Page 17 of Diesel

“Does your uncle know about the voices?”

Diesel shook his head. “I told him about it a few years ago. He didn’t say much, but I could tell he knew something by the look on his face. The whole family has been messed up for years. Way before me.”

I didn’t want to jinx it, but I noticed Diesel had quit cursing so much. He also seemed happier. We were both more comfortable.

“What do you want to happen between us, baby?” I asked. Sometimes, you throw the question out there and see what happens.

“You sure you can handle this life, G?” He pulled back on the reins, and the horses slowed. “It’s never as easy as it is right now. Most of the time, it’s chaos.”

“I’ve heard enough over the years from Skittles to know how hard the life is. But she says the good times far outweigh the bad times. I know there are things I won’t have. Comforts that I won’t get. But I’m okay with that.” I almost told him I was in love with him, which trumped everything I would have to do without.

“To answer your question, I want someone stable. Someone who doesn’t mind the club life and, most of all, can handle me. I’m not asking you to fix me or break me like a wild horse. I mean, accept who and what I am. I want a woman who loves me for me.”

“You don’t think I’ll hang around after Boston?” I asked.

Diesel looked ahead down the path we were following. He still wasn’t convinced we could put Boston behind us and be happy. Whatever this voice was telling him trumped my encouragement. “Before leaving Pine Bluff, I spent hours reading family letters. Every man in the Usher lineage had the same problem I have—the voices. Every man but my uncle went batshit crazy and died doing something stupid. Several took their own lives. This is the part people don’t know about.”

“You’re not going to be like them, Diesel. I won’t let you. That’s why I’m here with you.” I noticed a group of women turn away from the horses they were grooming to look at Diesel. They smiled, but he ignored them. I was pretty sure the old Diesel would have jumped off the horse and tried to fuck them all. I couldn’t let him down. “I didn’t think there was much of a family tree?”

Diesel chuckled, his horse bumping mine. He reached over and patted my leg, his large hand squeezing my thigh, his touch melting my soul. He shifted backward and put his arm around me. Before I could say anything, he had me in front of him, his arms around me, hands on the reins. Damn, it felt good to be in his arms. He latched my horse’s reins to his saddle, and it followed us.

“Like I said, the Ushers got around.”

“Is it a creepy house?”

“If you expect a haunted house, you won’t be disappointed.”

We rode through the trees for another twenty minutes, silent. Locked in Diesel’s arms, I’d never felt so safe.

“It’s quite out here, G.”

I leaned against Diesel’s shoulder, and his right hand dropped from the reins to my thigh. Lips touched my ear. Eyes closed, a warm breeze brushed my neck. Fingers danced around my waistband, slipping between skin and cloth. A finger found my slit and gently rubbed, gently played. I refused to open my eyes, trusting the man holding me, trusting he would lead us into bliss. His finger worked downward, back and forth across the wetness, pressing gently, again going down and down. Two fingers entered the wetness, spreading, the pressure driving me insane. He worked a finger in and out, the horse beginning to bounce up and down as its pace quickened.

“You gonna come on my finger, G?”

“Yes, baby. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

“You’re my girl, G. You’re always going to be my girl.”

The horse moved to a trot, bouncing me up and down, Diesel sliding a second finger inside me, flicking, pressing, groping.

“Fuck, Diesel.”

“My girl, G. My girl. Get it, baby.”

The explosion caused the horse to stop. Wetness ran down the saddle, and Diesel kept me upright.

“Fuck, baby.”

Diesel slid his wet fingers out and pressed them against my lips. I suckled his fingers, and then he turned my head, licking my lips.

“You’re my girl, G.”

When we returned to the stables, I saw the car sitting in the parking lot. I showed the picture to Diesel again and then pointed at the car. Tinted windows prevented us from seeing inside. “They’re following us.”

Diesel started an all-out sprint to the parking lot, but the car managed to peel its way out. He looked at the bike and then at me, a decision working in his mind. Go after the car and leave me behind, or let the car go. Hands on hips, he watched the car leave.

“It had Arkansas plates,” Diesel said. “Couldn’t see who was driving.”

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