Page 67 of Diesel's Perseverance
“I didn’t realize I’d fallen asleep,” she said without looking up. “I just got up now. Crazy, huh?”
“You had a long day.”
Diesel walked over to the window, stood with his back to her, and stared out into the darkness. She padded over to him and laid her hands on his broad shoulders. Myla could feel the tenseness through his shirt. Smoothing her palms over his shoulders, she kneaded his muscles. After a couple of minutes, she felt him relax under her fingertips.
“That feels good,” he said hoarsely.
“You look tired. I get that it’s hard being here, knowing Freddy is somewhere in the city. It’s eating you up. I can tell.”
“It fuckin’ sucks,” he mumbled. “It must be hard for you too.”
“It is,” she said as she continued massaging him.
He reached for Myla’s hands, drew her around, and pressed her close.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Diesel whispered.
“Me too.”
They stood in silence, holding each other and staring at the shimmering water under the new moon.
After a long while, Diesel ran his thumb along her jawline and then pulled away.
“We should go downstairs and get some food. The ol’ ladies prepared a big meal. It’s disrespectful if we don’t eat it.”
Myla stepped back and ran her hands down the front of her jeans. “I agree. Besides, I’m pretty hungry.” She finger-combed her hair, then applied apricot lipstick and gloss on her lips. “I’m ready.”
“You’re so beautiful on the outside and the inside,” he said.
“Thanks for the compliment,” she replied, somewhat uncomfortable.
“I mean it,” he said. Even though his tone was light, it didn’t match the intensity in his gaze, which made Myla’s heart quicken.
“We better go before all the food’s gone,” she said, turning and heading to the door.
A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest, making her insides flutter.
“Then we better go,” he said, locking the door behind them.
As they descended the staircase, the voices from below became louder. As if Diesel sensed her awkwardness, he tucked her hand in his. Threads of relief weaved around her anxiety, and she relaxed, trusting him to take the lead and steer her in the right direction. Leaning against him, they entered the main room.
Chapter Thirteen
Diesel rechecked hisphone, hoping Viking texted him some new information on Cano. The night before, Viking had told him he’d located Cano’s house, but the fucker wasn’t there. Diesel wasn’t surprised because he knew the SOB was in San Diego, biding his time until he could snatch Myla and find Freddy. A helpless feeling weighed heavily on Diesel, and it killed him.
He had met Viking, the president of the Angry Disciplines, at Sturgis. Viking was a big fellow with long sandy blond hair and a full beard to the middle of his chest. Diesel had just received his patch, and he and Viking bonded over numerous shots of whiskey and lap dances. They’d been tight ever since.
“Are you heading out?” Myla sat up, her back against the headboard, her arms around her bent knees.
He noticed how her tits pushed against the thin fabric of her pajama top. Arousal flashed hot through his system, and he averted his gaze. “Yeah. You’ll drive with Welder and one of the prospects from here, Popeye. I’ll be behind, following you.”
“What time are we planning to leave?”
“Soon, so get your sweet ass moving.”
Myla pushed off the mattress. “You should’ve woken me earlier,” she said, hurrying to the bathroom.
The SoCal MotorcycleAssociation held its twenty-fifth annual biker rally at Thirty Oaks Ranch in Spring Valley, a suburb in the East County region of San Diego County. The event attracted mainstream bikers, wannabe bikers, and one-percenter clubs from California and neighboring states. It was perfect grazing for outlaw clubs to gather intelligence, recruit prospects, and flex muscle.
