Page 58 of Dash

He doesn’t say another word as we eat in silence, and the burger sits in my gut like a stone as I climb back on my bike.

The rest of the day drags like a corpse behind me. Diesel doesn’t speak again, only to threaten or demand clients. By the time we head to the last business, my kutte is stuffed with cash envelopes and all I’m thinking about is that Dayna gets off work in an hour.

I can’t wait to kiss her, to wrap my arms around her and feel her heat.

Our last job of the day is one of those themed bars. It’s got an Irish name over the door, though I doubt the guy who owns it has ever left England.

He is bending down to get the money out of the safe behind the bar when it happens.

The noise punches through the quiet like a hammer blow.

Glass sprays everywhere as the front window obliterates and bullets spray into the bar.

Diesel drags me down, my knees barking as they hit the floor. My head bounces off the tile as he flattens beside me, covering his head.

My stomach pitches.

I’m not carrying. I have some blades on me, but nothing that can take down guns.

The attack feels like it takes an eternity to end, and when it does, the silence is louder than the shooting. My breaths are loud in my ears, adrenaline pulsing through my veins.

Diesel stands cautiously. Glass crunches under his feet as he moves to the window and peers out onto the street.

“Fuck,” he growls.

I lever myself up onto my hands and knees, blinking through my rolling vision. My head is throbbing in time with my heartbeat.

“He dead?” Blood drips into my left eye, and I wipe it away, wincing as my fingers brush over a cut just above my eyebrow. I don’t even remember getting hurt.

Diesel curses, not in English. I don’t have a fucking clue what language it is, but I know the tone. Pissed-off. We’re meant to protect our clients from this shit. It’s why they pay us.

“Fin,” he snaps the name, and after a moment, the guy emerges, wide-eyed.

“Were they shooting at us? Were they… oh,fuck. Why were they shooting?” he wails.

The hysteria in his tone sends his voice an octave higher and it’s like blades through my skull.

“Breathe,” Diesel mutters in a tone that suggests he doesn’t give a fuck if he breathes or not.

Fin waves a hand towards the blown window and the destruction around it. “You almost got me killed! Who’s going toclean this up? There’s glass and blood everywhere. I thought you were supposed to stop stuff like this from happening!”

He has a point. In the past, our protection meant something.

But now…

Our chapter has become a joke in our own territory. Every day, our enemies push the boundaries, test our limits, and this… this is a sign.

This is a middle finger to Crank and Grub. And what’s worse is we all know our president won’t respond.

If this had happened at any other chapter, blood would run in the streets.

“I don’t know why I pay you. The Sons clearly can’t protect me anymore.”

I should knock his teeth down his throat. I would, but my limbs feel like spaghetti and the headache blooming behind my eyes is hammering through my temple now.

I grip the nearest object—the edge of a table—intending to say something, but Diesel moves like a whip.

His hand wraps around Fin’s throat, and he slams him face-down on the bar. It’s another side of him, the one everyone expects to see, and fuck, he plays the role well. If I was Fin, I’d shit my pants. Diesel looks like he clawed his way out of hell even on a good day.

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