my hands up in a gesture of total defeat. "But I’m earning my way. I’ll need full-time hours at the garage.”
"We’ll negotiate all that when we get to Vegas. Ten minutes," Diesel repeats, his jaw finally relaxing just a fraction. "Clock's ticking, sweetness."
I rush to my bedroom, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. It’s not fear anymore—not the cold, paralyzing fear of Kirk. It’s something warmer, something that tastes like adrenaline and bad ideas. I shove clothes into a duffel bag with no regard for folding. Jeans, T-shirts, the one sundress that Alana swore made me look like a goddess, and a stack of books that weigh more than the rest of my luggage combined. My hands are still shaking, but the focus of the task helps. I grab my laptop, my chargers, and the small, framed photo of Alana and me at the Velvet Scars concert that sits on my nightstand.