The three friends followed her. This wasn't weird, this was how it went. They were always comfortable changing clothes in front of each other. She didn't think twice as she pulled her top off and reached for one of her bat-winged tops.
"Holy shit, Rose," Gloria breathed, coming forward and catching her arm. Her friend’s eyes were on the acid burn on her breast, and when the other two saw it they both froze, having just slumped on her bed to recline in their hung-over state.
Rose tried to cover it but Gloria was determined. "I told you about that," she snapped, yanking her arm free.
"Yeah, but that looks like it went deep."
"Yeah, it did." She turned away from the three of them to pull her shirt on. Then she turned back. "Look, it happened. Nothing takes it away, so I accept it now."
"Maybe these people aren't a good idea," Jennifer said carefully, eyes going to Gloria as she spoke. "Some of those guys are a bit scary-looking. I mean, Tank doesn't scare me but some of them ..."
Rose crossed her arms and turned a glare on Brandi, who'd been quiet this whole time. "What about the one you took off with? Knuckles? Were you scared of him?"
Brandi fidgeted with the bedspread. "Actually, not at all."
"Because personally, I suspect he's probably the most dangerous of them all," Rose rolled on, hearing the way her voice was raising.
"Don't listen to her," Gloria went on softly. "I told you my thoughts. He makes you happy, Rosie. I can tell."
"This wouldn't have happened if it wasn't for that club," Jennifer protested.
"Darius wasn't in a motorcycle club," Rose said evenly. "He hurt me more than a stranger throwing acid on me could. And quite frankly, you know this and worse happens to women in our line of work."
"She's right," Brandi agreed. "You just had to look around last night, Jennifer. They didn't force or intimidate anyone to be there. And it wasn't just a club thing. There were regular city people there. And the wives of these guys? I liked them."
Jennifer shrugged. "I don't know. I'm glad you're happy, Rosie, I really am. I'm just worried. You had a gun on your coffee table yesterday."
"Like you pointed out, I had acid thrown on me. I had trouble leaving my apartment for a while. I think ... I think I might have been going into a bit of a depression. And Tank knocked me out of it. Gave me something to take with me, to make me feel safe."
There was a three-way standoff, then Brandi got up and clapped her hands loudly. "Okay. So ... are we going out tonight? Because if we are, I need a nap, and then I need to eat something."
Jennifer nodded, realizing they were waiting to see if she was willing to visit Rebel Circus as planned. "Okay, fine. We'll go. I want to talk to some of the girls, though, get their take on the guys."
Rose approached her friend and wrapped her up in her arms. Jennifer hugged her back, patting her. "I love you, Jenny."
"Love you too, Rosie. Just want to make sure you'll be okay."
"I will be. Now let's all get a catnap in, then we can find a place for an early dinner."
-oOo-
Rebel Circus was hopping, and that wasn't a surprise. It was Saturday, after all, and Markham liked their fleshy distractions. The girls were greeted by Spaz and Rusty, who had been told to keep an eye out and make sure no one hassled them. Coco had even reserved them a table, which was nice. It was in view of the stage, but off to the side. Not where the serious spectators liked to sit.
"This is decent," Gloria noted, shrugging out of her coat. "Love the wallpaper."
"Apparently Trinny did the decor." Rose motioned a waitress over.
"The one that was at the party last night? With the kids?"
Rose nodded at Jennifer. "She worked here, met Jayce, the manager left, and he put her in charge of everything. Or, that's how the story goes anyway."
"Aww, that's romantic." Gloria wasn't even being sarcastic.
"Why aren't they together anymore?" Jennifer asked in such a way that meant she must have heard some talk.
"Personal shit between them," Rose filled in, knowing the club preferred not to give out details. The only one who might have given Jennifer any information was that Nomad she'd gone to bed with. Rose wondered if Jayce would appreciate his friends telling strangers about his marital woes. Not likely.
Rose's point was taken, and the waitress took their drink orders before the main stage show started. It was weird to be sitting in the crowd, but Rose had to admit she liked it. When she was working she was so focused on herself, her next act. Getting her headspace right. This was so relaxing.
"Her legs are amazing," Gloria shouted out over the music as a girl named Coral worked the stage. "Too bad she's only basic on the pole."
Rose had to agree. She knew she'd had more experience on the apparatus than the other dancers here, but to her it was painfully obvious Coral lacked the confidence to really use it. And when Melody came out for her turn it was the same thing.
I wonder if Jayce would let me work with them, help them choreograph. The thought hit her like a bolt, and she almost twitched in her chair. Holy shit, she could totally do that. Clearly Coco was too busy with all the business details to notice the talent sliding a bit. She'd probably love to have the help.
First she had to ask Tank, she knew that. But she was close to bursting into laughter at how excited she was at the thought of doing this. Doing something with the talent she had.
As the main stage show ended, the room erupted in applause, then the secondary stages fired up and more of the house lights came on. The place was crowded, and their poor waitress was swamped.
"I'm going to get us shooters," Rose declared, getting to her feet. "Who wants tequila?"
They all shrieked like college girls on spring break, and she set off to order right from the bar. She saw Spaz fall in behind her, which she appreciated. It was very crowded, but that leather kutte on his back meant people parted when he stepped in front of her to lead the way.
"Hey, how come you're not up there, honey? You work here, don't you?"
Rose looked down at the hand that had grabbed her left forearm. It belonged to a clean-cut white kid that could only be described as frat boy.
"Not anymore," she replied, distant but not rude, and tried to follow Spaz.
The kid tightened his grip and pulled her close. She tried to push away but he was stronger.
"What about private dances in the back? I bet my friends and I would have fun with you." He leaned closer. "Wouldn't even complain about the scars if you made it up to us, if you know what I mean."
She knew what he meant. It was obvious by the hard-on he shoved into her hip. "Let me go," she whispered, her voice failing her. She'd only brought some cash, not her purse. Which was where the Glock was. She wasn't safe at the moment.
Her heart hammered away, yet her body still shut down, freezing her in place. The noise of the room faded into a weird, throbbing sound effect with no dominant features. Like she was underwater.
"What's that, honey?" He leaned in even closer. "Don't worry. The darker the berry, the sweeter the juice. Right?"
She coughed on her own fury. Before she could even attempt a reply, Tank was there. She had no idea where he'd come from, when he'd arrived at the club. Her relief was instant, making it possible to breathe again as he took her other arm and moved her behind him. The kid let her go then.
No one said anything. She pressed her trembling body close to him, soaking in his warm strength and feeling calm from it. Maybe it was her trembling, the evidence of how upset she was. Or maybe the drunk twit said something else off color. She had no idea why Tank swung at the kid here in a full bar, but he did.
It was sudden and shocking, the violence so raw she could taste it. His large fist caught the kid's cheekbone. No contest, the kid was down. He hit the ground like he was unconscious, and maybe he was.
It hadn't been a big brawl or a fight, so the room in general didn't take heed. The people close by saw it and all moved away, but the bouncers
pounced quickly to pick the kid up and drag him out the back way. That was when she found out who the kid's friends were; they trailed after the bouncers at a safe distance, not wishing to bring about any more trouble.
Rose was holding the tail of Tank's flannel shirt where it trailed out from under his kutte. He turned to her, taking her by the upper arms. "Are you okay, English?"
Her words dried up, wondering at his calm considering he just knocked a man out with one hit.
"English? Did he hurt you?"
She shook her head, and then the numbness broke and she started trembling. Jesus, that little shit had scared her to the point where she'd frozen. Again.
"You want to leave, honey?"
Rose swallowed and looked for her girls at the table. They were seeking her out, too. It was hard to tell if they'd seen anything.
"I'll stay with the girls."
He ducked his chin to peer into her eyes. "Rose. Are you okay?"
Her proper name clued her in that he was worried, and she still hadn't assured him she wasn't hurt or injured. "Yeah, I'm fine," she muttered, nodding her head and backing out from under his hands.
"Rose?"
"I should get back to them." She didn't know what was wrong with her. If it was still shock, or if seeing him hit someone was giving her that fear of what a life would be like with him.
"Rose? What are you thinking?"
And he was so damn intuitive.
"Sorry," she said stupidly, knowing she still sounded stunned. "I've never seen you hit anyone before."
"Rose, you got no reason to be afraid of me. I'd only hurt someone to protect you, to show people you aren't to be messed with. That's the only time."
She took a deep breath. "No, it's not. That's not the only time. You'd do it for the club. You'd do it to protect their interests, right?"
As long as she lived she'd never forget the look on his face. The understanding of what she was saying, the hurt that maybe he wasn't what she wanted.
"English—”
"You could have had him thrown out, Tank. Escorted to the door. He was half your size. I can't come home from a bad day and want to tell you what happened but also be terrified someone will end up concussed or bleeding or dead."
"I'm sorry, Rose. I'll rein it in."
She shook her head. "I don't think you can. This is part of you. What the club has made you. It's like asking you to be left-handed."
He shook his head, voice sounding a bit desperate. "Rose, just take the night to think it over. Okay? Enjoy your friends, have fun tonight but don't decide anything. Just sleep on it. Please."
Fuck, she was so confused. The kid had scared her, sure. She'd had one of those lockdown episodes where she had no idea how to handle what was happening. And it had been such a relief to have Tank there she'd nearly wept.
"Don't decide anything right now," he repeated, hand running down her arm to squeeze her hand. Then he let her go.
"Okay," she said hollowly, then turned and walked away.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Tank woke up groaning, second morning in a row with a head-kicker of a hangover. This time there was nothing to make him feel better. He was alone in his dorm room.
He swallowed hard, willing back the nausea that rose with the thought. He'd blame the urge to puke on booze, not the stomach churning that came with the memory of Rose walking away from him.
She'd actually walked away.
This time he wasn't angry or pissed that she'd find any reason to push him away. She was right. He didn't deal in real estate or equities or even oil changes. He dealt in guns, pot, and violence. That shit the night before, as minor as it was in the scheme of his life, was enough to scare her.
And to him it was nothing.
He ran a hand over his face, groaning again. Fuck. He likely could have gone easy on that Turnbull kid, it would have been enough to scare the smirk off the little fucker's face. But then he'd leaned in, called Tank a "Nigger-lover," and he'd lost his mind.
Rose hadn't heard that part, and he wasn't going to tell her about it. But now, besides possibly scaring off the woman he was falling in love with, he'd knocked out the oldest golden-child son of Archie Turnbull. Who was running against Downey for the Sheriff's position.
Fuck. This day was probably not worth waking up for.
Nevertheless, he pulled himself upright and climbed out of bed. He'd fallen onto the covers the night before fully dressed except for his kutte and boots, so he stripped down and made for the shower to wash the stink off himself.
The hot water and soap didn't seem to make anything better, but maybe something in his stomach would help. Dressed again, he headed for the clubhouse. The smell of stale beer and liquor made his gut roll a bit, but there was also the smell of bacon and eggs, which meant the day might be looking up.
Knuckles was sitting at a table, nursing a cup of coffee across from Fritter, who was sitting with his face flat on the table. Tank pulled up a chair. "That's about how I feel," he grumbled and Fritter just raised a hand in greeting.
Knuckles' grey eyes were shrewd. "Troubles, big man?"
Tank shrugged. "Don't know yet. Rose was pissed I knocked that kid out."
Knuckles nodded, turning the mug around in a circle. "I would've."
"Yeah, but she's not used to that kind of thing. You know, 'he was half your size, you could have just had him thrown out.' That kind of thing."
Knuckles leaned forward on his elbows. "Does she know what you did to the guy that burned her?"
Tank set his jaw and nodded. "Yeah. I didn't tell her exactly what happened but she could tell. Maybe that started the whole thing. I don't know."
"She'll come around."
Tank grunted his thanks at that. Honestly, he wasn't so sure. She was sweet, normal. Not the least bit crazy that he could see. Asking someone like that to accept the eccentricities of his lifestyle was expecting a lot.
"I can only wait and see," he mused. Fuck, he sounded so pathetic.
"Can you both just ... not talk, please?" Fritter muttered into the tabletop.
Tank had to grin. "Rough nights all around, huh?"
"Fuck the asshole that gave me tequila." Well, that explained it.
Knuckles was grinning like a maniac. "That would be me."
"The guy not drinking. Sounds about right." Fritter sat up, his face pale, eyes not opening all the way. Yeah, he looked rough. "Fuck. I feel like a head amputation is the only way to fix this."
"You just need to learn how to hold your booze, son," Tank chuckled.
"I can hold booze, not the demon cum this prick was pouring down my throat."
"That sounds like something else," Tank pointed out.
Rubbing his temples, Fritter nodded. "Yeah, fuck you. I know. I wasn't thinking straight."
Knuckles was laughing without making any noise, wrinkling his nose as he took another gulp of coffee. "I swear he'd had half a bottle of Jack under that tequila, too."
"Ouch. Better get some breakfast out here," Tank was saying as he rose to head to the kitchen, just as the swinging doors opened and Trinny stepped out.
It was weird to see her here, and he froze for a moment, smiling at the little blonde as she headed their way with two heaped plates. "Okay, my alcohol-slaying heroes," she said brightly. "This oughta make everything okay."
Stomach grumbling, Tank sat back down, and she set a plate in front of Fritter and Knuckles. "I'll get you one too, Tank," she promised with a wink and spun on her heel.
"Here." Knuckles pushed his plate across the table. "You need this more than me."
"Thanks, man." Tank didn't argue. He picked a fork out of the pile of cutlery on the tabletop and dug in. "Damn," he moaned on the first mouthful. "Trinny's breakfasts, man. I missed them."
"Tell me about it." Eggs fell from Fritter's mouth, but he barely noticed. "Patron saint of hangovers."
There was no way to explain it. Scrambled eggs done the Trinny way were flavorful and fluffy. She burnt
the bacon so even the fatty bits were crunchy. And her pan-fried potatoes were worth having a hangover in the first place.
A sweet butt poured out two more cups of coffee as Trinny delivered another plate, grinning under their praise and thanks. The knock on the door was answered by the coffee-pouring sweet butt without anyone really taking note until she came back to the table, nervous and fidgeting.
"Umm, guys?" the little brunette said shyly, brows puckered together. "The cops are here."
Tank frowned, too, and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "They say what they want?"
"No."
"Jayce is in the back," Trinny muttered, already heading to the kitchen. "I'll get him."
Tank tossed down his napkin and stood, followed by Knuckles. "Thanks," he told the sweet butt. "Head to the kitchen."
She nodded and trotted off after Trinny. He heard Knuckles behind him as he made his way to the door and pulled it open.
On the other side of the steel door was the Markham PD Deputy Sheriff Garrison Troy was waiting, hands on his belt.
Tank leaned on the doorjamb. "Good morning, Deputy," he greeted the man. No need to be rude. "What brings you by?"
"Trevor Williams?"
"That's me." Fuck. He knew what was going on right away.
"You've been charged with assault causing bodily harm. I need you to come with me to the station."
Knuckles was at his side, jaw set sideways. "This is bullshit."
"He punched a kid out last night," Troy snapped back, giving Knuckles a decent stare-down. "The kid was admitted to the hospital with a concussion. His friends all confirm it was you that did it." He delivered that by making eye contact with Tank. "They're pressing charges."
They. The kid and his father. And the PD had to arrest someone when charges were being laid. Especially if Turnbull's father was trying to turn everyone against the Rebels, desperate to get rid of a police department that went along with the old-school way of dealing with the MC in Markham.
It was pretty fucking smart, actually. And Tank had handed them the tools to do it.
"It's okay," Tank assured Knuckles, shrugging out of his kutte and handing it to his brother. "Call Clark. I ain't saying a word without the lawyer around."
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