Chapter 72 72
DAISY POV
Two weeks later.
I have my life back. Well, I think I have it back.
Two weeks had passed since that night at The Club Joint.
I finally had a new job working as a receptionist at a secure medical clinic uptown. I just finished my shift and calculated my pay in my head. At least For the first time in two years, the money I earned belonged to me.
As I walked toward the bus stop, a motorcycle roared past on the main road. The deep growl of the engine makes me stop for a second. I watch the bike disappear around the corner. My lips curve up into a small smile. I don’t even know why. Maybe because the sound reminds me of that night. Of him. Diesel. His wide back under my cheek while I slept on his bike. The way he just sat there in the dark for thirty minutes, not moving, not complaining. I shake my head and keep walking..
“Come on Daisy”
“He had probably forgotten you exist.”
I turned the corner into the alleyway that led to my apartment building.
Suddenly, a shadow moved fast from behind a dumpster. I felt strange and my heart beat increased. Before I could think, a rough, calloused hand slammed over my mouth. I was jerked backward, my heels scraping against the pavement as I struggled to breathe.
"You think you can just run away?" a voice hissed in my ear.
It was Tyler. I recognized the frantic, shaky tone of his voice instantly. I thrashed against him, digging my nails into his arms, but his grip was tight. I couldn't believe this was happening again. I thought it was over.
"You think you got a savior?" Tyler spat, dragging me deeper into the shadows of the alley. "Fuck you. And fuck Diesel."
I managed to pull his hand away from my lips for a split second. My voice was trembling, but I forced the words out.
“Get… off… me,” I manage. My voice is muffled but sharp. “I’m done with you.”
Tyler laughed, and the sound was jagged and desperate.“Over? Bitch, it’s just starting. You cost me everything that night.”
"Donald wants his money, and he wants you.".
Just as he started to drag me toward a waiting car, a loud, thunderous roar of a motorcycle exploded at the entrance of the alley. The sound was deafening, bouncing off the brick walls like a physical force.
"Who the fuck is that?" Tyler yelled, his voice cracking with fear.
He didn't get to finish the sentence. A single gunshot echoed through the space. The bullet hit the brick wall inches from Tyler's head. He screamed and dropped me, falling to the ground and coughing as dust from the brick filled the air.
I scrambled back against the wall, my eyes wide. A massive black bike sped into the alley. The rider leaned low, performing a sharp, aggressive rotation. The tires shrieked against the concrete, spinning in a tight circle around us before the bike finally skidded to a halt. The headlight remained on, blinding Tyler and me with a harsh white beam.
The rider sat there for a moment. He wore a dark hoodie, but I knew that broad shoulder posture anywhere. the way he stands — shoulders wide, arms thick with muscle, that familiar heavy posture — I know.
"Diesel," I whispered.
"Fuck you!" Tyler screamed from the floor. He scrambled on his hands and knees, trying to find a way to escape. He managed to find his footing and started to run toward the far end of the alley.
Diesel didn't chase him. He slowly reached up and pulled back his hoodie. His face was a mask of cold stone. His Ash-gray eyes were dark and focused, showing no emotion at all. He reached into his leather cut and pulled out a heavy handgun, stretching his arm out in a perfectly steady line toward Tyler's retreating back.
My heart hammered against my ribs so hard it hurt. I didn't want blood on my hands. I didn't want my new life to start with a murder.
I lunged forward and grabbed Diesel's forearm. His skin was hot, and his muscles felt like solid iron. He stopped. He turned his head slowly and looked down at me. For a few seconds, we just stared at each other. I gave him a pleading look, shaking my head "no" as tears blurred my vision.
Diesel looked at me, his expression unreadable. Then, he looked away, back toward the end of the alley.
Another gunshot echoed.
Tyler let out a high-pitched scream of agony. He collapsed, clutching his leg as blood began to soak through his jeans. He rolled on the ground, howling in pain, but he was alive.
Diesel had shot him in the leg.
I staggered back two steps. My legs felt weak. I almost fell against the wall. I had never seen someone get shot right in front of me before.
The sound of the blast was still ringing in my ears, making my head spin.
Tyler was on the ground, his body curled into a ball. He was screaming in a high, thin voice that didn't sound human. He clutched his leg, and I could see the dark stain of blood spreading quickly through his fingers.
Diesel didn't look at Tyler again. He calmly tucked the heavy gun back into his leather cut. He turned his head and looked straight at me. His Ash-gray eyes were flat and unreadable. My heart raced so fast I thought I might collapse. I stared at him, my breath coming in short, jagged gasps. I wasn't sure if what he just did was a favor or a new kind of nightmare.
One of my shoes had been kicked off during the struggle, and my bag was lying in the dirt five feet away. Diesel walked over and picked up my bag first.
Then he leaned down and grabbed my shoe. He didn't say a word. He walked to me, knelt on one knee, and waited for me to lift my foot. I was too stunned to move, so he reached out, took my ankle in his large hand, and slid the shoe back on.
He stood up and pulled his leather jacket off his shoulders. He draped it over me. It was heavy and still warm from his body, smelling of tobacco and cold air. He didn't ask if I was okay. He just turned around and walked back to his massive black bike.
"Get on," he said.
His voice was a low rumble that cut through Tyler’s fading groans. I dragged my feet across the gravel. My legs felt like lead, but I did what he said. I climbed onto the back of the bike and sat down. As soon as I was on the seat, a wave of pure terror hit me. It wasn't just about Diesel. It was about my life. My father was gone, Tyler knew where I worked, and my apartment wasn't a secret anymore.
"I can't go home," I muttered.
I didn't even know why I said it out loud. I didn't think he would care. I expected him to tell me to shut up or to just drive me there anyway. Diesel didn't look back at me, and he didn't give me an answer. He just kicked the engine into gear. and sped out of the alley.