by Naomi West
She nodded as he came over. He leaned down, cupped her face in his hands, and gave her a long goodbye kiss.
Star smiled up at him with that beautiful cupid's bow of a mouth. “See you soon,” she said.
“Yeah,” he agreed, kissing her again. “Soon.”
He didn't want to go, but he'd made a promise to Jethro. And he had to keep to his word no matter what, especially since working at the Old Crow was technically club business. He forced himself out the door and back on his bike before he could change his mind and crawl back beneath the covers, with Star.
# # #
Tanner pulled up at the Old Crow, just like he always did. The bar was still dead, even though the time was close to midnight. Normally, this was right about when the rowdier booze-hounds and beer-swillers decided to show up. But, no luck tonight.
He got off his bike and went inside. Someone had put Skynyrd's “Sweet Home Alabama” on, and the classic southern rock was blaring from the corner juke box. All told, there were only a handful of guys, most of them with their ol' ladies, hanging around.
Tanner slipped behind the bar and came up beside his tragically under-worked bartender, Jethro. “Been like this all night?” he asked.
“More or less,” Jethro drawled. “Sally already cut out.”
Sally was one of their cocktail waitresses. Not great at her job, but she was easy enough on the eyes that the patrons didn't give too much of a shit if she came back with a Bud Light instead of a Miller Light.
Tanner grunted his acknowledgment and grabbed a cold beer from one of the fridges behind the counter. “What all you need me to do?”
“Switching out ice, busing some tables,” Jethro said as he poured one of the patrons a shot of bourbon. “Little stuff is all.”
Tanner took a long swig of his beer. Busing tables, refilling ice, and taking out the trash wasn't what he particularly wanted to be doing at that time of night. Especially, when the thought of Star's inviting bed and body filled his mind. But, closing duties had to be done, and he was co-manager of the place.
“Got it,” Tanner said after he swallowed down his brew. “Lemme finish this, and I'll get right to it.”
“Sounds good, boss,” Jethro said as he took the patron's money for the shot.
Tanner walked out from behind the bar, beer still in hand, and headed for one of the booths. He wasn't more than fifteen feet away, though, when the unthinkable happened.
The front door went flying open, kicked by a heavy, booted foot. “Everyone get down!” boomed a voice. “Hands where we can see them! This is the county sheriff!”
Tanner spun on his heel, shock clear as day on his face, as he saw the two big uniformed deputies barreling down on him with cuffs and batons. He put his hands out in front of him, still gripping his beer.
“Hands above your head, asshole, lemme see 'em!” one of the men shouted as Tanner went to move his hands.
“What the -” Tanner asked, but was cut off by one of the deputies slapping his beer out of his hand and the other grabbing his wrist and twisting his arm up behind his back. His thoughts went back immediately to the words his pops and Blade had always spoken to him regarding the cops.
“Tanner-boy,” Pops had always said, “the cops ever come for you, you keep your fucking mouth shut. We're not doing nothing wrong, but because we wear a vest that's got a patch on it, they think we're fucking outlaws riding around these back roads. And, yeah, there's a lot of bikers out there that are. But, the Blood Warriors, we ain't like 'em. We're family, not the mafia or fucking drug dealers. But, the cops, and regular people, they don't know that. They see you and your friends, or me and Blade, their head goes some other place, thinking we're running meth or smack. And, they ain't to be trusted. You lawyer up soon as you can, and you don't struggle unless you want your head kicked in. You hear me, boy?”
Tanner, barely a teenager at the time, had just nodded at his father's words. He didn't like the cops back then anymore than he did now. Back then, if they'd thrown him a holding tank, he'd have just lost his freedom. But, now he had even more to lose if he went to jail, especially with the baby on the way.
Instead of struggling against the cops, like he would have any other aggressor, he thought back to the words Blade had told him years before: “You're your biggest, toughest enemy.”
Keeping himself in check took everything he had, but he gritted his teeth and let the cops wrap his wrists up behind him, tightening the metal handcuffs down over his wrists. He struggled against his urges, kept them down, bottled up.
A big, plain-clothes detective came over, a notebook in hand. He was a few years older than Tanner, and his suit didn't exactly fit well. “You Tanner Rainier?” he asked as he came over.
Tanner peered up at him through eyes so narrow, they might as well have been closed. “Who's asking?”
“Detective Thurman,” he said. “We got a tip off you Blood Warriors boys are running all sorts of stuff through here. And that you're one of the owners.”
That was ridiculous. Even if they were, no one at the Blood Warriors would even try to pull that kind of thing off. All their money was wrapped up in legit businesses, like Tanner's pops' had been. Hell, finances were easier and less risky when you did them that way. This wasn't some kind of fucking TV show. But, ridiculous as the accusation was, Tanner didn't even blink. He just stared straight back at the cop.
“We have a warrant to search the premises,” Thurman said when he didn't get a reaction from Tanner.
“Then I suggest you go ahead and do your job.”
The detective continued to look at him, sizing him up. He wouldn't see any kind of deception there, not intentional deception, at least. Mainly because there wasn't any. But, cops see what cops want to see.
Tanner didn't waiver.
The detective nodded, a quick little gesture, and turned to the deputies. “Uncuff him.”
“But, detective -” one of the deputies started to say.
“I said uncuff him,” Thurman barked.
The deputy nodded quickly and started to fumble for the keys. After a second of looking, he got behind Tanner's back and started to unlock them.
“No reason we should have any animosity on this,” the detective explained.
Tanner grunted. He knew enough to not say a word or to appear too curious. They'd only find clean books, a clean backroom, and all their taxes, licenses, and the building code up to snuff. He got up off his knees, thinking about something the detective had said.
“Detective?” Tanner asked as he rubbed his wrists.
“Yeah?”
“One question, then I'll let you get back to work.”
The detective nodded.
“You said I'm one of the owners of this place?”
“That's what the warrant says.” He handed over the paperwork to Tanner. “That not accurate?”
Tanner shook his head as he looked through the legal gobbledygook in his hand. “No. I'm just listed as a manager.” He went to hand the warrant back to the detective.
The detective shook his head. “That's yours.”
No one outside the club would have known that he was a part-owner. Or, someone very close to the club. Something about this didn't make sense.
Roaming Wolves had to be behind this. But, why would the Wolves call the cops? The unspoken rule was that you never involved the cops on rivalries. Not like this. This was a cardinal sin, as far as Tanner was concerned.
But, who in the Wolves knew about his connection to the bar? He didn't know any of those guys. Maybe they'd gotten the info from Brendon?
But, no, that didn't seem right, either. Brendon had been gone for so long. He didn't know more about recent goings-on inside the club than any outsider would.
He peered back down at the warrant, at the accusations there.
One thing was for sure, though.
Whoever had given the cops the fake tip-off had just fucking declared war.
Chapter Thirty-One
<
br /> Star
The air was electric, like before a thunderstorm, as Tanner paced up and down in Star's living room. He was a caged tiger just waiting to get out, his muscles coiled and tight, and, just like a thunderstorm, she was keenly aware that she could be in danger, too, just by being in his vicinity.
“Fuck those motherfuckers!” he screamed, punching a wall. The vein at his temple stood out and his face looked like a giant beet, his skin was so red. He looked like he was one step away from a heart attack.
Star flinched, even though he was on the other side of the room from the couch she was seated on. She'd never done well with outbursts like this, even when they weren't directed at her.
Thunderstorms don't care, she realized. They just blow in, cause havoc, knock some trees down, and move onto the next place. That's what his anger was like. Wild, dangerous, unpredictable.
She remained seated on the couch, a million thoughts running through her mind of how bad of a decision she'd made when she'd decided to stick with Tanner. She was pregnant, after all, and she had to think of the baby. But, what kind of child would she be having? What world was she bringing it into? And what kind of man was the father?
“We're going to tear those fucking cocksuckers apart,” he seethed, his eyes ablaze with hate and pure anger. It rolled off him in waves, seemingly setting the whole world around him on fire.
She'd seen this look before, on her mother's face. Quentin hadn't come through on his package, so mother dearest was out of luck when the time came to restocking her supply. She'd been furious like this, too. Pacing the room, throwing dishes, lamps, and anything else she could get her hands on. She'd stand in the bathroom and throw them against the tiled back wall so they'd break into the bathtub. At least Star didn't have to scramble to sweep up all over the place.
“Never,” Tanner screamed as kicked the wall and knocked a hole in the drywall, “ever bring the cops into this kind of shit! That's the rule!”
Star flinched again, slowly blinked her eyes. Well, it wasn't like she was going to get the security deposit back from Martin, anyways. Of course, she doubted she'd be able to get him to come and repair the damage. What landlord in their right mind would?
Was this what she'd signed up for, though? Having a baby with a man who was getting the cops called on him? Who threatening violence in her living room? This was entirely too real, entirely too dangerous. What had she been thinking? Was the money that important? Were her burgeoning feelings for him important?
Absently, she reached down and touched her belly, thought of the child growing inside her. His child. Her child. This behavior, though, this kicking and screaming, the threats of violence on other people - this was too much for her. Patricia had been right the first go round, back in her office's break room. Star didn't want this. She did want something better. And “better” might mean away from Tanner.
“First Brendon? Now the fucking bar?” Tanner turned toward her, his hands balled into fists at his side. He clenched and unclenched them as he ground his teeth. “I'm going to settle this shit with them once and for all. I'm going to end this.”
That didn't sound good. She needed to do something, say something. Anything to get him to calm down.
“Tanner?” she asked, her voice even and quiet.
“What?” he yelled back.
“You,” she began, trying to keep voice even, “need to bring it down a notch.” She couldn't keep the acting up for long, though, and her voice started to crack and waiver. “This is really freaking me out. You are really freaking me out. This is getting way out of hand. This shit between you and the Wolves. I don't like it, and I don't think I can handle any more.”
“Don't you get it?” he yelled. He pointed to the door, but she knew he meant the whole outside world. “These guys are coming after us! They're trying to take our lives away! Trying to hurt the club and my family! This is about fucking revenge now!”
She turned her head and closed her eyes as she put a hand out in front of her. She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes, threatening to come out. “I don't care. The way you're acting is upsetting me.”
“I thought you understood what I was like! What this world was like!”
She finally snapped. “If this is what it's like,” she screamed back, “then I don't want to be part of it.”
“Nothing's changed!” He stepped closer to her, his voice lower, but still full of pure, palpable rage.
She turned her head to the side and wiped the beginning of a tear from her eye. “It has, too,” she whispered.
He stabbed at the air in front of her with a finger. “No, Star,” Tanner said, his voice even but intense. “This is my life. I thought you knew that when you agreed to this deal. If you didn't like it, you shouldn't have said you were in. But now that shit's real, you're turning tail and running away.”
“No,” Star said, her voice cracking as the tears began to come. She had to tell him how she felt. She had to tell him how strong her feelings were for him. Maybe then, he'd actually listen and call off this crazy cycle of revenge. “Look, I -”
“Fuck this,” Tanner interjected, clearly not wanting to hear what she had to say. He turned away from her and headed for the door. “I have to go. The guys need to hear about this shit.”
He was out the door, slamming it behind him, before Star could even get up from the couch to try and stop him.
Tears streamed down her face. Dammit. What had she been thinking getting wrapped up in this shit with him? Here she was, shackled to this man by not just the baby growing in her belly, but the feelings growing in her heart.
She got up and began to follow his same pacing routine, her arms crossed over her chest and hugging her sides.
He was such an asshole! With his screaming, his punching and kicking!
She stopped. What really upset her, she realized, was that she was worried about him. Worried about what kind of calamity he was going to bring down on his own head. Not because she wouldn't get paid if something happened to him, but because she didn't want to see any harm come to him. Not just as the father of her child, but as her lover and companion.
Her face went blank as a thought struck her.
She might actually be falling in love with this guy. Falling in love with more than just the sex, or how good he felt in her arms.
Fuck.
This was more, much more than just a physical attraction, and the emotions she was feeling terrified her.
She didn't have time to think much about how she felt, though, since Tanner came back and knocked urgently on her apartment door. Pounded, almost.
She smiled to herself, despite how upset she was, and wiped the remaining tears from her reddened eyes. They were probably all puffed up and almost shut from the all the crying, but she would worry about that later. What was most important, she realized, was his coming back to her. His coming back to, hopefully, help her figure this out.
There was one strange thing, though. She hadn't heard his bike come rumbling back up to the front of the apartments. Over the last few weeks, she'd learned to recognized his bike out of all the other vehicles that passed by. Normally, she would have heard him coming from a mile away.
She didn't worry about not hearing his bike, though. She'd probably just been too wrapped up in her own tears to notice his arrival.
Star went to the door and opened it without even looking through the keyhole.
Tanner shoved his way through, throwing her back against the wall as he bum-rushed his way in.
“What the fuck, Tanner?” she nearly screamed as he slammed the door shut behind him. And, that was when she realized Tanner hadn't been the man outside. Far from it.
Instead, there loomed over her a giant she'd never seen before. He was solid, too, with no extra fat on his massive frame. He wore an MC vest just like Tanner, but the colors were all wrong, different from the Blood Warriors.
“Hello, hello, little Star,” the man said with a grin through his thick
beard. He peered out at her with bloodshot eyes full of loathing and hate. Those eyes were pure malice, the type that belonged to a man who would kick a dog without a moment's hesitation or afterthought.
“Wh-who the fuck are you?” Star asked as he stalked back and forth, her voice quivering. She didn't know where Tanner was, or who this man might be, but she knew in the pit of her stomach that this wasn't good. This wasn't good at all.
“I'm one of Tanner's old friends,” he sneered. “Doesn't he ever talk about me? Mention me around the dinner table? Or do I not warrant any appreciation?”
She shook her head. “You-you're not one of the Blood Warriors. You're one of those Wolves, aren't you?”
“Got it in one,” he said and laughed, his voice a little crazed-sounding, like what she'd expect to hear in the psych ward on a Saturday night . . . not in her own living room. It was surreal to have that kind of world invade her own.
