His gaze holds mine for a beat longer than necessary. Focused, as if he’s reading something he doesn’t want to say aloud.
He’s exactly the kind of man I swore never to trust. But my body doesn’t get that memo. Heat creeps up my throat.
“Grace,” I say.
It feels wrong to give him my real name, but there’s no point in lying. He could find out in minutes. Malice always said the Damned Saints have eyes everywhere.
“Grace,” Diesel repeats, like he’s testing the taste of it. My pulse flutters.
“I can have someone tow your car back to the clubhouse,” he says. “We’ve got a shop there. I can fix it in the morning.” His eyes shift toward the trees, toward a dirt driveway disappearing into shadow. “In the meantime… you can stay at my cabin. It’s just up the hill.”
He doesn’t give me a chance to refuse. His voice leaves no room for argument, but there’s no threat in it. It’s matter-of-fact, like handing me a tool and expecting me to use it.
Part of me wants to say no on principle. The vow in my head screams.
Never trust a biker. Never go with them. Never.
But another part of me, the part that remembers Malice’s hand slamming down and John’s smile when he’s about to hit, wants to run into those woods and never come back.
And then there’s the feeling I don’t know what to do with. It isn’t logic. It’s instinct.
The terrifying, hopeful thought that if I go with this man, I might be safe for one night.
Safe is what I crave.
Safe is what I don’t believe in.
“Okay,” I say quietly. The word sticks in my throat like it’s too big to swallow. “Thank you.”
Diesel doesn’t smile. He just nods once, like that’s settled. He shrugs out of his jacket and hands it to me.
“Put this on,” he says. “It’s cold on the bike.”
The jacket smells like leather and gasoline and something warm and clean beneath. I slip my arms into it. It swallows me, heavy and protective, wrapping me in his heat.
He pulls out his phone and types a message with quick, practiced thumbs. “Tow’s on the way,” he says, like it’s already done.
A reply flashes on his screen almost immediately. Diesel’s eyes narrow a fraction as he reads it. His jaw tightens, then relaxes. The change is subtle, but it’s there, like something just shifted inside him.
He pockets the phone.
“Hop on,” he says.
My heart hammers.
I pick up my sketch book and my bag from the car, then climb onto the back of his bike, my hands hovering in the air for one stupid second before I place them on his sides as he urges me to do so. His muscles are hard beneath his shirt. Heat radiates from him, steady and real. The engine roars to life, vibrating up through my bones.
Diesel eases forward, leaving my car behind under the trees, doomed and waiting for the tow truck. The dirt road rises, pine trees closing in around us, forming a tunnel of dark.
I can feel his strength through my palms, the stability of him, the way his body knows exactly what it’s doing.
Without meaning to, I press my cheek against his back.
This is something you had to do, Grace.
And I did it. Somehow, the scariest part is that for the first time tonight, my body isn’t bracing for the next hit.
Chapter 2
