“I’m scared, CJ,” Rebel said before she caught herself, the ramifications of Uncle Johnnie’s latest fuckery dawning on her. If Aunt Kendall found out…if Uncle Mort found out… But how could they not? “I want Momma.”
“Me, too,” Aunt Bailey said miserably. “I want my mama. Mama would know what to do for me and for you, Harley.”
Rebel and Harley looked at each, ran to Aunt Bailey, and twined their arms in a group hug. The three of them burst into tears and then looked at CJ for help.
By the time Diesel stopped at their final destination, Ryan wished Cleaner, Pops, Uncle Christopher, orsomeonehad killed him. He’d known Diesel would be furious if he ever found out about the cameras in Rebel’s room.
He just hadn’t known to what level, but Diesel’s jealousy had him psychotic.
They visited two places before they reached their last. Ryan didn’t see an opportunity to escape at their first stop to buy alcohol.
And the second location?
Diesel hid in the shadows of a bar, a biker hangout judging by the motorcycles surrounding the place. Dudes in cuts walked in and out. Ryan couldn’t imagine why Diesel would leave them open to retaliation for invading enemy turf. After almost an hour, a lone biker left the bar.
Diesel struck like lightning, swooping from the shadows and snatching the short biker much like he’d grabbed Ryan. Hand over the little guy’s mouth, Diesel lifted him and carried him to where he’d angled the Mercedes between a tree and a dumpster. The efficiency in which Diesel got the small man into the trunk without help told Ryan he’d done this shit before.
When he slammed the door and jumped into the driver’s seat, Ryan risked a glance at Diesel, expecting the man in the trunk to make noise. He glanced behind him at the black leather seats and scratched his temple.
“Motherfucker’s out cold, Ryan.”
Diesel sped away.
By the time they returned to Hortensia, forty-five minutes later, Ryan was exhausted. Fearing for your life weighed on a motherfucker. It wasn’t only worry that Diesel might decide to kill him. It was also knowing that everyone hated him now. Pops. CJ. The girls. And, by now, Mom.
He was glad he hadn’t been there to witness her love dying and real, true hatred forming. Not just the mistaken kind when Ryan saw what wasn’t there.
After Pops beat his ass and kicked him out, Ryan came to and crawled to his feet.
He considered going back into the club and apologizing. He just didn’t know what to say to make anyone care about him or forgive him.
As he’d stood outside thinking about the situation, he’d also realized his father probably saved his life. Pops beating his ass served as another distraction. If Uncle Christopher got his hands on him, he would’ve been dead.
“Take this.” Diesel handed Ryan a gun. “If that motherfucker makes a wrong move, shoot him.”
Ryan swallowed. Nodded.
Banging on the trunk and muffled screams rocked the car.
“Right on time,” Diesel said with a grin. “Time to rock and roll.”
Fear percolated in Ryan at Diesel’s chilling smile. As they exited the car and slammed the doors closed, a side door on the funeral home opened.
“Diesel, you sick fuckhead—”
“Shut it, Lewis,” Diesel said politely. “This is the last one. I promise.” He popped the trunk.
The biker raised his gun. Instead of pulling the trigger, Ryan froze. Diesel, however, didn’t hesitate to shoot the man’s hand.
At the little man’s scream, Ryan’s entire body shook.
“You’ve made a fucking mess in my Mercedes,” Diesel complained, ignoring the man’s sobs and mangled fingers.
Nausea twisted in Ryan and his head felt light and foggy.
“If you faint, I’ll beat your fucking ass again, Ryan,” Diesel warned.
Swallowing, Ryan gripped the side of the car, willing himself to remain conscious. But he hated the sight of blood.
