Page 117 of Diesel's Perseverance
“Be back soon,” he said, swiping his lips across her forehead.
“I’ll be here.” She smiled.
And then he was gone.
Myla stayed by the window, waiting to catch a glimpse of him before he left. Diesel had told her he borrowed one of the member’s Chevy sedan so he could get in and out of the police station as quick as possible. If he rode up in his gleaming motorcycle embedded with skulls, daggers, and drips of blood, she was sure the detectives would make a mountain out of a molehill.
The truth was that even though Diesel was an outlaw biker and probably instilled fear in most people, especially when he’d throw them his death stare, to her, he was a perfect tough-sweet combination. She’d always thought that guys who rode motorcycles had more than a dash of testosterone running through them, but Diesel had it gushing through him, and she loved his manliness and evensomeof his machismo. He exuded confidence, fearlessness, self-reliance, and an I-don’t-give-a-damn attitude that was sexy and alluring. But his tough side was balanced by his compassion, kindness, and generosity. Even though he would rather die than admit it, he was sweet, gentle, and big-hearted. A lot of the Insurgents Myla got to know came off as gruff and uncaring. Still, she noticed how they rallied around Diesel during his time of grief, and she witnessed how Hawk—one of the scariest and grumpiest of the group—cherished his ol’ lady, Cara, and adored his children. The numerous charity events the club was involved with blew her mind, and it made them well-rounded humans rather than stereotypes of bad-ass, hate-filled outlaws.
She also loved how Diesel made her feel like the most beautiful and desirable woman on earth. Myla felt protected and relieved that she could put her trust in his strong hands and let go of all the burden that came with being on her own. It might sound old-fashioned, but it was everything in the world to her.
A dose of marijuana smoke wafted to the open window, making her cough so hard that tears streamed down her face. “Shit,” she croaked, clutching her throat with one hand and grasping the caramel latte bottle with the other. She downed several gulps of the flavored coffee until her breathing returned to normal.That was the worst! It smelled just like a skunk was in the room with me.
As she closed the window, she caught sight of Diesel walking to the parking lot with two men in tow. She couldn’t make out who they were, but one of them had a hand clasped on Diesel’s shoulder. They spoke at the dark green sedan for a few minutes, then Diesel slipped into the car. A few seconds later, she watched him drive away. All at once, loneliness filled her. Not wanting to stay in the room and relive memories of her relationship with Freddy, Myla meandered over to the closet and pulled out a lightweight sundress and a pair of pale yellow thong sandals.
Half an hour later, she’d showered, applied a touch of make-up, and lightly blow-dried her hair. She swiped her lips with a favorite peach-colored lipstick, spritzed her favorite vanilla body spray, and walked out the door.
The fresh smell of the ocean and the sweet fragrance of bougainvillea and hibiscus flowers floated on the soft breeze. Myla strolled around the back of the clubhouse, soon disappearing among the lush vegetation and forest of blossoming plumeria and palm trees. She continued to be amazed at the juxtaposition of the landscape’s serenity and the clubhouse’s rowdiness.
After a half hour of wandering around the grounds and admiring the various colorful clay pots filled with shrubs and vibrant flowers in red, yellow, and orange, she spied a wrought iron bench nestled among the pots. She sat down and enjoyed the warm breeze playing through her hair and the feel of the sun on her skin. Leaning her head back, she closed her eyes and basked in the golden light.
Myla’s eyelids snapped open at the sound of rustling and the soft thud of… footsteps?
“Diesel?” she said.
There was nothing but the song of the hummingbirds’ wings, the buzzing of honey bees, and the sound of her own breathing. She glanced around and over her shoulder but everything seemed normal except for the tiny frisson of fear niggling at her.This is ridiculous.Myla pushed it away and refused to let it take hold.But what if Cano’s here, watching me? No, it can’t be. I know Diesel took care of him and that’s how he got that nasty cut on his arm. I’m being silly and paranoid. I’ll just head back to—
Then she heard rapid footsteps, and the scent of musk mixed with sweat rose above the floral aromas.Someone is here. I know it. Ifeelit.Her throat closed on a silent scream. Above her, plumeria blossoms shivered, and she saw a shadow fall across the stone pathway in front of her.
Myla leaped up from the bench and whirled around, her gaze crashing into the cold eyes of the biker she’d seen at the party back in Pinewood Springs.
“You,” she said and took a few steps backward.
“Yeah, me,” he snarled.
“What are you doing out here?”
“I live here. You’re onmyproperty.” He came around the bench.
“It’s beautiful here.” She hoped she sounded sincere and nonchalant even though her heart was like a train pounding down the tracks. Again, she took a few steps away from him.
“Did you tell Diesel you knew me?” His voice dripped ice.
“No, why would I? I mean, I don’t really know you. I’ve only seen you a couple of times.”
“I don’t believe one fucking word you’re saying, bitch.”
The way he saidbitchtriggered a memory from the day before when he came to her door after Diesel had left.This isn’t good.
“Why would I lie?” she asked.
“Because you’re a bitch and a whore.”
“Strong words from someone I don’t know and who doesn’t know me.” Myla turned to leave, but he gripped her wrist and yanked her closer to him.
“Quit the fucking bullshit. You’re a loose thread, but I’ll take care of that. Your pathetic boyfriend was a stupid, weak pussy who got what he deserved. He thought he could control Cano? He was a little fucking wimp trying to play in the big league.”
“Were you the one who killed him?” she whispered.
