Chapter 105 105
DAISY POV
Diesel’s hand felt like the only steady thing in the world as he led me away. My palm still stung from the slap, but the burn was nothing compared to the strange lightness in my chest. It was hard to explain, but it felt as if a piece of the heavy weight I had carried for so long had finally become… smaller.
Behind us, Donald’s ragged breathing mixed with the groans of his fallen men. I don’t know what Diesel did to them, but they were now on their knees, facing the wall with their hands on their heads. I didn’t give them a second glance. I didn’t need to. That chapter of my life was over.
The door to the outer hallway burst open with a loud bang. Hawk stormed in first, gun raised, his face set in hard lines. Five more Storm Vipers followed close behind, their boots heavy on the concrete. Their eyes swept the room, taking in the blood, the broken bodies, and Diesel standing tall despite the bullet graze on his shoulder.
Hawk’s gaze landed on us. He lowered his gun slightly, but his posture stayed alert. “You good, D?”
Diesel gave a single nod, his thumb brushing over the back of my hand. “We’re good. Clean up the rest. If anyone breathes too hard, make him stop breathing.”
Hawk nodded at Diesel’s words, then his eyes flicked to me for a second — assessing — before he grunted and motioned to the others. They moved fast, securing the room with practiced efficiency.
Diesel didn’t wait. He turned me gently toward the exit, his arm sliding around my waist. His touch was careful, but I could feel the tension still coiled in his muscles.
“You did good back there,” he murmured as we stepped into the cooler hallway. “Real good.”
I swallowed, my throat tight. “I slapped him.”
A soft, rare chuckle rumbled in his chest. “I noticed. Almost made me proud enough to let you do it again.”
The simple praise warmed me more than it should have. I leaned into his side as we walked outside. The night air hit my face — cold and clean. Diesel’s massive black bike waited under the distant lights.
He stopped beside it and turned me to face him fully. His storm-gray eyes searched mine for a long moment. Then he cupped my face with both hands, thumbs brushing my cheeks.
Without warning, he leaned down and kissed me.
It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle like the forehead kiss earlier. This was deep — hungry and possessive. His mouth claimed mine with raw intensity, tongue sliding past my lips to taste me thoroughly. One hand moved to the back of my neck, tilting my head exactly how he wanted, while the other pressed me tighter against his body. The kiss grew hotter, deeper, almost desperate, like the adrenaline from the fight had turned into pure need for me.
I melted instantly, fingers clutching his blood-stained shirt. A soft whimper escaped me as his tongue stroked mine, slow and demanding. The world narrowed to just his mouth, his heat, and the faint taste of blood mixed with him.
But then reality crashed back in.
I broke free, gasping against his lips, my hands pushing lightly at his chest.
“Diesel… wait,” I whispered, breathing hard. “You’re still bleeding. You should clean up first and treat your wound.”
He didn’t pull away completely. His forehead rested against mine, eyes dark and stormy with lingering hunger. His breath was ragged, chest rising and falling heavily.
“I’m fine,” he growled low, voice rough with want. His thumb traced my swollen lower lip like he was fighting the urge to kiss me again.
“You’re not fine,” I insisted, my voice softer but firm. I glanced at the fresh blood soaking through his shirt. “That graze needs cleaning. Please… let me help you first.”
For a second, he just stared at me, jaw tight, like he was weighing whether to listen or pull me back into the kiss. Then a small, reluctant smirk tugged at his lips.
“Bossy little thing,” he muttered, but there was no real annoyance in it — only heat and something warmer underneath.
He finally stepped back just enough to swing one leg over the bike. The engine roared to life with a deep rumble. He held out his hand to me.
“Get on,” he said. “We’ll handle the wound at home.”
I climbed on behind him, wrapping my arms carefully around his waist, mindful of his injured shoulder. My cheek pressed against his back as the bike surged forward, carrying us out of the nightmare and toward the compound.
The ride was quiet except for the wind and the steady growl of the engine. Diesel’s hand occasionally left the handlebar to squeeze my thigh — a silent reassurance that he was still there.
The compound gates came into view sooner than I expected. Prospects opened them quickly when they saw Diesel’s bike. He rode straight through, parking in his usual spot near the entrance.
When the engine cut off, the sudden silence felt loud.
Diesel swung off first, then turned and lifted me down like I weighed nothing. His hands lingered on my waist, steadying me. Blood still stained his shirt, but he acted like it was nothing.
Raven appeared at the doorway, her red hair loose and her expression tight with worry. She took one look at Diesel’s shoulder and stepped forward.
“You are hurt,” she said, reaching out as if she wanted to touch him.
Diesel drew back slightly, avoiding her hand. “I’m fine, Raven. Daisy should be taken care of first.”
With those words, Raven’s eyes snapped to me with a bitter look that made my stomach twist. She turned back to Diesel, her voice sharp. “She’s not even hurt. And even if she is, she’s the cause of all this drama.”
“I will handle it then,” Diesel said, his tone firm — more like a warning to stop her from going further.
I felt a pang of guilt twist in my chest. Part of me wanted to shrink away, but Diesel gave my hand a gentle squeeze — a silent don’t mind her.
He walked past Raven and guided me straight upstairs to his quarters. The moment the door clicked shut behind us, the tension in his shoulders eased slightly.
He turned to me, cupping my face again. This time the kiss was shorter — a firm, claiming press of his lips that still made my knees weak.
“Go shower,” he said gently against my mouth. “I’ll get this shoulder patched up. Then we sleep. Real sleep. No more running tonight.”
I nodded, but before I moved, I reached up and touched the edge of his wound carefully.
“Promise you’ll let me help if it’s bad?” I whispered.
Diesel’s eyes softened just a fraction — that rare crack in his armor that was only for me.
“Promise, baby.”
He kissed my forehead one last time, then turned toward the bathroom to clean up.
I stood there for a moment, heart full and body still buzzing from everything that had happened. My eyes moved slowly around the room — the big bed with black sheets, the leather chair in the corner, the faint smell of tobacco and him lingering in the air.
For the first time, this place didn’t feel like a cage.
It felt like home.
It felt like Diesel.
Then, out of nowhere, one of Donald’s insane words suddenly came back to me.
“Blame your deadbeat father… he sold your pretty ass out.”
My breath caught in my throat.
Tears dropped from my eyes, hot and fast, rolling down my cheeks. I couldn’t stop them.
Donald is right.
The misfortune of my life actually started from the one who gave birth to me…
My father.
I pressed a hand over my mouth to keep any sound from coming out.
Diesel was still in the bathroom.
He couldn’t see me like this.