He hoped not, but he just didn’t know. He had an uncontrollable self-destructive gene.
Fia sniffled. “Don’t do this. You can fuck me in the ass if you take me back to the club.”
“I won’t turn you down, but you’re not changing my mind. If you’re still willing to give me ass later, then we’ll party.”
“If you fuck Tommi, I’ll never fuck you again,” she spat.
“Bitch, please. It isn’t as if I need your pussy. Yours is one of many I fuck.”
“You’re a selfish asshole.”
“But a good lover. I don’t get off until I make you come two or three times.”
She swiped her cheeks. “I can’t believe Nyx is dead,” she said in a small voice, changing the subject. Her turned down mouth indicated she didn’t want to, but she knew Diesel had finished discussing the issue.
“I can. Her fucking brain was useless. She wouldn’t learn.”
“She was my friend.”
“She was an annoying cunt.”
“How can you say that? You fucked her a lot. You fucked her less than an hour before her death.”
“And?”
“It doesn’t bother you that you saw her ecstasy face, came in her, licked her pussy sometimes, and now she’s just gone?”
“Not one fucking bit. Sex is a part of life. Like death.”
“Sex leaves you open and vulnerable.”
“Not me. My end goal is emptying my nuts. That’s it.” Once again, he thought of Jana. She was vulnerable. It was bad enough she’d be in Rebel’s path. He wouldn’t allow the club girls to harass her.
One thing at a time.
“Turn at that stoplight,” Fia said morosely, pointing. “Can I become an official club girl?” she asked as Diesel made the turn.
“I don’t see why you can’t. When’s your twenty-first birthday?”
“Late summer.”
“I’ll talk to Outlaw.”
“Thank you.”
Ten minutes later, Diesel pulled in front of a small house in one of Hortensia’s older neighborhoods. Rundown and ramshackle, it was just the type of place he’d grown up in.
By the time he exited the car, Fia had reached the porch. The women he dealt with knew better than to expect chivalry from him. He only gave that to Jana, in desperate need of kindness.
“Fia!” a girl cried. “I thought you were joking, sis.”
Diesel climbed the two steps and followed Fia into the warmth of the house. “I don’t joke about shit like that, Tommi,” she grumbled.
Tommi lived here with two other sisters—one two years older and the other five years younger. The four sisters had lived together, until a few months ago when Tommi slept with one of Fia’s boyfriends, and Fia moved to the trailer park.
Diesel took in the old furniture, cracked walls, and peeling paint. Brown water spots dotted the ceiling. It was small and oppressive. Despite the bowl of potpourri on the rickety coffee table, a wet, moldy scent permeated the air.
But for the grace of God, this could’ve been him.
