TANK: Lords of Carnage MC

by Daphne Loveling

  And the only way not to go down that route is to not to get on the goddamn train in the first place. Which means avoiding the chicks that are trouble.

  In my case, that means staying away from Cady, at least until my dick starts listening to reason. Yeah, she’s got Little Tank’s attention, all right. But there’s nothing she could offer me in the sex department that any one of the club girls can’t provide. And the club girls have the added advantage of being available whenever I want them, and knowing when to fuck off when I tell them to. No strings attached.

  Which still leaves me with the giant problem of finding someone to watch Wren more long-term. Until I tell the MC about Wren, I can’t ask any of the old ladies for help on this. But it ain’t something I want out there in the open right now. I don’t know how long Wren’s gonna be with me, and I don’t need my nosy-ass brothers butting into my personal fuckin’ business. So for now, the club is out as far as figuring out a solution to my babysitting problem.

  Today I’ve got a neighbor down the street watching Wren for a few hours again. Her name’s Tanya. She’s divorcing from her dirtbag husband, who used to live in the house with her until about five, six months ago. She’s decent enough. We hooked up a couple times — probably at least once too many, because she’s been hinting at a repeat performance lately. Which, no. It ain’t ideal to have her watch Wren, but today I was in a bind and didn’t have a choice.

  I pull into the parking lot of my last stop before heading back to the clubhouse: Club Haven. It’s a strip club the Lords of Carnage bought and opened at the edge of Tanner Springs a few months ago. The MC has had such good success with the Smiling Skull — the biker bar we own that Angel’s wife Jewel manages — that Angel and our VP, Beast, started looking for another business property to invest in, closer to home.

  We ended up buying a languishing former supper club in a building next to a strip mall. The owner was Jim Zimmerman, the same guy who owns the Lion’s Tap bar downtown. He bought it intending to restore it to its former glory, but he got overextended and couldn’t make the payments. He was short on payin’ his protection money to the club anyway, so we forgave the loan as part of the deal and took it off him for a song. The place still has the original L-shaped marble bar, which is its main claim to elegance. The rest of it is pretty run-down, though we’re working on that. Still, the men who come in here to drink and ogle aren’t exactly lookin’ at the color of the walls or the condition of the furniture.

  Geno, our club treasurer, is managing Club Haven for now. He wasn’t crazy about taking on the job, which surprised me, since it basically involves two things he loves: crunching numbers and hot women. I’m pretty sure Angel chose Geno because he trusts him to keep a clear, stark line drawn in the sand about what Club Haven is and isn’t.

  It is a strip joint. It’s not a fuckin’ whore house.

  “I ain’t gonna be a pimp, and I ain’t gonna have this club be in the business of sellin’ pussy,” Angel declared when we were in church nailing down the details. I still remember the hard, angry look on his face as he stared each of us down around the table.

  “The women we hire for Club Haven are there because they wanna work,” he snarled. “They’re employees. Not our customers’ personal fuckin’ playthings. They are for looking at — not for touching — unless they say so. Any customer — or any member of this MC — who doesn’t understand that gets the shit kicked out of him and gets tossed out onto the fuckin’ pavement. Is everyone crystal fuckin’ clear on that?”

  Even though Angel didn’t say anything about it at the time, I was pretty sure he was thinking about his wife Jewel as he spoke. Jewel used to work in a strip club herself, back before she came to work as a bartender for the Lords of Carnage years ago. I’m not sure if she had anything to say about the Lords opening Club Haven, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she had some strong opinions for Angel about it.

  Either way, I agree with Angel. Only fuckin’ assholes and pussies force women to do shit they don’t wanna do. And we have extra security at the club to make sure those fuckers don’t get very far if they try.

  Geno’s standing by the bar as I walk into Haven. He’s talking to a chick bartender named Cherry. He’s got a pair of reading glasses propped up on the top of his bald head, and a frown on his face.

  “Geno!” I call as I approach the bar. He turns and gives me a chin lift in greeting.

  “Hey, Tank!” Cherry smiles, giving me a wink and a smile as red as her name.

  “Hey darlin’.”

  “What are you drinking?”

  “Just give me a Coke, will ya? I’m thirsty as fuck.”

  “Will do.”

  Geno turns to me. “You’re not usually here during the week. Angel send you?”

  I nod. “I was in the neighborhood. He wanted me to pick up the cash from the safe on my way back to the clubhouse.”

  He nods. “Good deal. That’s one less thing for me to deal with later. You want it now, or you gonna stick around for a while?”

  “I’ll take it now. I gotta head.”

  “Okay. I’ll be a few minutes. I wanna close out some stuff first. Hang tight.”

  I take a seat at the bar. Cherry brings me my Coke, shoots the shit with me for a minute, then glides away to help another customer down the bar. I swivel my chair toward the stage as I settle in to wait for Geno.

  The stripper on stage right now is doing some sort of pole routine thing to a song I’ve never heard before. Some techno beat thing. I’ve never seen this girl before, so she must be new. The first thing I notice is that she has hair like Cady’s. Sort of in between a dark blond and soft brown. Cady’s is wavier than this girl’s, and less styled — the stripper chick has pumped hers up and sprayed it within an inch of its life.

  As for the rest of her, she doesn’t look a thing like Cady, with her drawn-on black eyebrows, dramatic smokey eye shadow, and long, red nails. As she gyrates on stage, swiveling her hips and licking her glossy lips as she tosses her hair over her shoulder, I know I should be getting off on the spectacle, but instead, all I can see is Cady. And how she’d look if she was glancing over her shoulder at me like that, one eye raised, lips parted…

  Fuck, I’m hard.

  “Hey, brother!” Striker comes over and slaps me on the back. He’s holding a bottle of beer in his hand. “Didn’t know you were here!”

  “Just got here,” I reply over the music. “Checkin’ in with Geno for Angel. I’m on my way back to the clubhouse from collecting some protection money.”

  “You like the new hire?” Striker grins, nodding toward the chick on stage. “She’s got an ass on her, don’t she? And tits that could make your mouth water.”

  “She ain’t bad,” I say noncommittally. “Where’s she from?”

  “Who knows?” Striker snorts. “All’s I know is, she goes by Destiny. She got hired at the same time as her sister, who calls herself Deja. She’s over there, with Jude.”

  Striker points over to a dark corner. Sure enough, Jude — Angel’s nineteen-year-old brother-in-law and a recent prospect to the club — is getting a lap dance from a chick in a pink spangled body suit and matching platform heels.

  I have to chuckle. “Shit, he looks like he just died and went to stripper heaven.”

  “No shit, the lucky fucker. I wish I’d had a fuckin’ strip club as my personal playground when I was his age.”

  Geno comes out a couple minutes later, and slips a nondescript black bag from under his cut. I take it from him and put it inside my own.

  “Hey, Angel called while I was back in the office,” he grunts. “Wanted to know if you were here yet. He told me to tell you he wants to see you back at the clubhouse.”

  “That’s where I’m headed.” I push off the bar and drain the rest of my Coke.

  Striker claps me on the shoulder. “Sure you don’t wanna stay around for the end of Destiny’s set?” He raises his eyebrows and gives me a wicked grin. “She really likes the bikers, that
one.”

  “I’ll leave the sisters to you and Jude,” I tell him.

  Back at the clubhouse, Angel and Beast are sitting around a table with Brick and Ghost, planning out a run for the day after tomorrow. Angel tells me I’m coming, too, and Striker. “We need the extra men,” he mutters. “Just in case.”

  I know what happened to the Death Devils is on his mind. “Got it,” I say, ignoring the pull in my gut. “When do we leave?”

  The six of us nail down the details. I give Angel the money from Club Haven and tell him I’m gonna take off.

  “You ain’t stickin’ around for later?” Brick asks. “It’s fight night. Couple of the prospects are gonna throw down. Winner gets to have his ass handed to him by Thorn.”

  “Nah. I got some shit to do.”

  I used to go to fight nights pretty much all the time. Hell, I was usually one of the best fighters. Before joining the MC, both me and Striker made a decent amount of money out on the underground circuit. Plus, it works out the pent-up aggression inside me that might come out in some less healthy fuckin’ ways otherwise. Some people do yoga, other people go to church. I beat the shit out of people in the ring.

  With money a little tight right now, I’m tempted to stick around and pick up some of the pot. But there’s Wren to consider. I don’t wanna come back from a fight with a black eye or a split lip and freak her out. Besides, I told the babysitter I’d be back before dinner.

  I ride back to my neighborhood, park my bike in my garage, and head over to Tanya’s house. For once, Wren actually looks happy to see me. The second I walk in the door, she bolts over and throws her arms around my legs.

  “Hey, what’s this about?” I ask, astonished. My gut twists weirdly as I reach down and pick up Wren, settling her in on my hip. She clings to me, burying her face in my shirt.

  “I dunno.” Tanya rolls her eyes impatiently. “She’s been a pain in the ass all day. Barely touched her lunch.”

  “Hey, knock that off. Don’t call her that.” I frown. “You think she’s sick?”

  “Nah, just stubborn.” She shakes her head.

  Something in her tone sets off an alarm in my brain. “Wren,” I whisper softly. “You okay?”

  Silently, she nods against my chest. My heart wrenches. Whatever is up, she definitely did not have a good day today.

  I want to get to the bottom of this — demand to know what happened to make Wren so unhappy — but right now, more than that, I just want to get her back home.

  “Okay, well, thanks. This should be enough for the afternoon.” I reach into my pocket and pull out a wad of cash to pay her, but Tanya puts a hand over mine to stop me.

  “Hey,” she murmurs, lowering her voice and giving me a coy smile. “How about maybe I come over later? After you’ve put the kid to bed?”

  My lip curls in distaste. “No can do,” I grunt. “I’ve had a long day.”

  “Stressed, huh?” Her hand migrates to my chest, then slowly slips further south. “I can think of a few things to do about that.”

  Goddamnit. It pisses me off that she’s saying this shit around Wren, even though I know the little girl has no idea what she’s talking about. I grab her hand and toss it away from me. “No, I said,” I repeat irritably, and thrust the bills at her. “We’re done here. I gotta go.”

  Tanya’s eyes flash. “You know what, Tank? You’re an asshole.”

  “Hey,” I warn. “Not around the kid.”

  “Keep your holier-than-thou shit,” she spits back with a snarl. “And you know what? You can forget about me as a babysitter, from now on. Don’t even bother asking. The answer is no.”

  “Believe me, I won’t be,” I mutter. “This ain’t workin’ out, Tanya.”

  “Damn right it’s not!” she yells after me as I retreat down the sidewalk with Wren in my arms.

  “Jesus,” I breathe. “Sorry, kiddo. Language, I know. Man,” I sigh. “I’m not doing so hot at this parenting thing.”

  I walk home with Wren nestled in my arms, feeling like the shittiest father in the universe. This gig is a hell of a lot harder than just about anything I’ve ever had to do. It feels like every goddamn day, there’s a new way for me to fail at it. Not for the first time, I wonder whether Jess was right that I could be better at protecting Wren than she could.

  Wren, at least, seems happy as a clam to be back home with me. I’ve expanded the list of things she’ll eat to include spaghetti, so I reheat some leftovers of that. I slip in some vegetables on the side and tell her she has to eat those, too. To my surprise, she does.

  Well, fuckin’ score one for Dad of the Year, over here.

  After dinner, I settle her in to watch a kids’ program with Snoopy in the living room. Then I go outside into the back yard for a much-needed smoke. I set up my chair angling toward the sliding glass door so I can see her from where I’m sitting. Leaning the chair back on its hind legs, I light my cigarette and take a deep drag.

  I’m fucking this up. I need to figure out how to do better by Wren.

  I’m deep in thought when the cherry on my first smoke is dying. I use it to light up a second.

  When that one’s done, I pull out my phone, and dial a number I told myself I wouldn’t call.

  “Hey, Cady? It’s Tank.”

  9

  Cady

  Tank is terse but nearly apologetic when he calls and asks me to watch Wren again. He even hints that he might want me to do it on a more regular basis. But for right now, his immediate problem is that he has to go on a day-long run for his club, and the babysitter he had lined up fell through.

  It pisses me off, to be honest. After all, he already turned down my offer like I somehow wasn’t good enough to watch Wren for him. And now suddenly, when he’s in a bind, not only is it okay, but he thinks I’m just available at the drop of a hat?

  I almost say no. I was scheduled to work at the diner in the afternoon. Plus, part of me wants to punish him for being such an arrogant ass last time I saw him that night at the bar.

  But in the end, the thought of little Wren’s sweet face sways me. I miss her, and I want to see how she’s doing. So I tell Tank I’ll do it — with a warning that next time he needs to give me more notice — and switch my shift with Erika.

  Instead of Tank coming to my place, we agree to have me drive over to his house so he can install Wren’s car seat in my car. He must be in a hurry to get going, because as soon as I pull up at the curb he comes outside, holding the door open for little Wren. She’s dressed in some cute pink leggings with hearts on them, and a unicorn sweater under a tiny jean jacket. She’s dragging Snoopy along in one hand, unsurprisingly. Her hair is loose and wild, but at least it looks like it’s been recently combed… sort of.

  Tank barely talks to me at first, except to growl a grudging “thanks” as he pulls open the back door of my car.

  “You’re welcome,” I mutter. “But I’m not doing this for you.”

  Tank gives me a sharp look, but says nothing. “This car is a piece of junk,” he remarks instead, voice strained. “You sure it’s safe?”

  “It runs, and it’s all I can afford.” I’m more hurt than I should be by his completely unwelcome opinion. “You wanna buy me a better one, be my guest.”

  His face is a mask of disapproval. “Let me get the car seat from my truck,” he mutters.

  I stifle a volley of swear words as he hands Wren off to me and stomps off toward his driveway. I look down at the little girl. She’s got one hand close to her mouth and balled into a fist, like she wants to suck her thumb. I bend down to say hello.

  “How are you, Wrenny?” I ask. She doesn’t say anything, the length of time since I’ve seen her turning her shy with me again. “Do you remember me? Can I say hello to Snoopy?”

  Slowly, Wren holds Snoopy up.

  “Hi, there, Snoopy!” I bend closer and give him a bunny kiss, rubbing my nose against his. Wren stifles a giggle. “You think that’s funny?” I ask, doing it again. Wren gig
gles a little louder. “Can I have a bunny kiss from you now?”

  I lean just the tiniest bit closer to her. After a second, she closes the gap, pushing her nose against mine. My heart squeezes in a sudden swell of protectiveness for this sweet, shy little girl. “Thank you, Wrenny,” I whisper. I reach around her with one arm and give her a careful hug. When her arms go around my neck, my eyes sting with emotion.

  “You know how to buckle her into one of these?”

  I startle and get to my feet. Tank is frowning at me like he’s caught me doing something wrong.

  “It’s just some straps, right? How hard can it be?” I snap before I can stop myself.

  “No.” His voice is sharp. “It’s not ‘just some straps.’ They have to go in the right places, or she can get hurt.”

  Tank brushes past me and opens the back door. I back up a step, silently fuming. Wren holds my hand as we wait for him to put the seat in and secure it. When he’s done, he turns toward me.

  “Lean in from the other side, so I can show you.”

  I suppress a sigh of irritation and do as he says.

  Tank lifts Wren into the seat, then starts to explain how the straps work, and how to check that they’re adjusted right. As irritated as I am by him right now, I can’t help but find it endearing to see this enormous, tattooed man explaining the finer points of car seat design and bending attentively over a little girl decked out in pink from head to toe.

  “Where did you learn how to do this?” I ask.

  “YouTube,” he answers. He stands, raises himself to his full height and softly closes the car door. “People go crazy uploading how-to videos on every detail of every car seat known to man, I swear to Christ,” he continues as he walks around the car to my side. “If there were as many videos on all the other parts of parenting I don’t know a damn thing about, I’d be in good shape.”