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“I’ll help you convince her while I’m here if you want?”
He stands, grabbing two beers from the fridge. “Thank you, but not tonight. When she comes home, she’ll shit a brick if she gets a look at you like this.”
I know he’s right. On top of the bruising and the bandage on my hand in need of changing, I look like I haven’t been sleeping—because I haven’t—and Mom thinks food cures all. “Good point. Thanks, Dad. I missed you.”
“I missed you too. Thought you were either dead or eloped.”
I laugh; a bit more bite in it than humor. “Ha! Neither, thank you very much.” Eloping is as foreign a concept to me as, I don’t know, deep-sea diving. I finish off my beer with a final swig and get up.
“Good night, Dad.” Heading to my room, I can’t help but notice how it’s getting more and more cluttered with mom’s hobby stuff. Not that it matters tonight.
After a quick, almost mechanical shower, I crash into bed. But sleep decides to play hard to get. I just lie there, staring at the ceiling for what seems like forever. I hear Mom come in, the muffled sounds of her and Dad chatting, a bit of laughter, the TV buzzing in the background. It’s weirdly comforting but not enough to knock me out.
Nightmares again, yanking me out of sleep and into the too-quiet dark. No warm arms, no soothing voice to mumble meback to sleep, no heated moments to make me forget the bad dreams. Just me, the night, and a mind that won’t stop.
And then, like a broken record, it’s Diesel time. His face, those damn hazel eyes that can’t decide whether they’re mad or just don’t care. Ridiculous, really, how I’m lying here missing him. It’s barely been a day–how’s that for pathetic? The more I think about him, the more it gnaws at me. Makes me feel all kinds of weak, and I hate that. Hate it more than admitting I might actually be hurt.
But tonight, I’m done with tossing and turning. A restless energy takes over, itching in my bones. No more moping around. I throw off the covers and jump out of bed, a crazy idea forming in my head. I’m going for a run. Yeah, a run to nowhere, just to burn off this...whatever this is.
I snatch my sneakers, practically flying out the door. The night air hits me like a slap, but it’s just what I need. I start running, pounding the pavement, each step pushing Diesel and his confusing eyes further away.
The streets blur past me. I’m running away from everything–the nightmares, Diesel’s stupid face, all the mess in my head.
Tonight, I’m in charge of me. I’m the one calling the shots.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Diesel
I fucked up. I fucked up big time, and I realized it too fucking late. Cassidy is gone, and I have no clue where she is. She’s not at the motel where she stayed before the kidnapping, and none of the girls have seen or heard from her. I know because I spent all night hunting her down.
My instinct is to go after her, but where would that be? My guess is she either took a new load or she’s gone back to Nevada. With all the shit going on with the MC, there’s no fucking way Ace will let me take a road trip to track down a woman who isn’t even mine yet.
But she will be.
I’m fresh out of ideas, so I make another call to Cassidy, and of course, she doesn’t answer, so I head to work. Arriving at Morgan feels surreal as the big repair bay sits empty, confirming the one fucking thing I know to be true. Cassidy is gone.
Yet, the place buzzes with activity like usual. Still, it’s all a blur to me as I check the delivery logs and schedule to make sureeverything is going how it should. It is because the men and women who work here know that I don’t suffer fools or slackers. I don’t fuck around when it comes to the work. Period.
But I’m too distracted to focus on anything but the basics, and I know exactly what I need to do. I head to Aria’s office, but Brooke stops me first, so I bite back a groan and stare at her. “Is Aria in?”
Brooke nods and pushes her tits out even further than they already are, smoothing her hands over her curves to draw my gaze.
“She’s in, yeah. What’s up?”
Is she fucking serious? “I need to talk to her.”
Brooke pouts, taking another step closer into my personal space. “What’s wrong, Diesel? That trucker girlfriend of yours not doing what she should?”
My glare goes from dark to pitch fucking black, and I get right in her face. “None of your fucking business,” I snarl at her because part of this feels like it’s her fault, even though I told Cassidy and my brother differently.
“It’s just a question,” she replies, not bothered at all by my outburst. “That’s usually why men are, ya know, assholes.”
“I need to talk to Aria.”
“Yeah, okay,” she says with a smile, brushing off my anger. “If you need a few hours to unwind, I’m happy to assist. I promise you a really good time.”
“Not interested.” My words come out cold and angry. I step around her and enter Aria’s office. “You decent in here?” I ask with a grin.
