by Nicole Snow
Sex. Lies.
Fuck!
“We can't do this, babe. I can't.” I shook my head, sucking in a great big breath. “I took a damned oath to keep you safe, and I'm living up to it.”
The lust in her eyes turned to anger. “Not this again! Aren't we past this, Tank?”
“No, this is something else. It's not just the danger, Em, even though that shit's real and deadly fucking serious. I'm protecting you from me.” Snarling, I took a step closer, anger lashing me inside. “You don't get it, babe. I'm not the kinda guy who's ever gonna take you to the movies or put a ring on your finger. You deserve that, and you sure as shit don't deserve to get wrapped up in knives and bullets. Look, I don't give a shit what you do with this club. That's between you and Blaze. But you need to get over this stupid fucking crush and find a man who'll give you the happy ending you're looking for.”
I reached for her and she jerked away, explosive and repulsed.
Idiot! This is what you wanted, isn't it?
Tears pricked at her eyes. When she looked up, her head was shaking. I wasn't the only one in the room about to go off like a goddamned rocket.
“You keep telling me I don't know shit, Tank, but you're the one who doesn't understand. I'm choosing you. Beneath that crazy buff exterior and all the scary tattoos, I know you've got a good heart. I can't pretend it isn't there. I can't pretend I don't want it.”
She took a step forward. “Why? Why can't you close your dumb mouth and give this a chance?”
I balled my fists, trying to force some of that red hot anger into my chest. I needed a fucking shield to survive the a-bomb I was gonna have to drop next.
“You don't know shit,” I said, switching to enforcer mode. “You don't know me either, babe. I tried to be nice and set this aside the easy way. You think I'm a good man? Fuck! How the hell would you know? You've only seen me when I'm laid up like a kitten on your fucking sofa or in this little room. You haven't seen the shit I do when I'm solid.”
I raised my fists, folding them across my chest. “These fists have killed for Uncle Sam and the Prairie Devils, and I don't regret shit. You want a soulless killer to love? Don't fucking lie and tell me you do!”
Shock flashed in her eyes, but slipped just as quickly. The girl was determined as all hell.
If only this was a fight with a dude. I was bowed up, breathing hard, ready to fucking strike. But I couldn't. Fists wouldn't do shit with this gorgeous creature closing in.
“I want you. Tank. John. The man I see in front of me. If I have to deal with the rest, I will.”
“How 'bout the women?” There. I fucking said it. “You ready to deal with that too?”
The defiance was blown apart as soon as it was out of my mouth. Emma balked, stumbling backward, the light and need and warmth leaving her eyes.
Fuck! This isn't what I wanted. But it's too fucking, late isn't?
Only one way forward. One way to end this and drill some damned sense into her.
“What? You thought we all sat around sipping beers when the day's done and talking about our stocks?” I stepped forward, a nasty edge creeping into my voice. “Every brother here who isn't chained up with an old lady heads straight for the whores, or else the bitches who show up at our parties. We fuck them senseless and wipe our dicks without a second thought. That's all I want, babe, and I'm not gonna do it to you.”
She was moving her head from side to side, trying to bury her disbelief. “No...”
“Yeah. Marianne sucked me off this morning. Go talk to the slut if you don't believe me. She knows how to do her job like a good whore and walk away without pining over any brother's ass. You, on the other hand...”
I was about to reach out, clasp her shoulder, and drive the stake all the way into her heart. She covered her ears. Never saw a girl move so fast.
Emma whipped around, tearing the cut for Saffron off the door, and yanked it open. I caught a glimpse of Blaze standing outside. The door closed slowly.
I had time to hear Emma's pain stricken sniffle and see the spark in Blaze's eye. What the fuck have you done now, asshole? it said.
Fuck if I knew. I was still asking myself that question long after the voices outside the door disappeared, leaving me to my shitty, miserable self.
Ever since I ripped out her heart, the dreams were the same. And smashing her love to pieces was just the beginning of the shitstorm too.
Before I knew it, Saffron and her dumbass brother were picked up by the assholes at our throats, and Blaze sent us into battle.
A man never forgets a knock down, drag out fight. No matter how many he has to live it.
My dreams recalled the club's big blow out showdown with the rogue Grizzlies at that shitty makeshift clubhouse in the Montana wilds. Men screaming, bullets flying, grasping that big fucking auto in my hands and riddling the dilapidated building with suppression fire.
Then the real Grizzlies showed up. Worrying about whether or not Fang and his crew were gonna stab us in the back was just as bad as mopping up the rogues.
By the time it was said and done, Blaze saved Saffron's ass at the last second and exacted his revenge. We hauled ass away from that God forsaken place, listening to Fang and his boys finish them off. The Grizzlies boxed the imposters in their own clubhouse and torched it. I'll never forget the screams of those bastards roasting alive, howls like the shriek and groan of my fucked up life.
That was what really happened. We made it. Blaze got his old lady home safe.
But dreams wanted to take on their own life, and anytime I closed my eyes after the battle, things were different.
Blaze was too late. Saffron was dead, torn up, raped, all my worst fears about Em coming to life in darkness. I watched Blaze lean over his girl's limp body and let out a scream that ended the whole fucking world, a scream so much like the savage catcalls of Taliban fighters hitting my convoy on the road outside Kandahar.
They loved to nail our asses with mortars when we weren't expecting it. I hit the ground with other men in desert brown fatigues, all of us desperately seeking a target to let loose. Then a shell came screaming through the air and exploded on top of me, breaking everything apart.
Why did a bomb strike feel like some asshole's hand on my face?
Fuck dreaming. Fuck sleep. Fuck me.
“Wake up, brother! You're gonna be in a world of shit if you don't.” Stinger hit me again on the jaw, letting his force resonate through my bones 'til I opened my eyes.
“Huh? What the fuck's going on?”
“You forgot church today, you drunken asshole. Second time this week.” His lips twitched and his boot kicked at something on the floor next to me. “Look, Goliath, this is the last time I'm doing you this fucking courtesy. Next time, I'll let Blaze start shit without you. And when he asks where the fuck you're at, I'll point him right back here so he can see for himself.”
“No!” I jerked up, pulling my pants up straight. “I'm sorry, boss. Just overslept.”
Total bullshit, and he could smell it on my breath. The traces of Jack I'd knocked down last night poured out my mouth, sour as the burn in my skull.
Fuck, I had to find some other way to drown out Emma. Ever since our last big fight, I took up the bottle, using it to numb lips that still remembered her kisses. Didn't help that I had to hear all about Blaze and Saffron's big wedding coming up in Reno, or watch the brothers gallivanting off with club pussy and not a care in the world.
“Wash up and take a swig of Listerine. You've got five minutes. Try to show up to the table looking like you respect the patch.” Stinger reached over his shoulder and tapped the back of his cut. “Christ. You're living like a damned Grizzlies asshole in here.”
Without another word, he walked out, slamming the door to my sparse room. I wanted to rush his ass after the insult. VP or not, nobody in the Devils ought to take that shit lying down. Nothing worse than being compared to a bunch of sloppy fucking drug dealers and rapists.
Trouble w
as, he wasn't totally off the mark.
The empty bottle I stepped over wasn't the only one on the floor. My corner trashcan overflowed with glass and paper plates. I hadn't gotten around to repairing the cot I'd ripped up weeks ago in my crazy dreams, and I'd been sleeping right on the dirty floor ever since, wrapped up in nothing more than a cruddy blanket.
Just like the old days at war, days that should've been long behind me. No fucking way to live when I was supposed to be taking care of my club, an MC that was finally at peace after a rough start forcing the Grizzlies over the Cascades and cleaning up our home turf.
I grunted, staggering into the dirty bathroom outside, my single fresh shirt and my cut thrown across my shoulder. The morning was off to a shitty start, but it went to the cesspool when I looked in the mirror and saw my reflection.
There was nothing worse than staring at the fucked up liar I'd become, tortured at every goddamned turn by my own bitter choices.
They say there's no rest for the wicked. I was living proof.
At night, the dreams did my ass in unless I got lucky and marinated myself in so much Jack I couldn't see a damned thing. During the day, it was Emma's turn to torture my ass, her ghost filling up my brain and taking over the more sober I was.
The faucets squeaked loudly in my hands as I let the water run. Damn, that hurt. The squeal drilled straight into my damn head and fed the hangover humming in my temples.
One more piece of the vicious nag in my head that reminded me every single day I'd created this hell. But hell was a place I could deal with as long as it kept her safe.
Shit, I had to. I couldn't let this all be for nothing.
I'd rather die with my own demons a thousand times than see Em take a bullet or a knife or a burn like poor Saffron did before Blaze caught her. Especially if that hurt was intended for me.
Blaze gave me the evil eye when I dropped into the seat next to him. “What the fuck's going on around here, Sarge? Late night?”
My eyes shifted over, ready to take a beating. Stinger sat on the Prez's other side, waiting for the other brothers to file in for church. The VP's face didn't reveal a damned thing. I wondered if he'd ratted me out after all.
I nodded. “Something like that.”
“The boys tell me they've been sleeping like babies since we had the engagement bash.” Blaze reached over and clapped me hard on the shoulder. “Couldn't fucking believe it 'til I rolled in at the crack of dawn myself. None of your workouts shaking the exercise room like a goddamned rhino. Did that knife take one of your nuts off, or are you just getting lazy?”
I forced a weak laugh. “More interested in getting my beauty sleep, boss. Still recovering from the big fight.”
Another minute passed in awkward silence. Blaze and Stinger chatted about Nevada plans, while everybody else assembled around the table.
My eyes flicked down the ranks. Us three officers at the front, and then the full patch members: Reb, Moose, Roller. Smokey and Stone, our two prospects, stood near the opposite wall, invited into this meeting. Probably because Blaze was ready to test their asses one more time before we voted on their colors.
“All right.” Blaze picked the gavel and spun it in one hand, a signal to everybody else to shut their mouths. “First thing on the agenda, like half you boys know, is making sure our territory stays neat. Haven't had any more bear trouble the past month. That's good news.”
The men nodded. I mimicked them like a mindless puppet. What was good for the club was normally good for me, but I wasn't feeling anything except lifeless ash today, turning my insides to dead mush.
“But we're not all finished yet. We got ourselves a couple more clubs to patch over to the Devils, little crops of local good ole boys. Luckily, they're not inclined to give us any shit after the way they saw us drive the Grizzlies across the state line.” He looked at Stinger. “You wanna fill us in on the first one, Sting?”
“Sure thing, Prez. Me and Roller rode out to Bozeman last week to take care of the Black Seeds. Patching them in went smooth as silk. Can't say they'll be much use to business. Mostly a bunch of old farts who like to smoke and fuck their whores. Their Prez told me nobody's fired a gun since the Grizzlies first came over in the eighties. Checked his background. All clean. They had a nice, easy gig with the Grizzlies, and I expect it'll be the same now that they're wearing our support patch.”
Blaze nodded. “Damned well better be. We don't need to go chasing after a bunch of goddamned rogues who won't follow orders – especially after the meat we just sent to the grinder.”
“Don't you worry, Prez.” Reb looked up, sucking on a mouthful of chewing tobacco. “I'd be surprised if these guys can even get their dicks wet. They won't be giving us shit for trouble.”
Stinger's trademark grin appeared. The VP always looked like a fucking Cheshire cat when his amusement crested. Everybody laughed.
“Okay. We'll put the stags stay out to pasture, long as they stay the fuck in line. Next up, closer to home, we got other bastards to worry about. What the hell were they called again?”
“The Rams,” Moose cut in, stroking his beard. “Pagan Rams. I remember running into those fuckers about twenty years ago in Sturgis. Block, the President, is a fucking blockhead and a real asshole. Bastard nearly started a firefight in the middle of a crowded bar when he hit on another club President's old lady. Good thing old Voodoo was there, same as me and the other old timers. He stepped right between 'em and defused the whole thing before it erupted.”
“Throttle's old man was a good one,” I said, nodding.
Voodoo was the man who gave me my prospect cut when I started with the mother charter in Cassandra, North Dakota. He died just a few months later during our dust up with the Raging Skulls and that asshole mayor. Throttle took over then, and he'd been national President ever since. Also the first man since the army to knock some fucking sense into me, shoving me off onto Maverick and Blaze when I got into too many fights over a club floozy.
Fuck, what the hell was her name? Sure wish getting over Em was so easy.
“Tank!” Blaze snapped his fingers, clearly irritated, running me right off memory lane. “What do we know about security here? These assholes agreed to take the patch, but I'm not taking any goddamned chances. Their history's a helluva lot muddier than the Black Seeds.”
I stared at him. Stinger cleared his throat, the goofy smile on his mug long gone.
“Uh...it's a good idea to send the whole club in if you wanna make sure they don't try anything. They've only got a few guys, all past their prime. We've got the numbers and the edge on firepower. If we want to keep 'em in line, then we better flex.” I clenched my fists on the table, trying to focus. “Not that I expect anything. These fucks are a buncha old mules, boss. They won't do shit if they see us packing and remember how bad we fucked up the Grizzlies – twice.”
“Hope you're sure about that, brother.” Stinger's voice had a skeptical edge to it I didn't like. “Bikers get unpredictable when strangers start rifling through their home turf. That's what we plan to do. Search and seizure at their clubhouse. Gotta make sure they're not holding anything we should know about.”
“What? You don't think I know how to do my job? I'm the fucking Sergeant at Arms, for Christ's sake.”
Bang! Blaze rapped the gavel. The easy going expression on his face that started the meeting turned into piss and vinegar.
“Come on, bros. Knock this shit off. Everything Moose said was dead on the nose. The Pagan Rams are a tiny little shitstain of a club, but they're dangerous motherfuckers. At least, they were, before their hair went gray. The Grizzlies would've wiped their asses out if they hadn't shown balls big enough to get a truce all these years. Montana's our territory now, and that means we need to run a tight ship, or the fucking thing will run circles around us.”
Stinger and I looked at each other. We both nodded. I was fucked, but I wasn't so far gone I was gonna sacrifice the club's order for a pissing contest with a brother.
“Okay, let's vote and lock this in. If anybody's got a better plan, put it forward now or keep your mouth shut.” He paused, waiting for any options. Nothing. “All in favor of patching in the Rams as soon as possible with the full force of the Montana charter?”
A chorus of hands and ayes shot up. I added mine to the mix.
The gavel came down, quickening the tempo still pounding in my head.
“All right, good,” Blaze said. “Now let's talk about that weekend pig roast...”
I zoned out during the rest of the meeting. When Blaze closed our business with a final slap of wood, I was out the door first. Didn't catch Stinger right behind me 'til his hand was on my shoulder.
I whirled. Anger pulsed through me the instant I saw his stupid rat face.
“I know you're heading for the bar, brother. Might wanna re-think that after this morning.” He spoke slowly, carefully. “Give Saffron a break, and brother Jack too. We're gearing up for a possible fight and the whole club needs you sharp and ready to go.”
“Fuck off, VP. When we deal with those assholes, I'll be ready. 'Til then it's not your concern what the hell I do in my free time, long as it isn't hurting the club. I'm not the big stupid animal you think I am, boss. I can handle a few shots to take the edge off.”
I broke from his grasp. He didn't come after me.
Bullshit. Pure bullshit.
Stinger acted concerned, but I saw right through it. He was just trying to stay in Blaze's good graces after the constant strategic disagreements between them. Blaze let him get away with mouthing off and challenging his judgments, like any good VP with a brain should do, but Stinger knew letting any cogs in the club machine go to hell was unforgivable.
It was my job to keep the brothers in line as club enforcer, and Stinger did the same with the club officers.
My old wounds pulsed. Both of them, one near my guts and one on the hip. Always happened when I was pissed and dehydrated.
Shit, I needed something, and water wasn't gonna do it. I slid into the nearest stool at the bar and waited.
“Jesus, Tank, you look like hell.”
