Gloria stood in the bedroom door, arms folded as she glared at him and tapped her foot. Her short fuse was burning down; she was ready to explode any moment. Diesel knew it and kept his eyes averted. Maybe he could get away before she got all the way worked up. He zipped the bag shut, grabbed the suitcase from beside the bed, and started for the door. “I see you took your arsenal,” she said. “So?” “I want to know where you’re going.” As she spoke, she stood away from the doorframe and blocked the doorway just as he arrived at it. He had to stop or drive over her. He wasn’t ready for that—not yet. He raised his eyes to the heavens, a charade of seeking patience from God. Then he backed away from her. “Please lemme go, baby. I don’t wanna fight.” It was as true as anything he’d ever said. He would brawl while choking on his own blood. He would fight anybody who walked the earth—but he was gun-shy of Gloria.
