by Em Petrova
Rain loomed on the horizon, a steely gray band that seemed to constrict not only the air but Diesel’s mood.
He had to get the hell out of here and take his thundercloud of a bad mood elsewhere instead of sharing it with his brothers.
As he straightened from the wall and started across the parking lot, his phone buzzed. Ignoring it, he took two more steps and swung his leg over his bike. His phone kept buzzing.
“Dammit,” he ground out and ripped the phone from the inside pocket of his leather cut.
He stared at the screen. Then his heart gave a wild flip as thoguh he was about to wreck his bike.
He knew that number the same way he knew his own face in the mirror.
Selena.
Love of his damn life. Gone from his arms too soon.
She left him in the night without a damn word. That was a month ago, and despite his attempts to reach her, his calls went completely ignored. Now she wanted his attention?
Fuck that. Fuck her.
He hit mute on his phone and stuffed it into his cut. When he revved the engine of his Harley, he couldn’t make it loud enough to drown out the voices in his head telling him to respond to her call. After all, she was finally reaching out to him—wasn’t it better late than never?
He stuffed that way down, burying it along with the memories of their time together and her beautiful dark eyes. Or all those long talks night after night. Or the stolen moments where he showed up at her house, kissed her before he even said hello and carried her off to bed…
Never again. Nobody played him for a fool twice.
He hit the gas and shot out of the parking lot of the Dark Falcons club, headed east. Where he ended up, he had no damn clue.
Diesel wasn’t afraid of anything. But the more miles he put behind him, the more restlessness followed him. It wedged itself into his chest and rode there like a hundred-pound weight.
Maybe he was afraid of something. Maybe he was fucking terrified of it.
Dammit—he’d never be able to outrun his feelings for the woman who owned his heart.
THE END
