Page 235 of Ruptured
Through the window, he saw the grays and pinks of early morning. His gaze fell on the trash can filled with paper.
He couldn’t leave anything to chance. Besides, Diesel was enjoying himself. It felt like a game of cat and mouse, and the roles were constantly changing.
Grabbing the trash can, he started in the hallway again, but voices stopped him. Murderous fuckheads were entirely too animated. He waited until they faded again, crept back into the utility room, and lit the paper inside the trashcan with his lighter.
Diesel walked back to the side table, where he’d seen the keys. Laughter and loud voices boomed from the conference room, turning his stomach. He grinned when he spotted the keys, strolled to the partially open door, and slammed it shut.
“Who’s there?” Laurent demanded.
Diesel bent the key, the scent of smoke filling his nose. Those assholes might have cell phones, so he remained quiet, ran to the room with his escape window, and exited without interruption.
Diesel had slept little since he’d arrived in Los Angeles, too busy planning logistics, corralling fuckheads, and visiting Freya, Father Wilkins, and Rule.
But now that he’d completed the job, his adrenaline crashed. He needed five or six hours of sleep before he got on the road. Once he ate his burger, fries, and milkshake he bought on the way to the motel, he showered, though he didn’t shave and wouldn’t until he returned to Hortensia.
He expected to fall asleep the moment he fell into bed. Unfortunately, his last encounter with Rebel reared its ugly head. Of course that little bitch would torment him. If he could get his hands on her, he’d shake her again.
Although he liked her idea better.
Groaning, he snatched his fucking pillow and pitched it, accidentally knocking over the lamp on the dresser.
Sitting up, he considered finding a drug hookup then dismissed that idea. He needed to get home. Besides, he wasdoing good. Despite his craving, he was weathering the storm, so he wouldn’t fall off that bandwagon.
No matter how much Rebel fucked with him.
“Fuck her,” he snarled, and punched the mattress. “Motherfucking brat. Immature. Childish. Spoiled. Mean-spirited. Temperamental.Underaged. Fuck. HER!”
The ringing of his cell phone broke through his angry rant. Not bothering to identify the caller, he answered. “What?”
Ice cubes clinking against glass greeted him. “Who put the bee in your fucking britches, Diesel?”
Diesel had heard the voice at some point, but he couldn’t place where or when. “Who the fuck is this and what the fuck do you want?”
“Bash, and for you to stay married to Tabitha.”
“Bash Caldwell?” he managed, startled.
“You can call me Uncle Bash if you’d like. As Outlaw’s son and all.”
“What do you want?” Diesel demanded, in no mood for the motherfucker’s games.
“Your cooperation, nephew. What else?”
“With Tabitha?”
“Did I not say that? You’re starting to show you’re related to Johnnie.”
“Fuck you. That’s a great goddamn insult. Perhaps, you’re showing yours,” Diesel snapped. “Why the fuck are you so interested in Tabitha and I if you aren’t related to her? You sent that cunt to spy and you sent that motherfucker to force me to your fucking will. Newsflash: I hate that cunt. I’d just as soon stomp her than fuck her.”
Bash crunched on something. “Ahhh. Delicious.” He smacked his lips together. “What if I told you sweet little Meggie isn’t in danger but Jana is if you don’t take Tabitha back?”
“I’d say fuck you because you’re playing games.”
“I’ll tell you my truth if you tell me yours.”
“If it’s about Tabitha, save it. Tell me Molly’s location. Then I’ll listen.”
Bash snickered. “Molly will be taken care of soon enough. She’s the wrong cunt to worry about. First you disrespect Tabitha with Rebel and now, Jana. Shame, shame, shame. You’re making Uncle Bash very unhappy.”
