Chapter 93 93
DAISY POV
We finally made it downstairs. The bar was alive with noise — laughter, clinking bottles, low music, and the constant rumble of voices. It was obvious a clubhouse was just a clubhouse. There was never really a quiet moment here.
I still didn’t know where we were heading, but I followed Diesel anyway as he held my hand firmly in his.
As we passed through the main area, a few of the guys glanced our way. Most looked briefly and went back to their drinks. But one guy — tall, with a scar through his eyebrow — stared at me a little too long.
The man beside him elbowed him hard in the ribs. It was a clear, silent warning: Keep your eyes off her.
The guy quickly looked away.
We kept walking until we reached the front lot where Diesel’s massive black bike was parked. He swung his leg over first and settled onto the seat, then turned toward me.
“Come here,” he said, voice low but gentle.
He reached for the helmet and carefully placed it on my head, his fingers brushing my chin as he fastened the strap. For a second, his eyes softened as he looked at me.
“You good?” he asked.
I nodded.
Diesel started the engine. The deep roar filled the afternoon air. He held out his hand to help me climb on behind him.
I slid onto the seat and wrapped my arms around his waist, pressing my chest against his broad back.
He revved the engine once, then kicked the stand up.
“Hold on tight, baby,” he said over the rumble.
I tightened my arms around him as the bike rolled forward, carrying us out of the compound.
The breeze felt surprisingly good against my skin. I rested my helmet against Diesel’s back and found myself actually enjoying the ride. The steady hum of the engine, the wind rushing past us, the way the city moved around us — it was simple, but it felt nice.
We rode for about twenty minutes before Diesel slowed down and turned into a quiet, upscale street. He pulled up in front of a sleek boutique with dark windows and a minimalist black sign.
I lifted my head and stared at the storefront.
“Wow,” I muttered under my breath.
Diesel helped me off the bike, then removed my helmet with careful hands. His fingers lingered on my cheek for a second.
“Come on,” he said softly.
I stared at him for a moment, wanting to ask if we were really here for clothes, but that felt like the dumbest question ever. It was obvious.
Inside, the boutique was dim and elegant — soft lighting, black marble floors, and racks of clothes that looked far too expensive for someone like me. A stylish woman in her mid-twenties stood behind the counter. The moment she saw Diesel, her eyes widened slightly.
She tried to stay professional, but it was obvious she was admiring him. Tell me why she suddenly adjusted her skirt at the exact same time her eyes were fixed on his chest. Diesel’s black shirt was open at the top, revealing the edge of his tattooed chest and the silver necklace resting against his skin. He looked powerful and effortlessly attractive.
“Good evening,” she said, her voice a little too bright. “How can I help you?”
Diesel kept his hand on the small of my back as he guided me forward.
“She needs clothes,” he said simply. “Everything. Comfortable pieces she can wear every day, and a few nicer ones.”
The woman nodded, but her gaze kept drifting back to Diesel — to his open collar, the ink on his chest, the way his shoulders filled out his shirt. I felt a sharp twist in my stomach. Jealousy. No way. I was angry. Why should I even care? The girl was just being annoying, looking at my man like that.
Wow. My man.
Daisy, don’t be silly.
I looked back at her. She was trying so hard to be professional, smiling politely and pulling out outfits for me to try, but her eyes kept flicking to him. I hated it. I hated that she was looking at him like she wanted to remember every visible inch.
Maybe because of her, I didn’t like half the clothes she picked or suggested. Everything felt wrong. I kept rejecting them, and I could see her frustration building. My picky mood must have started irritating Diesel too, because he suddenly stepped in.
“Is there an exclusive section?” he asked the woman, his tone calm but firm.
The woman blinked, looking between me and him, then forced that polite smile back on her face.
“Yes sir. But it’s a very expensive section you’re asking for. Top A. It’s trademarked — single pieces, sometimes only one or two in existence.”
Diesel gave her a look.
She quickly composed herself. “I’m so sorry, sir. I was just wondering if your little sister might not really—”
Diesel’s expression changed instantly — that cold, dangerous look that made people shut up mid-sentence.
My stomach twisted with annoyance. Little sister?
I stepped forward before I could stop myself.
“He is not my brother,” I blurted out, my voice sharper than I intended. The words came out fast and defensive. “You little slut—”
I didn’t say the last part out loud, but it burned on my tongue.
The woman flinched, clearly caught off guard.
“Is it part of professionalism to assume your customer’s status?” I asked, my tone edged with irritation.
She blinked, her polite smile faltering for a second.
“I’m so sorry, ma—”
“Are you thinking you might have your chance with him?” The question slipped out before I could stop it. I was shocked at myself. Why the hell did I just say that?
The woman looked genuinely taken aback. “I’m so sorry, ma—”
“Sorry for yourself,” I cut in, my voice low but firm. “Just take your eyes off my man and do your job.”
“Yes, ma,” she said quickly.
My man.
The words echoed in my head the second they left my mouth. Daisy, are you mad? I screamed at myself internally.
The lady bowed slightly and turned to lead the way toward the exclusive section. But I couldn’t move my legs. My heart was pounding so hard I felt dizzy. How the hell did I just say all that? I couldn’t even turn my head to look at Diesel’s face.
After what felt like forever, I felt his hand on my shoulder. I finally forced myself to glance up at him. He had this smirk on his lips — slow, dark, and way too pleased.
“Good one. I love it when my woman fights for me,” he said, his voice low and rough, just loud enough for me to hear.
My cheeks burned. He had noticed the way she was looking at him. And the way he said “my woman” made something warm and terrifying bloom in my chest.
With that smirk still on his face, he bent a little closer, his breath brushing my ear as he whispered, “Jealousy looks good on you. Makes your face all red and pretty.”
I felt even more embarrassed, heat rushing up my neck. Diesel was already walking toward the exclusive section, completely unbothered, like he hadn’t just turned my world upside down with a few words.
I tried to compose myself and follow, but it was fucking hard.