Chapter 116 The confession
Ryder's POV
"How the fuck did this even happen?" I asked, needing to understand the full scope of the disaster Diesel was in before I committed to helping him murder someone. "Walk me through it. How did you end up balls deep in Snake's wife?"
Diesel let out a long, shaky breath and sank down onto the concrete steps leading up to one of the storage units. He dropped his head into his hands, and was looking more broken than I had ever seen him.
"It was three weeks ago and it was a thursday night." His voice was rough, like he had told this story to himself a hundred times already, maybe wondering how the hell he messed up so badly. "I had just lost big on a fight, it was ten grand that I didn't have. I lost it to people who don't give a fuck about excuses or payment plans. I went to that club downtown to drink myself into not caring anymore."
"Which club?"
"The Pit. That shithole off Seventh where the drinks are cheap and nobody asks questions." He looked up at me. "I was already pretty wasted when Lisa walked in and sat down next to me at the bar."
"She didn't know it was you?"
"The lighting in that place is absolute shit, and she wasn't paying attention to anything except whatever was making her cry." Diesel's jaw clenched. "I recognized her immediately, but she looked so damn miserable that I didn't want to make it awkward by saying something. I figured I'd just finish my drink and leave, let her have the space."
"But you didn't leave."
"No, I didn't leave." He stood up and started pacing again, agitated. "Because the bartender brought her a drink and she just started talking. Not to me specifically, just... out loud. Like she needed someone to hear her even if they didn't respond or give a shit."
I waited for him to continue, watching him work through the memory.
"She was talking about Snake. About their marriage falling apart, about how she felt trapped and alone and scared all the goddamn time." Diesel's voice got quieter. "About how he barely looked at her anymore, how she couldn't remember the last time he'd actually listened when she tried to talk to him. How she was drowning and nobody even noticed she was going under. She said the club was all he could think and talk about, that he rarely even came home again and he spent his nights at the clubhouse."
"And you started talking to her?"
"Not at first. I just sat there listening, drinking my whiskey, trying not to make it obvious I was paying attention." He ran his hands through his hair. "But then she said something about wishing someone would just see her again, and I... fuck, I don't know. I was drunk and lonely and she was beautiful and sad, and I opened my stupid mouth."
"What did you say?"
"I told her I saw her. That anyone with eyes could see she was drowning." Diesel's laugh was bitter. "Real fucking poetic of me, right? Drunk Diesel the philosopher, solving problems with whiskey wisdom."
"She didn't recognize your voice?"
"Not until it was too late. The music was loud and I was keeping my head down, cap pulled low. She just heard some guy at a bar who was actually listening to her instead of dismissing her or telling her to go home to her husband." He stopped pacing and looked at me. "We kept drinking and kept talking. She told me about all the shit going wrong in her life, and I told her about my gambling debts and how fucked I was. We were just two disasters commiserating over cheap liquor."