“I can’t work,” she sputtered, fighting not to get sucked in because he was killing her.
“Don’t worry about that.”
“Tank!” she hissed. “You can’t support me. I can’t live with you. I can’t dance. I’m otherwise unemployable. I have to leave. I have to go home.”
When he tightened his jaw she couldn’t help the flutter in her chest. It was sexy. Damn her, but she found everything about him sexy in one way or the other. “Stay,” was his plea.
“Tank, this can’t work out.”
“Why?”
With a gulp she realized she had no good reason. Bugger.
“If you’re not interested in making ties with a dirty biker, just say the word.”
Well that was unexpected. “What?” she snapped, so surprised she was actually at a loss for what to say other than one stupid word.
“I know I ain’t much. But I thought we had a good connection.” He straightened up. “I guess I was wrong.” He turned on his heel and strode away, shoving the curtains out of his way so roughly they snapped from the effort.
Rose glanced around at her fabric-shrouded surroundings, head reeling. He’d left his flowers, and at the sight of them she allowed her eyes to fill. “What the fuck just happened?” she whispered, covering her mouth. Crying really fucking hurt, too. It pulled at the stitches in her chest and cheek, which made her cry harder.
It stung to know she could wound him like that. He wasn’t kidding; he took what they’d had very seriously. She’d just had no idea until right then.
Chapter Thirteen
Tank wasn’t impressed when he stalked through the clubhouse doors, and his mood wasn’t improved by what he saw. There was no rowdy party, first off. The guys were playing pool, a few sweet butts fawning over the unattached men, but it wasn’t wild at all.
At the bar Jolene and Mickey were pawing at each other, clearly feeling open and frisky. Looked like it might be one of their “adventurous” nights. On one of the sofas even Gertie and Buck were making out. That confirmed it; Gertie had conquered some of her intimacy issues and they were on their way to making up for lost time.
Not what he fucking needed to see.
He strode up to the bar, keeping distance from the Grainger love-fest, and barked for a beer. The bartender delivered it with an alluring smile that was totally lost on him. He tipped it back and drained half of it in one go. When he brought it down again he became aware that the Graingers were staring at him.
“What?” he snapped.
Mickey raised his eyebrows and he exchanged a look with his missus. “Thought you were visiting Rose,” Mickey said cautiously. “Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fucking peachy, thanks. Fucking sunshine and rainbows.”
Jolene Grainger sighed. “What happened?”
“Hell no,” was his answer, shaking his head. “We’re not having a conversation about this.”
Tank loved Mickey’s old lady. She was smart, lippy, funny, and tough as nails. Cute, too. But he was not having a meaningful conversation with her after Rose had basically castrated him.
“You’re clearly upset.”
Tank gave her a glare. “I’ll manage, Jolene. Thanks.”
Mickey’s look turned into a smile as Jolene showed her surprise. “Tank’s a private guy,” he told his wife. “He’s also a big boy. He’ll be fine.”
Jolene pushed Mickey away, taking Tank’s arm. “Come on. Let’s have a seat, discuss what you did.”
Tank frowned, but throwing off a brother’s old lady would only get him knocked out. Mickey gave him a sympathetic grin, then ran a hand through his hair. Yeah, he was scared of his woman in this situation, too.
Jolene pulled him to the sofas, settling him across from the Gertie-Buck make-out experience. But she turned sideways, leaning across his line of vision and making a waving motion with her hand. “Okay, what happened? You were sweet when you left, and you came back all pissy.”
Tank set his jaw. “Doesn’t matter, Jolene, okay?”
“What? What’s going on?”
Tank groaned and rubbed his eyes. “Just fucking shoot me. Someone. Anyone.”
No use. Gertie had untangled herself and was on the other side of him now, patting his knee in a sisterly way. “Come on Tank, what happened? I thought you were excited to go see Rose.”
He lowered his hands, taking in Jolene’s no-bullshit expression and Gertie’s hopeful head nod. Two sweet, clever, lovely women with the best of intentions. And across the way Buck was no fucking help. “You may as well spill it,” the asshole advised.
“She’s … she’s leaving Markham,” he mumbled, taking another pull on his beer.
“Why?” Jolene asked. Gertie even gasped like she was shocked by this.
“She doesn’t think she’ll be able to afford to live here, doesn’t think she’ll get a job. I told her we’d help, but she doesn’t want it.”
Gertie and Jolene exchanged worried glances. It was Gertie with the next question. “Why are you angry? Because she’s moving?”
Tank blinked, stupefied. “No, it’s just … she’s leaving.”
“We get that. But why are you so angry?”
Tank glared at Jolene.
“Tank,” Gertie began gently. “Are you saying you have feelings for her? Enough that you want her to stay?”
He growled and shut his eyes. “Fuck,” he bit out.
“It’s okay. It’s nice, I mean, I like her a lot. I just didn’t know it was that serious.”
“Neither did I,” Jolene agreed. “This is great, Tank!”
He opened his eyes on that, incredulous. “Have you been listening? She’s leaving. She doesn’t want to stay. Even for me.”
Now they shared a look again, more of that bitch mind-reading thing. Then they looked back at him in unison. Jolene cleared her throat before asking, “Did you … say that to her?”
Tank frowned. “What?”
“She’s upset,” Gertie explained. “She’s a gorgeous woman. I mean, it’s intimidating how perfect she is.”
“She really is,” Jolene chimed in.
“She’s been burned, scarred. Her appearance has been her biggest asset, likely most of her adult life.” Gertie finished there, like that was supposed to mean something.
“What are you getting at?” he prompted.
Jolene sighed like he was an insufferable idiot, and he couldn’t even take offense because she was a brother’s old lady.
It was Gertie doing the talking again. “She’s going through some serious shit, Tank. She has to deal with healing and adjusting to not being perfect.”
Tank shook his head. “Fuck that. She’s still perfect.”
Jolene and Gertie with the eye contact again, this time whining like he’d pulled a cute puppy out of his pocket or something.
“What the hell is wrong with you two?” he asked, confused, not angry anymore.
“Listen. A woman’s appearance is important. It’s how we’re judged, graded, assigned our value,” Gertie said slowly.
“It’s bullshit,” Jolene snapped.
“But it’s true,” Gertie asserted, her gaze sympathetic in respect for his apparent stupidity. “She’s feeling unworthy. She doesn’t want you to see her how she is now, so she wants to make distance to prevent you from rejecting her.”
“I didn’t! I told her how gorgeous she was, how I’d take care of her.” His voice was getting whiny and defensive, but it was two against one here
Again with the Awww from both of them.
“Forget it, this is done,” he muttered, trying to get up.
They each took an arm, and he was surprised how strong they were. Damn.
“Okay, here it is, you big oaf,” Jolene muttered in her laying it out tone. “She’s dealing with serious, psychological stuff. And instead of understanding that she might need to sort things out and give her space, you made it all about you.”
Tank’s mouth tried to form a respo
nse, but even Gertie’s expression left him no way out. “She’s right,” the redhead joined in, also not on his side.
“What are you two talking about?”
Jolene sighed. “You just said yourself, she didn’t want to stay even for me.” The brunette shook her head. “It’s not about you. Unless she actually said you’re not worth staying for.”
Tank frowned. “Well, she … I mean …”
“She didn’t say that, did she?” It sounded like a question, but it wasn’t really. Gertie squeezed his knee. “Tank, did she say you weren’t worth being around?”
Tank tried to think back, remember what had actually been said, but—
“If she said you weren’t worth it, I’ll hate her by proxy,” Jolene offered. “But I’m thinking you went all man-ape on her, trying to just fix it by calling her pretty, insisting she was crazy for her own thoughts, then getting mad when she didn’t just come around to reason.”
“Hey—”
“It’s okay, Tank,” Gertie said, so full of understanding. “Boys just don’t get it.”
“Then you made her feel bad for expressing her feelings.” Jolene smacked both thighs. “Honest to Christ, Tank, you’re thick as a post. It’s a good thing we like you.”
Tank turned a woeful look to Gertie, who provided a sympathetic smile and nod. “We’ll make it right, Tank. We’ll go talk to Rose. Explain that you overreacted.”
His head was swimming. “Listen, let it go. Really. It’s a bad idea, anyway.”
Useless words. He should have known enough to save his breath.
Chapter Fourteen
Rose pushed open the door to her apartment, nose wrinkling. It had been closed up for over a week, stuffy and musty was exactly what greeted her. And perhaps something she’d left out on the counter had gone bad.
She dropped the bag that Coco had brought for her during her hospital stay and crossed the area rug to open the window. Of course, it made her think of a certain giant, hairy biker climbing into her apartment through that very opening. And she sighed.
Rose wasn’t going to dwell, though. She had been released, given an excellent chance of a full recovery, and she’d just have to deal with the scars. She couldn’t dance anymore, so this was an opportunity to set her life off on a brand new path. At thirty-two years old. With no formal education and no savings.
But first she had to figure out what smelled so fucking bad.
No, first she put Tank’s flowers on the sill over the kitchen sink, and then right below the sink she found the culprit: the garbage. And when she opened the fridge she knew right away that the milk had turned. And some of the cut-up vegetables needed to be binned as well.
That left her very little to eat. She’d likely have to order supper in.
Next she grabbed her clothing and tossed it in the washing machine down the hallway. She didn’t think too hard about the outfit she’d been wearing when Tank came to visit.
Damn it. Damn it all to hell.
When she sank onto her sofa, she inhaled and pinched the corner of her eyes, willing herself not to cry. She really hadn’t expect him to … come at her like that. She’d seen and heard how those guys operated. One night in bed shouldn’t have meant so much. But now that she was remembering, that one night had been a lot more than nothing to her, too. A lot more.
She was roused from that melancholic reverie by knuckles tapping on her front door. She got up and headed to answer it, more than a little confused as to who could possibly be visiting her. And when she opened the door her confusion wasn’t relieved at all.
She knew the redhead, Gertie. That was a name that one didn’t forget, but even without it she would have been memorable. Her hair was flame red, her form curvy. The haircut was weird; kind of short on the sides, longer at the top and swooping to the side in a very funky style. It didn’t suit her, not that Rose would ever say anything, because she’d heard that the woman had suffered such a terrible concussion she’d needed to have a hole drilled in her head, hence the shorter hair on the sides. She knew nothing of the circumstances, didn’t want to. But she did know that this was Buck’s woman because she’d never seen one of them without the other.
The dark-haired, petite one was Mickey’s wife. She would come to the club with him sometimes, but for some reason Rose kept forgetting her name. It wasn’t anything personal, Rose didn’t know her from a hole in the ground, but the name just wouldn’t stick. Someone had pointed out to her that it was in a popular country song, but that was hardly helpful.
Other than only remembering one of their names, she had no idea what they were doing here. Finding them in her hallway was quite disarming.
“Umm,” she said immediately, no poise whatsoever. “Hello?”
The brunette gave her a giant, ultra-white grin. Her hair was tied up in a kerchief, 1950s housewife style, with big fake pearl earrings and bright red lipstick. She was a vintage-glam type in peddle-pusher jeans and a white and black polka dot top tied under her breasts. Gertie was contemporary grace; ladylike but comfortable at the same time in jeans and a loose, long-sleeve T-shirt.
“Hi,” Gertie said, clearly uncomfortable herself. “How … how are you doing?”
They were both staring at her. She was bandaged; a stark white square on her cheek and another peeking out the top of her slouch-necked top that was falling down one shoulder. Self-consciously, maybe even because of the formidable women in front of her, Rose pulled the shirt back up in place. “I’m fine,” was her uncomfortable reply.
“We know you just got released,” the louder, pushier one said while holding up an insulated bag. “We figured you wouldn’t have anything in your place to eat, so we’re brought supper.”
Rose’s hand tightened on the doorknob, a lump growing in her throat. “Beg pardon?”
Gertie’s smile was immediately comforting. “Jolene likes to feed people. My advice is just to let her do it.”
Jolene! That was her name!
Rose had to grin back, and she stepped out of the way, touching her hair distractedly while these two women pushed their way into her space. She could only shut the door behind them and follow them to the living room.
“I made lasagne, hope you eat meat,” Jolene was saying, setting her insulated bag on the coffee table. “I barbecued some garlic toast and brought a salad as well. Wasn’t sure if you had any allergies or if you were a vegan or anything.”
Rose let out a surprised laugh. “No, not a vegan. I basically like to eat everything.”
“Oh thank God,” Jolene breathed, unzipping the bag and digging in. “Are you on good pain meds?”
Such an odd question, until the woman straightened up with a beer outstretched towards her. Rose smiled and took the offered drink. “Thank you,” she said. “No, just ibuprofen actually.”
Next Jolene handed a bottle of yellow liquid to Gertie and Rose realized it was lemonade. Gertie cracked the top and gave Rose a smile. “I like your apartment. I love the color.”
It was hard for her to track what was going on so she decided to go with it. “Thanks. It’s honeydew.” She set the beer down. “I’ll go get some plates.”
“Excellent.”
“Mmm, Jolene, that smells so good.”
“Of course it does.”
Their voices followed Rose into her kitchen as she headed for the cupboards. She’d been ready to spend this evening alone, but having someone show up, ready to take on the role of friend, was a welcome change. Other than Tank, Rose couldn’t remember the last time she had anyone over.
With a few plates and cutlery, she joined the other women, impressed with the spread Jolene had already set out on the table. Lasagne, garlic toast and Caesar salad. Enough garlic and carbs to choke a plow horse. Not that Rose was all that worried about her body these days. The more reasons to layer up, the better.
She set the plates and cutlery down, then picked up the beer. “This is … this is awfully kind of you,” she said softly, almost feeling shy.<
br />
Rose knew just enough about the MC and these women. Yes, she’d seen Mickey and Jolene come to the club from time to time. The whispers were that sometimes they liked having other women in their bed, although Rose wasn’t sure she believed it. But whatever the stories were, even at a strip club Jolene’s husband loved on her in the middle of all those other female distractions. It made Rose like him a lot. Gertie was more of a question mark, and her man was almost nonexistent at Rebel Circus. Still, she wasn’t sure what made her feel so shy.
Jolene dished out servings for everyone, so Rose and Gertie settled on the couch to wait. The plates were handed out and Jolene perched on the edge of Rose’s armchair. They set to eating quietly, and while she ate, Rose continued to mull over why they were here.
She’d been in Markham for months. Never had any of the women from the MC tried to befriend her. Even Trinny had been arms’ distance-friendly. The dancers all loved Trinny as a boss, not a pal, so that wasn’t a special condition just for Rose. These women weren’t associated with Rebel Circus; they were attached to Red Rebels themselves.
Rose nearly choked as she figured it out. Shit. They knew about Tank. How the hell was that possible? Men didn’t gossip. What the fuck was going on here?
“So,” Jolene began casually, pushing food around her plate. “This isn’t just a fun visit. We uh, we come on behalf of a friend.”
Rose swallowed, then reached for her beer.
“Thing is, I’ve known Trevor a long time,” Jolene explained, making Rose frown. It took a moment for her reason Trevor was actually Tank. “He’s like a big brother to me. All the guys are. So I understand how they can be irrationally emotional.”
That surprised Rose.
“He said some stupid shit to you the other day,” Jolene went on, gently understanding. “I think we made him realize the error of his ways. I just ask that you give him another chance.”
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