Down & Dirty: Diesel (Dirty Angels MC Book 4)

by Jeanne St. James

Riiiiight.

  “I am.”

  “My man’s a mean biker, he’ll kick your ass.” Silence. Which made the skin on the back of her neck prickle. “He’s huge, too. Killed a man.”

  Oh, Jesus. If someone told her that, she’d be the one rolling her eyes.

  Jewel let out a yelp when the male voice came way too close to her ear and a hand wrapped around her bicep. “Well, we won’t tell him.”

  “The fuck I won’t!” she yelled desperately. The guy wore a baseball hat and it was too dark to see his features. She yanked at her arm, but he wouldn’t let go.

  No shit.

  “Got a place we can go.”

  “I’m fine where I’m at,” she assured him, trying to keep her voice steady since she was starting to unravel. This shit was getting serious. She yanked at her arm again. “Let me go!”

  Suddenly, she was yanked so hard that she found herself off balance and tumbled backwards, landing on her ass. All the oxygen escaped her lungs in a whoosh.

  “Get up, bitch.” The guy pulled at her.

  She pulled back. “Fuck you.”

  He pulled her harder. “Get the fuck up!”

  “No!”

  She needed to get a good kick in with her high-heeled boots right in his dick. Then he’d leave her alone. Once he was down, she’d sink one of those heels right into his eye socket.

  That’d teach him to fuck with her.

  She yelped again as he grabbed her hair and began to drag her over the ground.

  Her arms started flying as she tried to whack any part of his body she could make contact with. Which wasn’t much.

  Jesus. She really needed to learn self-defense.

  Then she heard the roar of the straight exhaust pipes and relief flowed through her. When the single headlight came at them at a high rate of speed, the relief quickly fled. She was going to get run over.

  She squeezed her eyes shut as the sled came to a sliding stop inches from them, the man was off the motorcycle and the guy who was trying to drag her away was no longer moving.

  Face meet fist.

  He was now flat out on his back, groaning. Even in the dark, Jewel knew Diesel was furious. She could feel the waves of controlled rage rolling off him. Good thing it wasn’t directed at her.

  “What the fuck you doin’?” D bellowed, grabbing her by the arm and hauling her to her feet.

  “Me?” she squeaked.

  “Yeah, fuckin’ you!” In the glow of the headlight, she didn’t miss him checking her out head to toe. “What the fuck you wearin’? Jesus fuckin’ Christ.”

  Jewel yanked her short skirt down, since in the tussle it had ridden up to her crotch. Good thing she had thrown on some panties before she left her apartment.

  “You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me. Your fuckin’ ass in a bad section of town, wearing that fuckin’ bullshit?”

  Jesus. She had thought she’d looked nice. Hot, even.

  Diesel stalked back over to the man on the ground, who was still groaning, holding onto his face, but trying to get to his knees.

  D pointed his finger her direction but was talking to the guy. Well, not actually talking, more like bellowing in a scary fashion. “You see this bitch again, run the other direction, got me? Not walk. Run. Otherwise, huntin’ your ass down. Got me?”

  The man put up his hand in surrender, then pushed shakily to his feet.

  “Now, get gone!” D yelled so loudly even Jewel winced.

  The man quickly stumbled away and once he was out of sight, D’s head swung in her direction.

  Uh oh.

  “Jesus fuckin’ Christ. How many times do I gotta bail your ass out of a jam, woman? How many?” He stalked over to her, grabbed her upper arm firmly and steered her toward his bike.

  She yanked at her arm. “I should’ve called Jag.”

  He didn’t release her until they stood next to his Harley. “Yeah, right. Do that next time. Sick of this shit.”

  Grumble. Grumble. Grumble. Jewel frowned. The man was nothing but a Debbie Downer.

  “How long you been out here?

  She shrugged. “A while.”

  “Ever think of callin’ a taxi?”

  “My wallet was in...” Shit.

  He eyeballed her. “In?”

  “The car,” she finished reluctantly.

  “Whose car?”

  Her mouth twisted.

  With a curse, he mounted his bike. “Get on my sled. Discussin’ this somewhere other than here.”

  “D, I don’t think I can straddle the bike in my skirt.”

  “Take it off.”

  Her eyes bugged out. “What?”

  “Take. It. Off.”

  “I’m only wearing a thong,” she whispered.

  He dropped his head and stared at his boot for a second, then two, then for more than thirty seconds.

  Finally, with a tight jaw, he shrugged his cut off his shoulders, ripped his T-shirt over his head and without even looking at her, held it out. “Put it on. Take that shit off, then burn it. Don’t want to see you in that again.”

  There was no way she was burning her skirt. It was cute and she looked good in it. She just wouldn’t wear it to church. Or the garage. Or in front of Diesel.

  With a sigh, she plucked the oversized tee from his fingers, yanked it over her head and then, after unzipping it, she shimmied out of her skirt. His T-shirt was so big she felt like she was wearing a muu-muu. It covered her practically to her knees.

  She wrinkled her nose. And it smelled funky. She couldn’t quite place it.

  “You done?”

  “Yeah,” she answered.

  “Then why we still sittin’ here?”

  After a slight hesitation, she climbed on behind him, grabbing onto his thick waist over his leather vest, which he had shrugged back on over his bare torso.

  Well, his anger would have to keep him warm on the ride back, she thought. At least she had his shirt covering her formerly bare legs since the nights were starting to cool down as they approached the end of summer.

  “Gotta hold tighter than that, woman. Otherwise, your ass is gonna be on the pavement.”

  With a sigh, Jewel wrapped her arms as much as she could around his waist and pressed her cheek to his back. She jerked her head back. She finally recognized the smell. “You and your shirt smell like pussy.”

  “Yep. Shit you get when you call me in the middle of the night.”

  “It’s morning.”

  “Like I said, middle of the fuckin’ night.” He kicked his starter and the bike roared to life, his straight pipes rumbling through the city streets, echoing off the rowhomes.

  Chapter Two

  He’d just fucked three bitches not more than an hour or so ago and now with Jewelee wrapped around his back, he had another fucking hard-on.

  Jesus.

  The fucking woman drove him crazy.

  He’d been doing everything he could to keep his hands off her for the past few months. That day he carried her upstairs to his room at church when she’d totally sent him into a tailspin by waiting for him outside of the restroom, he’d been a cunt hair away from doing just that. He’d lost his mind when he came out of the bathroom after fucking another nameless, faceless cunt and saw Jewel sitting at the end of the bar, arms crossed and looking like a pissed off little hellcat. But once he carried her upstairs and had thrown her onto his bed, the fog in his brain had cleared. Or at least enough for him to realize he couldn’t stick his dick in her after just fucking another woman. Hell, he couldn’t stick his dick in Jewel at all.

  Even though she had been sprawled on his bed where she landed, her tits heaving, her tempting, fuckable mouth parted, her blue eyes wide and her cheeks flushed, he couldn’t touch a hair on her head.

  Then it hit him, that if he did so, it would be the worst mistake of his life.

  So instead, he had taken a deep breath to get his shit together, bitten off a curse, turned on his heel, and stormed out of his room, slamming the d
oor behind him.

  That was the closest he’d ever come to losing his shit around her. It could never happen again. But now with her clinging to his back, her tits pressed against him, and her pussy nestled tightly against his ass as they headed toward Shadow Valley, the thoughts running through his head were the same ones he’d been trying to fight.

  He had to remain strong and not slip, or he’d be fucked.

  Or she’d end up good and fucked. What a goddamn mess that would be.

  He was still torqued about what she’d been wearing tonight, too. A way-too-short skirt, fuck-me high-heeled boots, a snug top that bared both shoulders and showed most of her cleavage. Large gold hoops hung from her ears and another smaller hoop circled the side of her nostril.

  His jaw tightened and he ground his back molars. She’d been out trolling for strange. And if he hadn’t shown up in time, she might have gotten some strange she hadn’t bargained for.

  His nostrils flared and he twisted the throttle harder, causing the bike to lurch forward with the sudden increase in speed. They were just minutes from his pop’s pawn shop where Jewel now lived in the apartment above. She’d moved in a couple weeks ago after Jag and Ivy got a house and moved out.

  He would have preferred that Jewel remained living with her mother, Ruby. Because now that she lived on her own, she could bring all kinds of strange home.

  Jesus fuckin’ Christ.

  He took the corner into the alley fast enough that Jewel had to hold on even tighter, then he rolled his sled into the side lot of the pawn shop and parked his bike at the base of the metal stairway that led up to her place.

  He kicked the stand down, shut the engine off and sat staring up the steps.

  He was going to take her upstairs, get her inside safely, get his shirt back and then get gone.

  That’s what he was going to fucking do.

  Doing anything else would mean complications and drama. And he liked simple. Clean. Neat. Nothing holding him back. Nothing holding him down.

  “Get off,” he ordered.

  With an irritated sigh, Jewel dismounted from the bike, then stood there, his worn Ocean City Bike Week T-shirt just about swallowing her whole. It hit hard how much smaller she was than him. About half his size.

  He followed her off the bike and stood next to her. She was on the smaller side of all the DAMC women, a whole foot shorter than his six-foot-four.

  She might look delicate and petite in his oversized shirt, but he knew better. Her attitude and personality was pure DAMC, one hundred percent biker bitch. She wasn’t afraid of shit. And she had a mouth on her that would curl a preacher’s hair.

  His gaze dropped to that mouth and he ground his teeth to remind himself he couldn’t touch her.

  “Let’s go,” he barked, grabbing her arm. Before he could get a good grip on it, she yanked free and huffed toward the metal steps. When she started hoofing it up the stairs in those high-heeled boots, her hips rocked and rolled, making it impossible to miss the jiggle of her ass under his tee.

  Jesus fuckin’ Christ. He rolled his eyes upward to the early dawn sky and sucked in lungs full of the cool morning air.

  When he finally heard her hit the landing, he moved. Taking the steps two at a time, he kept repeating in his head: she’s not mine, she’s not mine, she’s not mine.

  He followed on her heels as she unlocked the door and entered the dark apartment.

  A couple of steps in, she turned, planted her hands on her hips and said, “Thanks. You can go now.”

  He shook his head, shut the door firmly, twisted the dead bolt and pushed past her to the middle of the small living room. She hit the switch by the door and the room lit up.

  When he glanced around, he noticed that Ivy had left her furniture for Jewel so the apartment was fully furnished. But even so, it had definitely changed. Jewel had put her own touches on the place. She loved Harleys and the MC life as much as any of the brothers and her decorative touch certainly showed that she was a complete biker babe meant to be on the back of some brother’s bike.

  Just not his.

  “You can go now,” she repeated, staying near the door.

  He shook his head again. “Gotta talk.”

  She faked a yawn. “Too tired. We’ll talk later.”

  “Didn’t want to deal with the shit, shouldn’t have called me.”

  She shrugged. “My mistake.”

  “Woman,” he growled.

  “Fine,” she huffed and moved closer to the couch to toss her skirt she’d been carrying onto one of the cushions.

  That thing needed to be burned. The skirt, not the couch.

  “Fuckin’ looked like one of Dawg’s girls,” he muttered.

  “Just your type,” she muttered back.

  His jaw tightened and so did his chest. Dawg’s strippers were only a means to an end. But he kept that to himself, since she was smart enough to figure that out on her own. Not that he gave a shit.

  “Start talkin’.”

  “About what?” she asked, her face suddenly looking innocent.

  Which was total fucking bullshit because she was anything but innocent. Her ass was always scheming, trying to find ways to get into trouble.

  Drove him fucking nuts.

  “Talk!” he barked so loudly he didn’t miss her body jerk in response.

  “D—”

  “Went to score drugs?”

  Her blue eyes bugged out. “No!”

  “Went to score strange then?”

  Her hesitation was telling. He struggled to keep a lid on his temper.

  “No,” she whispered.

  He didn’t believe it. “For fuck’s sake, is this why you weren’t at the party at church?”

  “I get tired of that shit sometimes. I wanted to do something different.”

  “What, gettin’ some strange?” he asked again.

  “I said no, D. Jesus!”

  “He ain’t gonna help you.” He took a step closer and she quickly scrambled around the couch, putting it in between them. “Who fuckin’ drove you there?”

  She bit her bottom lip and avoided his eyes.

  “Jewelee, ain’t screwin’ around here,” he warned. “Gonna find out. Might as well tell me.”

  She pressed her hands over her face, then sighed. “Kelsea,” she said softly.

  Jesus fuck. Kelsea. Another one who was always looking for trouble. And though his cousin wasn’t much younger than Jewel, she still acted like a teenager and tended to hang around with a bunch of young partiers.

  “An’ she left you?”

  “Yeah.”

  For fuck’s sake. “Need to worry ‘bout her?”

  Jewel’s eyes slid to the side. “No.”

  “She gettin’ strange?

  “No.”

  His mouth got tight. He was going to have a sit-down with his cousin. She needed to learn that she didn’t leave a DAMC sister in a bad section of the city in the middle of the night. Specially to get laid. “She fuckin’ someone on the regular?”

  Jewel’s gaze dropped to the floor. “Yeah.”

  “Who?”

  “Can’t—”

  “Who?” he shouted and took another step forward.

  Jewel’s narrowed eyes landed on him and she didn’t step back this time. Instead, she rounded the couch and got into his face with her hands on her hips.

  “One of the hang-arounds. Gotta ask her. It’s not for me to say, D. You wanna know who your cousin is fucking, you...” She jabbed him in the chest with her finger. “Ask...” Jabbed him again. “Her.”

  Diesel grabbed her hand, pulled her close and pinned her against his chest. He stared down into her face, her eyes flashing, her breathing rapid. He wrapped his hand around her chin, tilted her head up and held her gaze. “Know her reason now. What’s yours?”

  Her baby blues shifted.

  “Eyes on me,” he demanded.

  And, fuck him, if she didn’t comply. After holding her gaze for a few moments, he h
ad to ignore the fire that burned in his gut. He also ignored his dick trying to punch a hole in his jeans.

  She’s not mine, she’s not mine, she’s not mine.

  Ain’t gonna make her mine, either. Too much other snatch out there without strings.

  “Woman.”

  Jewel blinked slowly, her mouth opened, closed, then opened again. Her words came out in a whisper. “I was trying to keep an ear out for Squirrel Dick and that soon-to-be-dead fucker Black Jack.”

  His body lurched. She was doing what?

  His fingers tightened on her chin and she winced. He didn’t care. She needed to pay careful attention to his next words.

  “Leave that shit to me. Got my crew on it. Got the Knights keepin’ an eye out. Don’t need you gettin’ in the middle of shit.”

  “D—”

  “No. Fuckin’ listen, woman. Stay outta that shit. Got me?” When she flattened her lips, his blood pressure skyrocketed. She wasn’t getting it. “You forget what they did to Jazz? To Kiki?”

  “No.”

  “Want that shit to happen to you?” And, hell, it almost did tonight. Maybe not by a Warrior, but there were plenty of other predators out there. He’d never forget the sight of finding Kiki and Jazz in an abandoned house after being beaten to the point of being unrecognizable. Jazz being raped and having “SWMC” carved into her belly with a knife. Shit he’d never forget and still haunted him when he tried to sleep.

  He also couldn’t forget the sight of Bella after what happened to her. She’d been left just as broken and scarred as Kiki and Jazz but by someone who was supposed to have loved her.

  He’d never forget any of that shit because it was burned permanently into his brain, as well as his soul.

  If that shit happened to Jewel, too...

  “No, D.”

  “Stay the fuck outta it. Ain’t fuckin’ with you, Jewel. Tan your fuckin’ hide, you do this shit again.”

  “You can’t tan my hide.”

  His heart pounded like a drum in his chest. “Try me,” he ground out.

  With a strangled voice, she whispered, “Your beast is showing.”

  His nostrils flared and he sucked in a breath. She had started calling him that just months ago. She was trying to get him to his breaking point. He wasn’t going to let her push him to that. No, he wasn’t.