Chapter 100 100
DIESEL POV
I was flying.
Not driving. Flying.
The bike roared under me as I pushed every bit of my anger straight into the throttle. No helmet. The wind whipped across my face so hard it tore tears right out of my eyes, streaming sideways before they could even fall. I didn’t wipe them. I just leaned lower and twisted the throttle harder.
How dare you, Donald.
Rolling up to my house and tearing it apart because you still think Daisy is yours? Not just her — my club, my brothers. Touching what’s mine? That’s you begging for a bullet.
I was losing my fucking mind.
The speed blurred everything. Streetlights stretched into long white lines. My chest burned, not from the cold wind but from the fury that had been building since we rolled back into the compound and I watched that beautiful smile she’d worn all night die on her face. All of it ruined in seconds because of that snake.
Behind me, Daisy’s arms stayed locked tight around my waist, her body pressed close. But I could feel her shaking. Before I even heard her voice — soft, scared, almost swallowed by the wind.
“Slow down, Diesel…”
That voice hit like a punch.
I blinked hard, tears still streaming from the corners of my eyes. Only then did I feel how fast we were really going. The bike was vibrating hard, engine screaming like it was about to tear itself apart. I’d been pushing it so viciously I hadn’t even noticed.
My hand eased off the throttle. The roar dropped to a deep, angry rumble as the world started sharpening again — streetlights, warehouses, the dark stretch leading toward Donald’s territory. I forced the speed down, breathing heavily, jaw still clenched so tight it ached.
Daisy’s arms loosened just a fraction, but she didn’t let go. Her cheek stayed pressed to my back, voice muffled and shaky. “You’re scaring me…”
“Shit,” I muttered, voice rough and low, barely carrying over the wind. My free hand reached back and squeezed her thigh, trying to tell her without words that I was still here. Still in control. Even if it didn’t feel like it right now.
She didn’t say anything else. Just held on tighter.
The rest of the ride I kept the bike steady, but my mind wouldn’t quiet and the anger wouldn’t vanish.
By the time we reached the warehouse district, my head was clearer, but the rage was still there, simmering under my skin.
I killed the engine a block out and coasted into the shadows. Daisy stayed glued to my back for a long second after the bike stopped, like she wasn’t ready to face what waited ahead. I swung my leg over, removed her helmet, and cupped her face with both hands. Her eyes were wide, still wet from the wind.
“Stay behind me,” I said quietly, thumb brushing her cheek. “I will get you to him. One chance. After that… it’s my rules.”
She nodded, her small hands covering mine. “Don’t do anything crazy because of me.”
A short, bitter laugh slipped out. “I can’t promise, baby.”
I kissed her hard — deep and desperate, like I needed to taste her one more time before the night turned ugly. When I pulled back, her lips were swollen and her breathing was ragged.
We walked in together.
Just as I expected, Donald’s bikers — his dogs — were the first to block our way. A line of them stepped out from the shadows, arms crossed, eyes hard. They wanted a fight. I could see it in the way they shifted their weight, hands hovering near their belts.
I held back tonight. I didn’t plan on a rough fight because of Daisy. She was already shaking enough. So I just stood there and looked at them, calm on the outside even if everything inside me wanted to swing.
“Make way,” I said, voice low. “I need to see Donald.”
They stared without moving until Donald’s right-hand man — the one I recognized from old runs, tall with a scar across his jaw — stepped forward. He looked at his guys and jerked his chin.
“No thugs,” he said. “Move aside. Let them in.”
The line parted. We followed him inside. Daisy stayed close to my side, her hand brushing mine once like she needed the contact.
We were halfway down the hall when one of Donald’s men walked up to my side. He was big, cocky, with a smirk that made my teeth grind.
“No guns. I need to search you before you walk in,” he said.
I didn’t even slow down. With my left hand I swung once — clean and hard — and caught him square in the jaw. He dropped like a sack of bricks, out cold before he hit the floor.
The right-hand man stopped and looked back. He stared at the guy on the ground, then at me. For a second I thought he might say something. Instead he just let out a frustrated breath, shook his head, and kept walking. He didn’t say a word about what I’d done.
We kept moving.
When we finally stepped into the main room, Donald was sitting there in a worn leather chair like he was king of the place. That stupid smirk sat on his face. His eyes lit up when they landed on her, hungry and possessive, like she was still the prize he’d been waiting years to collect.
I felt my hand twitch toward my gun again.
But I held it.
For now.