Home > Diesel's Perseverance Insurgents MC

Diesel's Perseverance Insurgents MC
Author: Chiah Wilder






The wind thrashed through the trees while rain pelted against the windows. She was on her knees cleaning up the mess, so much bleach it burned her eyes and gave her coughing fits. There was so much blood. She wasn’t sure what had happened, but the fact that Freddy had disappeared meant that he’d done something devastating and had left her behind to deal with the fallout.

The last time she’d heard from him, he was in San Diego. He promised to send for her, but she doubted that he would. Looking down at the bleached-out spots on the hardwood floor, a mixture of emotions swirled inside her: fear, disbelief, anger, sadness, confusion. A few days before, she’d made up her mind to leave Freddy. The man she’d fallen in love with three years earlier had been changing for the last year in disturbing ways. The final straw was the beating he’d given her just a week ago. So much has changed since then. She’d planned to steal away from him while he was at work, but fear kept her from taking concrete action. But now he’d screwed up big time, and this was the window of opportunity she’d been waiting for.

But he could be in trouble. It seemed that Freddy had gotten mixed up with the wrong kind of people for the past two years. He’d assured her all was good, and when she’d asked how they could afford a mansion in one of the most affluent neighborhoods in Denver, he’d simply laughed, pulled her close to him, and told her that he finally got the break he’d been waiting for all his life. He never mentioned what “the break” was, but she suspected it had something to do with the pain clinics he’d opened. Dr. Stauber seemed like a decent enough guy. He reminded her of the type of dad she would’ve liked to have had, but when she met Peter Cano last year, he’d given her the creeps right off the bat. She’d told Freddy about it, and he’d laughed and said she was being silly, but her gut feelings were usually right. She’d spent most of her twenty-six years trusting in those vibes.

The sound of her cell phone ringing interrupted her thoughts. She jumped up and hurried over to the wet bar.


“Where’s the fucker?” a gruff voice said, causing chills to run up her spine.

“You have the wrong number.”

“No, baby, I’ve got the right number, and if you want to keep breathing, you’ll tell me where that coward is.”

A sick feeling twisted in the pit of her stomach. “I don’t know where he is,” she croaked out.

“Don’t fuck with me.”

“I’m not.” She recognized the voice now: it was Peter Cano. “I came home, and he was gone.”

“He didn’t call you?”


“I’m not believing any of this, baby. Let’s you and me have a nice talk in person.”

“I’m not home.”

“I don’t wanna hurt you, but I’m gonna find that asshole one way or the other. Did you know he was gonna do it?”

“Do what?”

“Kill my brother.”

She glanced over at the blood on the floor. “Freddy did what?”

“I’m not buying your act, baby. I’ll be in touch.”

The line went dead. Rising panic clawed its way up her throat. What the hell did you do, Freddy? How could you kill anyone? Trying to remain calm, she took several deep breaths. Maybe you had to. Maybe it was self-defense.

She rushed into the storage room, pulled out two big suitcases, and threw clothing, toiletries, and ten large jewelry pouches into them. She dashed around like a mad woman, trying to find as much money as she could. Freddy loved to put spare change and dollar bills in jars that he’d stash around the house.

After thirty minutes, she backed out the BMW Freddy had bought her the year before for her birthday, jumped on the freeway heading west, and hit the accelerator.

The only place she could think of going was Pinewood Springs. Freddy’s brother lived there. She’d corresponded with him when he was doing time in the penitentiary. They’d actually become friends through the numerous letters they’d exchanged.

Diesel will know what to do. Damn you, Freddy.

She turned on the radio and glanced in the rearview mirror to make sure she wasn’t being followed.

As the lights of the city lights fell behind her and houses gave way to clumps of evergreens, she began to relax. Once again, her life had been upended. She sighed. Nothing ever seemed to work out for the long haul. She leaned back against the seat and rolled down the window. The cool night air washed over her as she drove toward the unknown.



Chapter One



Diesel leaned back in the chair and counted the wad of bills in his hand.

“How much you won off those puny assholes?” Rags asked before bringing a bottle of beer to his lips.

“Almost a grand.”

Rags shook his head. “They never learn that we can kick their asses each and every time.”

“And you know they’re gonna tell their buddies I hustled them. Like I need to hustle drunk college kids,” he said, shoving the money into his pocket.

“Asswipes shouldn’t play pool if they can’t handle their liquor,” Rags said as he placed the empty beer bottle down on one of the high tables lining the billiard area.

Nodding, Diesel kept his gaze focused on the three men who hadn’t looked at Rags and him since they slinked away after their loss. They knew better than to eyeball him or give him, or any Insurgent for that matter, any lip.

A few of the chicks who came in with the dudes had rushed to the far side of the bar when the three games were over. Two of them, one blonde and one brunette, looked at him sideways-like, acting like they were glancing at something else, but he knew better. Diesel was just what they wanted, just what they needed—a hard ride with the right amount of roughhouse so they could tell their nice-and-proper friends all about it on the front porch of their daddies’ mansions on the hill. He saw how the brunette’s gaze skimmed over his broad shoulders and firm biceps. She was so fucking transparent.

“A table’s opened up over there,” Rags said as he stood up and walked away.

Diesel looked over his shoulder and found Rags sitting at a table near the bar. Without a second glance at the chick, he sauntered over and plopped down into a chair.

“Beau said our food’s coming. Did you notice that brown-haired chick checking you out? The skinny one keeps staring at me and turning away when I look back.” He chuckled. “Maybe we should fuck those dudes’ chicks, too.”

“Not interested.”

“Why not? You got something better?”

“Nah. It’s just that any night of the week, I can go into a bar, pool hall, or anywhere, and there’ll be women like that wanting some action with a biker.”

Rags shrugged. “That’s one of the perks of being an Insurgent. I’m not seeing a problem with that.”

“Too easy.”

Rags guffawed. “Since when is that a drawback? You’ve been fucking up a storm ever since you got out of the pen. You must’ve smoked some bad weed, bro, ’cause you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Here you go, sugar—Tex Mex burger, medium, extra guac, and jalapeños.” The redheaded waitress leaned down low enough to give Diesel an unobstructed view of her generous cleavage. “Do you want me to freshen up that drink for you?” The tip of her tongue skimmed the top of her glossy lip.

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