Chapter 80 80
DIESEL POV
“She ran.”
The words slammed into me like a fist to the throat. My helmet hit the gravel with a crack—I didn’t even remember dropping it. Rage ignited fast, white-hot, burning through every vein.
Raven took one look at my face and her mouth snapped shut mid-sentence.
“What the fuck did you just say?” I asked, taking a step forward. She stiffened but didn’t back away.
“She—”
“She—what?” I growled, my voice already low and lethal.
“I mean, she—”
“When? Where the fuck did she go? What way?” Each word came out sharper than the last, cutting her off before she could say another word.
She suddenly threw her face to the side and stood straight, ignoring the questions. She squared up instead, chin high like she was ready for war.
“She left when she fucking knew about the bounty,” she fired back, words rushing out defensive and fast. “And I think she just did the right thing! She’s a target, Diesel! Having her here is a suicide mission for all of us.”
The urge to wrap my hand around her throat as she spoke surged so hard my fingers twitched. I could feel the phantom squeeze, the way her pulse would jump under my palm. One second. That’s all it would take to shut her up.
I swallowed the violence down. Barely. I took one more step until she had to tilt her head back to meet my eyes. Raven flinched. Her eyes widened, and for a second, she looked small.
“I only asked you a question, and you will give me an answer only,” I said, each syllable ice-cold and deliberate. “Where—the—fuck—did—she—go?”
Raven instantly read that I wasn't playing around. Her mouth worked, but no sound came at first. Then a stammer.
“S-service corridor. Back gate. Past the garage. That’s… that’s the way she went.”
“Thanks.”
I turned fast and kicked the kickstand on my bike hard. The bike rocked. I turned the key and the engine roared, loud and angry. Behind me, I could hear Raven scream out loud in frustration. She yelled my name and some bad words I barely heard.
I twisted the throttle and shot out of the lot. Gravel flew everywhere.
“Daisy…” I muttered under my breath.
The higher the anger boiled in me, the faster I drove. The wind hit my face hard. The streets went by quickly. Alleys. Fences. Dark spots. My jaw was tight. I tasted blood from biting down so hard.
I turned left into the service corridor. The path was narrow with walls close on both sides. Only moonlight and the sound of the bike engine followed me. I slowed down, my eyes scanning every corner. But it was all for nothing.
My stomach twisted. Anger began to mix with a sickening sense of worry.
I kept going. Past the old garage. Past the back gate. Out onto the side street. There were warehouses on both sides, but the search was in vain. No sign of Daisy; no hint of where she’d gone.
An hour passed.
Still nothing.
I knew I could call for backup, but that would be like calling chickens for corn—loud and useless. I had to do this myself.
I stopped the bike near a patch of overgrown brush, killed the engine, and got off. I walked forward slowly, my eyes searching the dark.
“Daisy!” I called out.
No answer came. Just the wind whistling across the road. Where the hell was she?
Frustration burned in my chest, but I didn't think about giving up for a single second. She was out here somewhere. I was going to find her.
I moved further in, checking behind thick bushes and broken fences. I called out again. “Daisy!”
Still nothing.
I went back to my bike, fired it up, and kept driving. The road grew rougher as dirt and gravel crunched under the tires. I kept my eyes sharp. I was about to turn back toward the main road when I saw it—a flash of light from a flashlight in the distance. It was deep in an area filled with rusted shipping containers and scrap metal.
I didn't think twice. I twisted the throttle and drove toward the light at full speed.
As I got closer, I saw an old industrial yard. Rusty shipping containers were stacked everywhere alongside broken pallets and deep shadows. Two bikes were parked near one of the units. Three guys stood there—one holding a flashlight, the others searching the ground between the containers.
My headlight flashed right into their faces. They stopped and shielded their eyes.
“Hey!” one of them screamed, waving his hand. “Turn that shit off!”
I scanned them first. From their leather jackets and patches, I knew they were bikers, but they weren't my brothers.
“What are you doing?” I asked. My voice was flat. Cold.
“None of your business,” the one with the flashlight said, turning his back to me. He pointed the beam toward a gap between two massive steel containers. “Hey, pookie! Just come out. We won’t hurt you.”
Pookie.
The word hit me like a spark to gasoline. If "Pookie" wasn't a dog, it could only be…
I stepped closer, my heart turning into a heavy stone.
“I said leave!” the guy yelled. He flipped out a pocket knife and walked toward me.
I didn’t hesitate. As he reached me, my hand shot out. I struck the side of his neck hard. He dropped like a bag of bricks, out cold instantly. The other two freaked. One of them immediately bolted into the dark.
The one with the flashlight tried to back up, but I grabbed his wrist—the one holding the light—and twisted. Bone cracked loudly. He screamed in pain, but the sound did nothing to me. I shoved his jaw up with my other hand, forcing him to look at me.
His eyes went wide. He recognized me now.
“D-Die…” he stammered.
I didn’t give him time to finish.
“Listen. The next bone I break will be your neck,” I said low. “So answer the question. What the hell are you looking for?”
“A-a—” He pointed with his good hand toward the far side of the containers. “Girl… woman…”
“Daisy,” I muttered, shoving him away hard. He crashed back against a container.
I ran in the direction he had pointed. The containers cast long, jagged shadows. I moved between them, my boots pounding the dirt.
Then I saw her.
She was tucked behind a massive, rusted container, curled up tight to make herself small. Her gown was torn and filthy. Her bare feet were stained with blood. Her face was pale, glistening with tears.
She looked up. Our eyes met.
“Daisy.”
Her lips moved, but no sound came at first. Then, a small, broken whisper.
“Diesel…”
Author’s Note:
I’m officially recovered from malaria and ready to write. I’ll be dropping 2-3 chapters every day. Thanks for sticking with me.