“Getting shot sucks,” Diesel grumbled. He’d watched Scarlett kick in the front door of the house supposedly owned by Leigh Gladwin, a seventy-year-old veteran of the Vietnam War. Dani had followed her in, against everyone’s wishes, especially Diesel’s. But she’d argued that if Evelyn and her baby were there, they might need her help, and Scarlett had reluctantly agreed.

But they’d been in the house for a long time. Actually it had been less than a minute, but it felt like a fucking long time.

Marcus chuckled. He was standing outside the Subaru, talking to Diesel through a lowered window. Diesel knew his friend really wanted to be at his wife’s side, but had stayed behind to keep Diesel safe. “That’s what you said the last time you got shot.”

Diesel pressed the heel of his hand to his chest, over the bullet that he’d carried for ten years. He’d gotten used to it, he realized. “It’s gonna be weird, not having it anymore,” he said, knowing Marcus would understand what he meant.

“I can’t believe you wouldn’t let Dad help you. You’re a real asshole, Diesel.”

“Yeah,” Diesel agreed. “It’s . . . I don’t know. It’s almost like I needed to keep it.”

Marcus looked at him sharply. “Why? So that I’d feel guilty all these years, knowing you were walking around with my bullet in your heart?”

Diesel blinked at him. “What? Why would you . . .” Oh. It had honestly never occurred to him, not in all these years, that Marcus would feel guilty that Diesel had taken a bullet meant for him. But it should have.

And maybe he had wanted Marcus to feel guilty. Or at least responsible. A little. No, not really. “I didn’t want you to feel guilty. But I did like being . . . part of you guys. Part of the family.” And the bullet had been his entrée. He’d earned his place at the O’Bannion family’s table.

Marcus was scowling at him. “You fucking asshole. Did you really think we only love you because you almost died for me? My God, Diesel. I can’t—” He yanked open Diesel’s door and leaned in so that they were nose to nose. “We love you for you, you idiot.” He hooked his hand around Diesel’s neck, then stilled, his touch gentling. “Sorry, man. You got me so mad that I forgot you were hurt.” He let him go, bracing his hands on the vehicle’s frame. “But tell me that you believe me that we don’t care about the damn bullet. We care about you.”

They love me for me. “I know.” He’d always known it, down deep.

“Do you?” Marcus shook his head. “Do you really? Goddammit, when you’re better, I’m going to kick your ass.”