Chapter 103 103
DAISY POV
The instant the door burst open, Donald’s men rushed in — four… five… no, now ten. My heart rate skyrocketed. There was absolutely no way Diesel could handle them all. They carried knives, bats, metal pipes, and a few guns. Their faces were twisted with pure fury.
In all this chaos, Diesel was still staring straight at me, as if their presence didn’t affect him at all.
“You said you’re hurt,” he muttered, his voice low and calm, like we were the only two people in the room.
Are you fucking kidding me?
We were both going to die, and he was worried about me catching a cold? I was already shaking with fear, my legs threatening to give out. Donald’s men were spreading out, cursing and raising their weapons, ready to tear us apart.
Diesel reached out and took my trembling hand in his large, steady one. His thumb brushed gently over my cold fingers.
“You’re catching a cold,” he said quietly, almost softly. “We should go home soon.”
I stared at him, completely stunned. The world was exploding around us — guns, knives, more than ten angry men closing in — and this man was talking about going home like we had just finished a normal date.
Before I could even process how insane that was, the first attacker lunged.
Diesel moved like lightning.
He shoved me behind him with one arm, his body once again becoming an unbreakable wall. The man with the raised bat swung hard, but Diesel caught the weapon mid-air, ripped it away, and cracked it across the attacker’s own face in one brutal motion. The sound of bone breaking made my stomach turn.
Gunshots rang out.
Diesel didn’t flinch. He kept one hand locked around mine, refusing to let go even as he fought. With his other arm, he drove his elbow into the throat of the next man who got too close, then used the stolen bat to sweep the legs out from under two others.
“You’re shaking,” he growled over the chaos, still holding my hand tight. His voice was rough but strangely gentle. “Breathe, Daisy. I’ve got you.”
Another man rushed us with a knife. Diesel released my hand for half a second — just long enough to grab the attacker by the collar, slam him into the wall, and knock him unconscious with one punch. Then his fingers found mine again, warm and steady.
I was terrified, but the way he kept reaching for my hand in the middle of the fight — like touching me mattered more than the weapons flying around us — sent a strange, desperate warmth through my chest.
Donald’s men were shouting now, trying to surround us. One of them raised a gun and aimed straight at Diesel’s head.
“Diesel!” I screamed.
He spun us both, shielding me completely with his body. The gunshot cracked loud in the small room. I felt the impact jolt through him as the bullet grazed his shoulder. A fresh line of blood appeared on his shirt, but he didn’t make a sound. Instead, he raised the bat and hurled it like a spear, catching the shooter in the chest and knocking him backward.
More men were closing in.
Diesel’s breathing was getting heavier, his movements slightly slower from the blood he was losing, but he never once let go of my hand for longer than a second. Every time he fought someone off, his fingers found mine again — anchoring, protecting, refusing to let me face this alone.
“You’re still cold,” he muttered between strikes, his voice low enough that only I could hear. “When we get home… I’ll warm you up.”
A broken, hysterical laugh almost escaped me. We were in the middle of a bloodbath, and this man was promising to warm me up.
I guess I wasn’t the only one stunned by his words.
Donald, who was still lying on the floor bleeding, let out a pained smirk, his face twisted in agony. Even he looked shocked at how casually Diesel spoke about going home — like this was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
Diesel suddenly turned his head toward the remaining men, his voice calm and commanding, as if he were the one giving orders.
“We’re leaving,” he announced flatly. “Daisy needs to go home.”
The way he said it — deep, authoritative, final — you would think these were his men, not Donald’s. Several of them actually hesitated, exchanging uneasy glances.
Diesel’s sharp eyes landed on one fat guy who had a whistle hanging around his neck. The man was visibly shaking. Diesel grabbed him by the front of his shirt and yanked him closer. The guy whimpered in fear, but Diesel didn’t hit him. He simply reached up, unhooked the whistle from the chain, and stepped on it hard, crushing it under his boot.
“You look weak and I hate to fight the weak,” Diesel said casually, “but if you had used this, it might have been your worst mistake.”
He stepped on the broken whistle again for emphasis, then smiled at the terrified man. The casual way he did it made it clear — he had just stopped the guy from blowing the whistle to call for more reinforcements.
“We’ve been here for one hour,” Diesel told me calmly, closing my fingers around his. “We should wrap this up. Hawk will be here soon. I know my brothers too well.”
He blinked at me, almost like he was telling me to rest easy, then turned his attention to Donald, who was still sprawled on the floor, bleeding heavily from his face.
“Let’s finish this,” Diesel said, his tone ice-cold. “We don’t have much time left…”
Donald’s face twisted in fear, but he still had enough defiance left to glare at his remaining men and rasp, “Get the others! Bring more men!”
Diesel bent down, grabbed Donald by the neck, and dragged him up roughly before shoving him into a sitting position against the wall.
“It’s not my wish to give you a soft death,” Diesel warned, his voice deadly quiet, “but if you don’t cooperate, heaven should be your home in the next few seconds.”
Donald stared up at Diesel with wide, confused eyes — the same look I probably had on my face. He clearly had no idea what Diesel was planning next.
Diesel glanced at me, his storm-gray eyes steady despite the blood on his shoulder.
“Time to fulfill your words,” he said quietly. “You said you wanted to speak to him. You should do that now. That’s why you followed me down here, right?”
He used his nose to point toward Donald’s remaining men, who were still circling us, breathing hard and using their last strength.
“As I get busy with them… talk to him, Daisy.”
My heart pounded. The room was still full of threats, Diesel was bleeding, and yet he was giving me this moment — the chance to face the man who had ruined my life.
I felt the fear rising in my chest. My voice came out shaky.
“I don’t think talking to him is necessary anymore,” I whispered. “We can just leave.”
Diesel smirked — that slow, dark, dangerous curve of his lips. He rose and walked closer to me, held my shoulders with both hands, and looked straight into my eyes.
“Listen, Daisy,” he said, his voice low but firm. “I might be ready to make everything possible for you, but this might be the only chance you get. Pour it all out. Everything they took from you. Your peace. Your sleep. Every dollar you bled for just to pay them. The life they delayed. Let it out, baby. They don’t get to live in your head rent-free anymore.”
As his words sank in, tears blurred my vision.
All the sleepless nights came rushing back. The constant fear. The way I had scraped and saved every cent, working myself to exhaustion, only for them to keep demanding more. How my entire life had been put on hold — no education, no dreams, just surviving. I had been nothing but a machine for so long because of this man lying on the floor.
My eyes drifted over Diesel’s shoulder to Donald’s face. I had only wished for a moment like this once, but I never thought it would ever be possible. I couldn’t even believe it was happening — and one man had made it possible.
I looked back at Diesel’s face. He wasn’t just a man anymore. He was my God-sent. My savior. My helper. My protector.
I don’t deserve him.
Even though it wasn’t the right time, even though we were surrounded by danger, I couldn’t hold it in.
Without thinking, I moved forward, stood on my toes, and pressed my lips to Diesel’s in what was supposed to be a quick, grateful kiss.
But the moment our lips touched, it didn’t stay quick.
Diesel responded instantly. His hand slid to the back of my neck, pulling me closer as the kiss deepened. What started as a simple thank-you turned passionate and wild right in front of our enemies. His mouth claimed mine — hungry, possessive, almost desperate. I melted into him, fingers clutching his blood-stained shirt, completely forgetting for a few seconds that we were in the middle of a fight.
It was crazy. Reckless. Perfect.
A loud gunshot suddenly cracked through the room, shattering the moment.