Taking a deep breath, I focus on anything but what’s actually happening right now. I should be used to angry men and their mood swings, but it still unsettles me. His full-naming me gets under my skin. He has a right to be pissed—it’s a shit situation—but destroying our motel room and getting us kicked out isn’t going to do any good.
“FYI, dickhead—unless you want me full-naming your ass, you better stop full-naming me, Darius Mitchell!”
Okay, so I suck at ignoring shit that bugs me and maybe he knows it bothers me and maybe he doesn’t, but he did it and it does, so fuck that. I take a step toward him when he lets out a frustrated scream and slams his fist into the door again. Splinters of wood fly around the room under the force of his anger.
“Good thing you can afford it, because even shitholes like this have a you-break-it-you-bought-it policy.” My hands are on my hips and I’m breathing as evenly as I can to keep my temper in check.
He turns around slowly, his shoulders are heaving, his tan face is red, and his nostrils are flaring like he’s a damn bull. I may keep the club at arm’s length these days, but I know these men too well to antagonize a seriously pissed-off Forsaken man, so I keep my mouth shut. Well, I try not to antagonize them. An idea comes to mind—a way to distract him—and risking humiliation, I go for it.
With my hands clutching my shirt, I lift it over my head and toss it on the floor. Next, my hands work to unbutton my jeans and slowly slide the zipper down. Forsaken men are very emotional creatures. They’re alphas from head to toe, and they need some way to channel their feelings. It’s either sex or violence, and one is more fun for me than the other. So, when I slide my jeans down my legs and kick them to the side, I don’t take my eyes off his. I force my shoes off with my jeans. He can be angry with me, but I bet once he’s fucked me, he’ll at least be willing to listen to what I have to say.
He moves quickly, and with less than three steps, he’s right up on me, breathing hot and heavy in my face. I don’t flinch or back away, nor do I divert my eyes. Those are signs of fear, and they can get you dead if you’re in close quarters with the wrong person. Diesel’s not the wrong person, but he’s charged right now and I don’t want to make the situation worse. With my chin up and shoulders square, I stare unwaveringly into his eyes. And I wait until his eyes tell me he’s calmed down.
He slides one of his hands up the side of my bare leg and hooks a finger into the side of my panties. His lips part and his eyes are roaming my mostly naked frame. My hands shake as I reach up to remove his cut. He helps me slide it off his shoulders and down his arms. When I have his cut in my hands, I neatly fold it and place it on the table beside us.
“I was barely in high school when Amber got pregnant. It was long before you patched in. Wyatt was a real bastard back then. They were always breaking up and getting back together, until one fight was too awful for them to bounce back from. Amber left town, and I didn’t see her again until Zander was a toddler. I did the best thing I could think of at the time—I stayed out of it.”
Diesel’s down to just his jeans now. No shoes, no shirt, no cut. I trail a finger up the middle of his stomach, admiring his incredible muscles on the way, and then back down to the fly of his jeans. I unbutton them slowly and, while doing so, lean in and place a kiss on Diesel’s pec.
“I made a promise to my friend that I would never talk to Wyatt about her. As far as I know, he has no clue she and I are still friends, and I’ve liked it that way. Wyatt knew she was pregnant when she left.”
“You could have told me,” he says quietly as his jeans hit the floor. He runs his hands up and down my sides, then reaches around my back and unhooks my bra. I just shake my head because he’s wrong.
“No, I couldn’t have. You would have been obligated to tell your brothers. Fort Bragg doesn’t have enough bodies to keep our people in town safe. Wyatt’s a different man now. If I had told you at Izzy’s party that Wyatt’s son, whom he’s never met, has been kidnapped by a man he would torture and kill for fun, you would have taken it to the club. We both know they would drop everything and rush out to Detroit to save Zander.
“What would have happened to Holly? Or Mindy? She’s healing, but she’s still fragile. Cheyenne’s down in San Francisco with little protection as is. Alex gets hurt and my father died for nothing. I thought about this the entire way out here, and the only thing I could come up with was that the best way to keep my family safe is to keep this from them. Amber’s confident a few guys in Detroit are misguidedly loyal to Rig even though they swear they’re not, so they’re not an option. The wider this spreads, the more likely the chance that I end up getting my nephew killed.”